TITLE:     Imagine That.
AUTHOR:    arcadianfalls
E-MAIL:    arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au
SPOILERS:  Do we have to do this anymore? :) Most season 7 episodes.
RATING:    PG, I suppose.. Despite the topic, it's actually very clean
:)
SUMMARY:   Behind the scenes of season seven: the evolution of a
physical relationship.
ARCHIVING: Yes please. Smaller archives please e-mail first.
NOTE:      In Requiem, Scully seems amazed but not disturbed by the
news of her pregnancy. Ignoring the silly Season 8/9 version, this is
what I imagine the real back-story to be. This might be best read in
consultation with a Season Seven episode guide.


Imagine That
by arcadianfalls
arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au



MULDER

It began with a kiss. Well, no, it started long before that night.
Somewhere between that first moment I realised I could trust her, and
the time I realised I wanted nobody else. But the kiss - it really had
me sweating. It was the first real move. The first
putting-it-all-on-the-line moment. Not just those few brief seconds,
but the longer ones that followed, trying to read her face, her
posture. The smile helped, but didn't allay all fears. There was a
glow, yes, but trepidation, too. Apprehension. Something that said she
didn't quite have the same faith as I did that it would work, and it
was that sliver of doubt that had my stomach twisting itself into a
knot.

I dropped her home. Walked her to her door, not even thinking about it
although usually I just dropped her at the kerb. She hadn't invited me
up - rather, I knew she was probably heading straight to bed. I was ok
with that. I just felt called, by whatever primitive instinct it is
that drives men to acts of gallantry and foolishness in the name of
love, to walk her right to her door. So I did.

She turned the key in the lock, pushed it open, paused to face me. A
small smile. Scully can talk back to hulking 6 foot cons, fend off
anyone who challenges her authority with icy ease and stare FBI
directors in the eye, but when it comes to letting those real feelings
out, she's the epitome of self-consciousness. Nothing will clam her up
quicker that the threat of rising emotions. I don't know why. Sure, a
lot of stuff has happened in her life that does make it difficult to
smile sometimes - I could write a book on it. But it's more than that.
It's like she's afraid to let anyone see that inner self - the woman,
the daughter. I see a little, but not enough.
That small smile: I'm glad to be home, I'm glad you're ok. A flicker of
something else, part-apprehension, part-gratitude perhaps for what is
definitely my favourite memory for the new year.
She touched my arm lightly. "Goodnight, Mulder."

"Goodnight, Scully." I'd already considered and rejected all the
possibilities: goodbye hug, kiss on the cheek, another on the lips? No.
It was too soon to follow that up, I didn't want to rush it. Didn't
want to scare her. I'd made that first move, she had to make the next
one.

I touched her side, a gentle nudge toward the door. "Get some sleep.
I'll talk to you tomorrow."


We hung out. We worked together. She restored an old habit of picking
up coffee for us both on her way in - real coffee, not the awful
instant stuff we suffer through the rest of the day. I tried to
surreptitiously develop the habit of taking her out to as many meals as
I could, all under the cover of work, of course. I struggled every
night with the desire to call her, wanting to hear her voice, but not
wanting to deprive her of sleep, or to get my ass kicked for doing so.
I openly doubled my efforts in making her laugh, making her smile. It
was no doubt that we were firmer friends and stronger partners than
ever, more relaxed in each others' company. I was happy about that. She
was happier. But. No mention of that New Years Eve kiss. Not even
casual allusions to it. It was as though the step forward that I had
agonised over had not happened at all. 
But Scully was happier. 
I swallowed my pride and my disappointment - and, my God, it was
disappointment like I'd never quite felt before - and I accepted that
she had decided, in her wisdom, that it was a risk she wasn't ready to
take, and that was the end of it.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

SCULLY

I couldn't bring myself to mention it. Not because I was ashamed or
because I regretted what had happened, but because there were no words
that quite described that moment, that night. 
I wasn't sure what it meant. Damn Mulder, always being so cryptic. This
year had been one of growing closer, of an increased intimacy between
us. I didn't know if he was waiting on me, or if it was just a
singular, disconnected event for him, something that had happened, a
traditional New Years kiss that didn't mean anything, didn't hold any
promises. Sometimes I sensed a disappointment from him and wondered if
it was connected, if I should have pursued it, but other times, when I
caught myself remembering the moment or thinking about him in that way,
I chided myself for my girlishness. I wasn't sixteen any more. Neither
was Mulder. Surely if he was serious, he would make another move, show
his hand more clearly. 

It did get to me, though. I did become that sixteen year old, unable to
explain why suddenly everything seemed brighter, my load seemed
lighter. A channel had been opened between us, and I felt us inch a
little closer in our ease and familiarity with each other. He seemed
keen to put the effort in. I enjoyed the closeness, too. It always
seemed so natural, so comfortable. I found myself idly imagining
scenarios, sometimes. Replaying that kiss in my mind. Trying to
remember how it had felt, tasted. Never with any intention of acting on
it, but it was a pleasant daydream. It made me wonder, especially on
those long car trips and hours in the office where I would steal
glances at him.

The case with the teenagers was an odd turning point for us. Our first
case out since New Years Eve, maybe it was the flashbacks to
adolescence but the air between us was electric.
Old? Slow and poky? I didn't feel it. Though it felt an age since my
own high school days, I felt young and alive. I was enjoying whatever
it was that was happening between us.

Back in our motel for the night, he followed me into my room out of
habit, tossing himself into the armchair and flicking the TV channels. 

I kicked off my heels and climbed onto the bed, rubbing my toes. New
shoes. I watched Mulder for a moment, thinking over our day. 
"Would you ever go back?" I pondered aloud.

"To high school? God, no." He flashed me a grin. "I'd sooner face that
flukeman thing again."

I smiled. "Was it that bad?"

"Bad? No. But, you know... Complicated."

"Girls?"

A chuckle. "Yeah, something like that." He tossed down the remote and
climbed up onto the bed, stretching out alongside me. "What about you?"

"High school? I survived it."

"Not your thing, huh? What about boys?"

"At a Catholic girls school?"

"Aha."

"Yeah." I stretched out to mirror his pose, propping myself up on my
elbow. "Not that I was really interested at that stage, anyway. But,
you know..." I thought back to Chastity. "I wonder sometimes, if I
missed out."

"High school romances? Believe me, you were better off without." But he
was smiling, eyes sparkling. He nudged me with socked toes. "Besides,
imagine if you'd got snapped up way back then. You would have missed
everything. Including the flukeman. Imagine that."

Imagine that. I half-smiled, thinking over it all, what could have
been. Remembering. "Don't joke, I was actually proposed to by my
college boyfriend."

"Seriously?"

"Yup, seriously. Corey."

He pulled a face. "Corey, Scully? You would have married somebody named
Corey?"

I grinned, amused by him. "I think it's obvious that I didn't."

"Well, I for one am glad that you didn't." He reached out to brush
imaginary hair out of my eyes. "I think it was a wise choice."

"Yeah," I agreed, still smiling, enjoying this time with him. "Imagine
what I would have missed."


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

MULDER


Donnie Pfaster. She hadn't looked at the file. She wouldn't have come
if she had, and I wished - Oh, how I wished.
In the wreck of her apartment, those bullets, but it wasn't the blood
pooling under Pfaster's body, it was the tiny smudge under her nose, a
heart-stopping flashback to her cancer, that had my heart missing vital
beats. That moment, this one, all bound up together in that darkest box
of nightmare: losing her. In that moment it didn't matter whether or
not I ever tasted those lips again, I gave away my petty longings
without a second's hesitation. It was her life that mattered.
Her hand dropped to her side. I watched a wisp of smoke dissipate into
the air. 
She was a good shot. I knew that Pfaster was dead, I was aware of the
seriousness of that fact, but in that moment, he, and what she had done
to that man, didn't matter to me, it was what had been done to her. It
was what that action would be doing to her conscience from the moment
the truth set in.
I holstered my gun and stepped closer, around the body. Reached and
took the weapon from her, laying it on the bookcase. Stood before her,
looking at that face, those dark, shocked eyes. Her hair was shorter
than I liked it. Her neck was exposed. You were already too vulnerable,
Scully.
A gag, hanging loose around her neck. I reached for it, tugging at the
knot, knowing that all I wanted to do was hug her except first I had to
get this thing off her, remove him from her. My fingers fumbled with
the knot - it was pulled tight and I couldn't get it.
"Mulder -" Her voice broke my concentration, a shaking hand reaching to
stop me. I understood. Leave it. It doesn't matter right now. 
The hand moved to my chest, gripping my jacket. Holding on.
"Oh, Scully..." Not enough words to express my fear, my sorrow. I
stepped closer and slid my arms around her and she didn't need an
invitation to hold on. Her face was pressed against my chest. Not
crying. Shaking in a quiet way. 

We didn't need to call the police. The shots had been heard throughout
the building. I was still holding Scully when we heard the siren
outside. A deep breath and a shudder as she released it, and I felt her
draw back a little from me. I was afraid to let her go so soon. I
didn't want her having to face them. 

"Sit down, Scully." I drew a chair back from the kitchen table for her,
the furthest away, and she sat. Her hand caught mine as I drew back.

"Mulder-"

"I'll take care of it."

A nod.


They wanted her checked out at the hospital, concerned that she might
have a broken rib. I took her, but I allowed them to take her away to
check her over, leaving me in the waiting room to wonder whether I
should have gone with her. She didn't need me to hold her hand. But I
never knew if maybe it would have helped, if she might have wanted me
there, instead of just waiting outside with hospital grade coffee for
two.


It was bright busy morning when we got back to my apartment. I went to
the window and drew the shades, blocking the sunlight. My bed was still
rumpled and unmade. I put her bag down beside it and then turned to
leave, pausing as I did and laying my hands gently on her shoulders,
wanting her to know that she would be safe, that she could trust this
place.
"Get some sleep, Scully."

"I think I'm too tired to sleep." A ghost of a smile.

"Try." I cupped her cheeks and dropped a kiss on her forehead,
lingering, reassured by her warmth, her closeness. Impulsively, I
tilted my head to kiss her cheek, kiss that bruised neck lightly.
Kissing it better. Kissing him away. I drew back, ready to leave her
be, but she stopped me by reaching to cup my face and kissing me back,
her lips, her mouth on mine. It was unexpected, and yet, I didn't have
to think through my response. Maybe because I had imagined it in such
detail in my mind, there was nothing more natural than to respond,
deepen the kiss. For a long second the world shrunk to just us in that
moment. Then I remembered, I realised, and I pulled back.

"Scully..." Not pulling back because it was not what I wanted, but
because I knew it was confusion and grief that had triggered the move,
and I didn't want it for the wrong reasons. I kissed her lips, gently,
to dispel any fears she might have that I was condemning her action.
And I put my arms around her, kissing her forehead, her hair. And
listened as she began to cry with deep, pained sobs.


The next few weeks were an exercise in walking on eggshells. I tried to
talk to her, but she clammed up at any mention of him, insisting that
she was fine. So instead, I took her out to baseball games. Put my arm
around her shoulders and whispered a running commentary in her ear 'til
she swatted at me and told me to just let her watch the game. We
watched bad movies - at my place, and then at hers, once the candles
were all thrown out, the glass swept up and the carpet rid of blood
stains. I wondered, but didn't ask, about that kiss. I just loved her
with all I had, without ever using the word, and I willed her to be
happy again.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

SCULLY

Ups and downs. It seemed our lives were like the ocean - some days a
good place for a swim, on others, pounding us relentlessly with wave
after wave that had me certain sometimes that I would drown. Somehow,
between the grieving, we did find time for flirting, teasing each
other, testing the boundaries. Maybe it was the seemingly
ever-increasing reminders of death that made us appreciate the present,
although there were equally many days where we just went to work,
shuffled paperwork and chased down empty leads. Then there were the big
waves. His mother's death. Amber-Lynn La Pierre.

I couldn't help him when he wouldn't let me. It drove me crazy.
Difficult to stop him, to argue with him, when I could only imagine -
no, I did know - the pain he was going through, but hard to not feel
rejected when he took off without me, determined to do things his own
way, on his own.

The night I took the postmortem results to him was not easy. I stayed
with him, listened to his confusion, his sorrow. He might have accused
me of pushing him away, but when I was hurt, I let him in. I wanted him
close. Mulder was the opposite. He pulled away from me as if in some
way he could pull away from the pain. He said he trusted me but then he
locked me out. It was tremendously hard to watch him in pain, and worse
because he wouldn't allow me to do anything about it.

After we left the nurse's house that night, the end of the road, he was
different.

"What happened, Mulder?" I pressed, wanting to know what has brought
about this serenity.

"I'm free," was all he would say, staring at the stars with gratitude,
a smile like I had seen before, but rarely. It took me a few moments to
place it. It was the same smile I got when I woke in a hospital bed,
injury dulled by painkillers. Relief, thankfulness, a sense of closure.
I understood that he had let Samantha go, but I always wondered what
had happened out in the woods.

It was hard to describe the difference. They were just small things.
More patience. He smiled more. Flirted more. Touched more. Just simple
touches, no pressure for me to reciprocate or take it any further. In
fact, often he seemed to ensure that I couldn't, always brushing my arm
or my back in passing, then quickly moving on as if to prevent any
uneasy aftermath. I wondered why. Had I given him the impression that
his maneuvers made me uncomfortable?
I loved being close to him, loved bantering with him, listening to his
quips and more philosophical musings. Late at night, especially, after
some dinner and a glass of wine, I had trouble finding the motivation
to leave. I was always warm and safe and comfortable with him, and that
added dimension of possibility kept things from going stale. There was
always wonder, but not concern, about what could happen. I wanted it,
but I didn't push it. And yet.. I didn't feel prepared to trust him
emotionally, knowing that the closer we got, the more it would hurt the
next time he went off alone. I knew from past relationships that it was
a dangerous thing to head down a path I wasn't entirely certain about.
Strange, because in every other way, Mulder was the most certain thing
in my life. 
There were the practical implications of it all, too, of course. What
the bureau would think. What it would mean for the X-files. These
things were far too important to jeopardise. But oh, how I wanted it.



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


MULDER


I liked her in the cream coloured coat. She'd started to wear far too
much black the past few years. I loved the flirting between us,
relished seeing that she could enjoy herself with me. I'd spent too
long wondering if our work made her unhappy. 

The EMTs took the Wieders away, the local sheriffs department took Oral
Peattie. Scully and I were left in the cabin.

She had been all professionalism, checking over Doctor Wieder and
telling the EMTs what she knew, giving the sheriffs deputy her account
of the evening's proceedings, but as soon as they were gone she dropped
down onto the steps, face in her hands. 

"How are you doing?"

She lifted her head, looking tired. "I don't know how to explain it,
Mulder. I couldn't see. I was completely blind. It was frightening."

I had no doubt that it would have been. And as much as I wanted to draw
her close to reassure her, I knew that it was answers she really
wanted, that would give her that comfort. "How can it be?" she wondered
aloud. "How can this work, Mulder?"

I was about to propound the theory as I knew it of Wiccan hexcraft but
I stopped myself, realising. No. That wasn't really what she was asking
me.

In my hands I held the doll I had found outside. Silently, I handed it
to Scully. She took it, turning it over in her hands, then looking up
at me. 
"I don't know if I can believe it. And yet, what happened to me..."

She was frowning. I could see that she was honestly considering the
possibility, trying to reconcile it with everything she knew and
trusted to be true. I was so used to her dismissing my paranormal
theories out of hand, and I was surprised and touched by her
willingness to consider it. I couldn't help a smile. You really do keep
me guessing, Scully.

She stood, brushing herself off. "Anyway. I'm okay now."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." She touched my arm, squeezed it as if the physical
touch would echo the truth of the statement. "C'mon, Mulder. Let's go
home."


It was quiet in the car. The good kind, not the awkward kind. I asked
her what she was thinking about.

"About Doctor Wieder, actually." She sat gazing out the window. "About
what I used to be."

"You miss being a doctor?"

"Sometimes. Not a lot of the time. I never really did the patient thing
well. I guess that's why I chose pathology. I wanted answers, and the
truth is, patients rarely know the answers, they want you to give them
to them."

"Plus dead people don't bitch so much about the jello," I added,
tossing her a grin to show I was only teasing.

A small smile. "No, they don't."

I took a second to phrase my next question. "Would you go back? If this
whole FBI thing fell through, would you go back to it?"

"Maybe. Not pathology. I think I've seen enough of that in this job."

"What then?" I can picture her in emergency medicine. I've seen her
barking instructions, ordering nurses around when I've been injured.

A shrug. "I'm not sure, really."

Oncology? She's got the firsthand experience, but would she want that
emotional burden? Something tame like podiatry? No. Not my Scully. It
would have to be emergency medicine.

"You could be an ER doc."

An ironic smile. "I think I've seen enough of ERs to last me a
lifetime."

It fell quiet between us. I knew what she was thinking about. The paths
we choose. The life we choose. Whether we even really get a choice, or
if somehow along the way there are forces buffering us one way and
another until we're exactly where fate wants us to be. 

If Dana Scully had not chosen medicine... They assigned her to me
because of her training.
If Dana Scully had not chosen to give up medicine... Our paths may
never have met. 

I reached across to squeeze her shoulder. "I'm lucky to have you,
Scully. I don't tell you that enough."


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

SCULLY


Nothing on the CD, and now a big empty building.

I knew Mulder was angry at me. I understood, even. God knows how
frustrating I always found it when he ran off somewhere without me. But
he wouldn't even hear me out. Wouldn't believe what I had seen, that
any of it might have been for real. When he looked at me, I felt as
though I was seventeen again and all I could hear was 'How could you be
so stupid?'

Personally, I didn't know what to believe. I was still confused, and
despite what Mulder stubbornly believed I couldn't disregard what I had
seen and learned about the smoking man. The affection that he had
claimed to have for me, an interest in me, not just for what I did but
for who I was - in some odd way, I'd felt myself drawn to it. He was
right, I was drawn to powerful men, those who challenged and protected
me at once. And I couldn't kid myself, I was flattered by it. The
dress. His use of my first name. Things Mulder would never understand,
never do. It was a long time since I had really, truly been treated as
a woman, and I couldn't believe that it was all just a hoax, a con. I'd
believed his sincerity. 

Mulder headed for the door. I understood - there was nothing in that
big empty office building to keep us. But I trailed slower behind him,
reluctant to leave, almost as if in turning my back on it, it might
undergo yet another sudden transformation and prove something else I
thought to be true false.

"Scully?" Half way down the stairs, he stopped and turned. "What is
it?"

I couldn't explain my reluctance to him. "I need a moment."

A nod. His jaw was still tight. "I'll be in the car."



He didn't speak to me once I got in the car. Or when we walked through
the bureau corridors and took the elevator down to the office. Or when
we finally got down there. I stood by the door, watching as he
immediately went to the filing cabinet and started to busy himself in
it. 

"Mulder..." I started. An apology? But I didn't feel entirely that I
owed him one. An explanation, yes, but what good would it be, if he
didn't want to hear it? 
I tried a different tactic, trying to lighten the mood. "The gunmen
said you did a lot of barging into Skinner's office. That's usually my
job."

"Well, I was worried about you."

"I told you I was fine."

"I know what 'I'm fine' means." He pushed the cabinet draw closed,
frustrated and angry. "You were with him, Scully! The smoking man! Of
course I was worried about you."

"I can take care of myself, Mulder." But even as I was saying it, I
remembered being out on the lake, being shot at. Falling asleep in the
smoking man's car and then waking up in a bed, not remembering anything
between. Wondering if I was in control at all.

"I know you can." The eyes were on me, serious. "But I don't trust him.
And I can't believe you lied to me."

The argument was on the tip of my tongue. What was I supposed to have
done? Told him the truth? But he would have this exact reaction - anger
at me, thinking me a fool for listening to the man who had endangered
our lives so many times.

"I didn't have a choice."

"You could have told me the truth. You could have trusted me."

I thought of what the smoking man had said - he was right. Whether
Mulder believed it or not, at least some of what he'd said had rung
true - and the psychological profiling had been uncannily on target,
much as I didn't want to admit it. Yes, I'd die for Mulder. That was
the easy part. Loving him was a lot more complicated.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

MULDER

I called Scully when I got back to DC from the Adderleys'.

"This better not be another case you're calling me out on, Mulder,
because shy of presidential kidnapping nothing is going to stop me from
 being under a hot shower in exactly sixteen minutes time."

"You really doing the math, Scully?" I was impressed. I knew the
distances off by heart. Nine minutes from my apartment to hers, in no
traffic. Eighteen minutes from my place to work in the dead of night.
Somewhere closer to thirty-five during peak hour. 

"A warm fire and my pyjamas, that's all I ask."

I smiled. "I'm seven minutes away. I'll get the fire going for you."


The fire was going as promised and I had already scoured her pantry by
the time she stepped through the door, looking dishevelled and tired,
but in a satisfied way. She smiled at the sight of the small flames
licking at the dried brushwood. "I knew there was a reason I gave you a
key."

I took the overnight bag from her hands. "Go shower, Scully. I'm making
dinner."


Despite the talk of pyjamas, it was black slacks and a dark red sweater
when she reappeared half an hour later. I had a pot bubbling on the
stove. She approached with a mock cautiousness. "Mulder cooking? What
is it?"

"Chili con... something."

She bent over it, sniffing. "It smells edible." It was tease, she threw
me a smile as she straightened.

"How was the shower?"

"Heavenly."


"So," she settled opposite me on the couch, balancing the plate on her
knees, "tell me about this case."

I obeyed, exaggerating and making light of some of the more sobering
elements, not wanting us to become serious. 

Things had gone sour between us following the Cancerman incident. I'd
been hurt by her actions and she hadn't at all appreciated my concern
or attempts to find her. Instead, she seemed annoyed by me and my
response. For several days we'd barely talked, until she'd turned up at
my apartment late one night, studying her feet as she tried to put her
words together.
"I don't want this to get between us, Mulder. In fact, I don't even
really know what 'this' is."

I didn't know if I could even voice it any more. Anger at her, for what
had felt like a betrayal of trust, lying to me. Fear that once again I
could have lost her, in the hands of that sonofabitch. Jealousy, that
she had defended him, taken his side over mine.

She exhaled slowly. "I guess the reason I felt safe going with him was
because I knew if anything went wrong, you'd know, and you'd find me."

I half-smiled despite myself, it sounded too familiar. "I think I'm
rubbing off on you."

She reached for a hug, and I wrapped my arms around her tightly, and
that was the end of the tension between us. The next morning at work
she greeted me with a joke and a smile. I wondered if these instances
were building us up, building our immunity to each other's frustrating
behaviour, or if they were going to get bigger and harder and more
difficult to overcome. Funny how things could get harder and easier at
the same time.

Back together after working apart, I was in the mood for her company
and to spoil her. Seeing the Adderley marriage up close had made me
look twice at how I treated Scully. Certainly not my other half in the
colloquial sense, but in every other way, she was. I wondered what
people saw when they looked at us, up close. 

She explained to me more thoroughly what had happened on the stakeout,
both the events in the alley outside and those inside the apartment.
The victory of solving the case and the long hot shower had restored
her good mood and she was smiling as she narrated. "The damn furnace
broke, and a mouse got in... I still wouldn't say ennobling, exactly,"
she concluded, shooting me a look as if I was planning on making it a
more regular experience for her, "but it certainly made me appreciate
what I have."

I almost kissed her as she was there, smiling, flushed by the heat of
the fire, cozy with feet tucked under. But I held off, without really
knowing why, only that it wasn't quite the right time. 



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>



SCULLY


Everything happens for a reason. Slow down, Agent Scully. 
We left the hospital. Went back to Mulder's place and I made him tea.
And we talked. Listened. Sat.
I was wearing my new green sweater. He caught the hem between thumb and
forefinger, playing with the knit. Sleepy and comfortable, I watched,
letting it be one of those slow moments, letting it be what it was.
"I like this colour on you." He reached to brush hair from my face. "It
brings out your eyes."



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


MULDER



She fell asleep on my couch. Funny how the thought of her ever having
been somebody else's could shoot such fear into my heart. The
possibilities, the hundreds or thousands of choices that could have led
to her being somewhere else. But she chose her life to be with me. I
think she could see how grateful I was. 
I wanted her to stay. Not because I expected anything to happen but
because I knew from what she had said that she'd had a long few days
and I wanted her to sleep through the night. And though I sensed they
had been an emotional few days, I wasn't worried any more, and I felt
confident as I scooped her up in the rug and carried her to my bedroom
that I had no ulterior motive.
A goodnight kiss dropped on her forehead, I wouldn't have dared had she
been awake. I got away with things like that when she was vulnerable,
but I knew to back off once she got her strength back. I was about to
leave her to sleep when she stirred, a hand reaching out, her eyes
fluttering open.


"Mmm-"


I sat on the edge of the bed, letting her fingers find mine, interlock
with them. She gazed at me with a sleepy seriousness, watched our hands
playing, then she tugged me closer. I understood the invitation. I
kissed her. Her mouth welcomed me, warm and alive, drinking me in. She
tugged me closer, and I realised what was happening. 


"Scully..."


"Shhh."





She was gone in the morning. I searched for a note, some signal from
her, but there was nothing to indicate what sort of state of mind she
had left in. 


When I arrived at the office, she was already working. Didn't look up
at me, just held up a handful of files and said there were messages for
me on my desk. I stood for a long moment in the middle of the room,
waiting for her to look up, say something, but she didn't.


The next few days were excruciating. We talked about work, but she
seemed to studiously avoid all conversation that could lead into a
discussion of what had happened that night. I wasn't trying to press
the issue, but I couldn't ignore the bitter disappointment that she
seemed to want to keep half a room between us at all times. 


What now? I'd thought perhaps that night had been the beginning of
something, but it seemed we were just ignoring what had happened,
pretending it never had. Did she really want to go backward rather than
forward? The questions were killing me.



The fourth day. She'd barely been in the office thirty seconds when I
burst out with it.
"I'm going crazy, Scully."


She stopped. Pursed her lips. Leaned back against the wall and exhaled.
"Mulder..."


"You left! You didn't say a word. You've just left me wondering. I
don't know if you're just pretending it never happened, or what."


"What am I supposed to say? Thanks for having me?"


"How about, 'Let's have breakfast'?"


"I couldn't, Mulder."


"Why not?"


"Because that's not who we are. And not what this is - whatever this
is. We're not just every other couple in a relationship and we're not
just friends who got drunk and had a one-night-stand. We're something
else. I don't know how to describe it exactly. But we're different. And
we can't just sit down and have breakfast and pretend otherwise."


"It's just breakfast, Scully. It's bacon and eggs - or in your case,
low-fat yoghurt and lite cream cheese on a bagel, or whatever the hell
it is you eat these days. It's sitting and reading a newspaper over
coffee."


"And then taking two separate cars to work?"


It dawned on me. "You're worried about what people will think?"


"Of course I'm worried about what people will think! I'm worried about
you losing the X-files."


"They won't take the X-files away from me because of us."


"No, but there may not be an us."


"You're saying they'll split up our partnership?"


"Think about it, Mulder. Fast forward beyond the next week. Where have
we got to go from here? What do we become? Do we live together and work
together? Or do we spend the rest of our lives sneaking around? Best
case scenario is they reassign me. Worst case scenario is they use this
opportunity to break up the X-files. I won't let them do that."


"They don't need to know."


"They already know everything else about us. How long do you think it
would really take them to figure it out? One phone call from Skinner in
the middle of the night, one overheard conversation..." She sighed,
blue eyes meeting mine honestly. "It's not that I don't want to,
Mulder. But we can't. You know that."



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
 
SCULLY


It was a sinking feeling inside me from that first cough. I'd already
been imagining what the symptoms of the infestation might be, how it
might be recognised, what it would feel like as the eggs hatched in the
lungs, and when Mulder began to cough I had an immediate, surreal sense
 of discovering that it was in fact just as I had hypothesized. 


I couldn't believe that he might die. Of course, the danger, the
reality of it was right in front of me, and medically I was all-too
aware of how risky it was, that he had little chance of survival unless
we found a cure. But I couldn't quite comprehend that after everything
we had survived together, Mulder could be brought down by something so
deceptively innocent. And that I, the doctor, might not be able to save
him. This was my field, my experience. Of all the close encounters we
had had with death, this should have been the one I could stop.


He knew how serious it was. I held his hand, wanting that contact with
him, not really knowing how to put into words all the things I wanted
to say. Wondering how I could have been so stupid as to worry about
next week, next month, about something so petty as Skinner finding out
about us, when all that mattered was his life. I wanted Mulder, joking
around, getting intense and passionate, being overprotective of me. I
didn't care if that was in the bureau or watching a video on my couch,
it was just about having him in my life, because I couldn't imagine my
life without him. And surely all these experiences we'd had should have
taught us one thing - to stop worrying about the future and simply
seize the moment.


Nicotine. We shot him full of it, and the poison acted as a sort of
insecticide-chemotherapy, killing the tobacco beetles. I sat beside
him, squeezing his hand, talking to him about the treatment. All I
wanted was to climb up alongside him, hold him close, feel his chest
move and listen his heart. Maybe he saw that in my eyes because he gave
me a weak smile, lifting his hand to touch my face. I know.


He recovered. Sometimes it felt like we spent more time in between
cases, recovering from injury and near-death, than we did actually at
work or on the road. It was good down time for him. Not that he ever
stopped working - every morning there was a call, him asking me to take
him a certain book or a certain file, and I'd drop by at lunch time or
after work or both with whatever it was he'd asked for. I'd pick up
treats for him, too - a case file that sounded interesting, the latest
issue of one of his UFO magazines, or whatever it was that crossed my
path and reminded me of him. If nothing else, it was a story from my
day, another agent I had encountered, a report that had come across my
desk, a case I had checked out. 



We went to Hollywood for the film premiere. It was absolutely
mortifying. Mulder was more than humiliated, I knew. He was hurt, to
see a mockery made of what we did, of us. I thought the whole thing was
awful, but maybe my skin had thickened because somehow I was able to
shrug it off, talk him back into a good mood to match my own. Maybe it
was the surreal nature of it all, the film sets, the extravagant hotel
that awaited us, the thousands of miles between us and the rest of our
lives.


He'd loosened the bow tie and the top few buttons. We were walking
along, still hand in hand, and I came to a stop, facing him, reaching
on tip-toes to kiss him lightly. I was happy. I was giggly. I was in
the mood to enjoy his company, to hell with all else. 
"You know, Mulder, you're much better looking than Garry Shandling."


He laughed, but the gaze that studied my face was still serious.
"Scully, only weeks ago you told me we couldn't pursue this..."


I knew it, but somehow all those logical, rational reasons, seemed
foolishly unimportant. With living, breathing Mulder next to me and
excitement bubbling in my veins, I felt as though I could face
anything, that I wouldn't let them take anything away from me, not
without a fight. 


"Just kiss me, Mulder."



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


MULDER


Her movements woke me, weight of the mattress shifting as she left the
bed, pulling the white hotel bathrobe around her nakedness. I reached
out and caught her arm to stop her.


"Hey, is it morning?"


"Almost seven. I'm having a shower."


I almost refused to release her, wishing that she would come back,
slide between the covers and we could lie there, bodies close and limbs
entangled, but I sensed a reluctance on her behalf to stay, so I let
her go.


I was in my boxers when she emerged from the bathroom, pinstripe skirt
and equally black shirt, her hair wet from the shower. I held out a
bagel.
"Room service. Cream cheese, just the way you like them."


"Let me dry my hair first."


It felt like a brush off. I didn't know whether to take the hint and
get out of there, or what. I didn't like that she felt she had to be
fully dressed to be able to face me, when only six hours earlier...


She plugged the hairdryer in and switched it on. I approached her
cautiously, studying her face as it was reflected in the mirror. She
caught sight of me and paused mid-action, watching as I slipped my arms
around her from behind, kissing her neck. Her expression sank my gut,
and I drew back slightly.


"You think we made a mistake."
It was very possible. We'd both been drinking last night. Not drunk,
but definitely tipsy enough to ignore that voice of reason. Well, no.
I'd still heard that voice of reason, and the alcohol combined with a
smiling Scully looking somehow both very cute and very sexy in that
black dress had been enough motivation to push it aside. I'd told
myself to seize the moment and deal with the fallout later, which was
either a very smart or very stupid solution. I was starting to wonder
if it would be the latter. And yet, in the big picture, this was what
we both wanted, I was sure of it. I didn't understand why we were
complicating it so much.


"No."


"What, then?"


"I think it's Monday and we have to fly back to DC and go back to
work."


"What does that mean?"


"It means exactly that, Mulder." She gave me a gentle push. "Go get
dressed and pack. I'll book us some flights."



Back to DC and back to the ambiguous awkwardness between us. Occasional
hints from her that gave me hope. Smiles, fleeting touches, unexpected
leniency when I did something stupid, random acts of kindness.


Home from another case. We got back just after midnight. I followed her
into her apartment, tossing myself down on the couch, hoping she'd let
me crash there for the night. I watched as she moved around the
apartment, slipping her jacket on a hanger, kicking off her shoes,
checking her plants, her answer machine. 
"C'mere, Scully." I reached out, catching her round the waist as she
walked past and tugging her down onto the couch with me. 


She struggled against me. "Mulder... It's late, I want to get to bed."


"Just stay here for a minute. One minute, Scully. That's all I ask."


She wriggled enough to turn to face me, looking annoyed. "Why?"


It was typical Scully reluctance, but it frustrated me no end. I didn't
understand why she was so determined to hold out against me, and then
on those occasions when she did give in, refused to acknowledge it.
"Because I don't just want to be the guy you turn to when you want to
get laid."


She pulled right back from me. I watched her stiffen, draw her arms
around her. A flash of something on her face, as if she couldn't decide
if she was angry or knew I was right. 


"That's not what it is, Mulder," she managed finally.


"That's what it feels like."


"Well, it's not. You should know that."


"I don't know anything, Scully! You don't tell me."


"And you talk to me??"


I felt my insides sink. This wasn't how I'd wanted this night to go.
"What do you mean?"


She shook her head. "Forget it."


"No, tell me. I can't fix it if I don't know what I'm doing wrong."


"Go home, Mulder."



I left. I got as far as my car before turning back, but it took me
almost ten minutes to get back to her door. I stood debating whether it
was stupider to stay or to go. I'd barely put my fist to the door to
knock when it swung open before me. She stood there in her white
bathrobe, hair tucked behind her ears, looking so young and vulnerable
but her eyes meeting mine evenly.
I didn't understand exactly what it was that I'd done wrong, and I
didn't know what she expected me to do about it. But I felt, somehow,
as though she felt there was a distance between us, and I wanted to
close that. I wanted to give us a chance to do things the right way.


I took her face in my hands, and I kissed her. Gently. No expectations.
Smoothed her cheekbones with my thumbs. Wanting to smooth away the
trouble I saw in her eyes.


Again. This time, she responded. Hand on my arm, the other going to my
chest. 


I hadn't planned on it going any further. In fact, I didn't think it
should, at least not without something made clear. I pulled back. "Can
we talk about this? Without fighting?"


A nod, and she drew back to let me pass.




I woke just before dawn, needing to pee. When I came back to the bed,
she stirred. I slid in between the still-warm sheets, beside her,
drawing her close, wrapping myself around her.


A murmur from her. "Your hands are cold."


"Sorry."


Her hands found mine, rubbing them to warm them. I caught them,
interlocking my fingers with hers, laying them on her stomach. It'd
forgotten the warmth of a shared bed. 
She seemed content against me, relaxed. I nudged my chin against her
shoulder, loving having her in my arms. "Sleep, Scully."



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


SCULLY



He was gone when I woke up. I lay there for a long minute, wondering if
he'd gone, before I heard the kettle in the kitchen. He was making
breakfast. 


"Hey." I'd pulled on his discarded shirt, the closest thing I had found
by the bed. Intentionally, maybe. Wanting him to see me in it.


"Oh, hey, I didn't want to wake you." He swung around, sweeping up the
two slices of toast that had just popped from the toaster, and dropping
them onto matching plates. "Breakfast d'Mulder. Go back to bed, I'll
bring it in."


"It's past eight. I should get ready for work."


"We'll be late already. Might as well enjoy it."


I didn't agree with him, but I understood that I needed to prove my
motivations to him, and this was what it took. So I climbed back onto
the bed, let him bring in the tray, like a little boy bringing a
mother's day breakfast-in-bed. 


"Nice shirt." He scooted up beside me and touched the collar, smiling. 


I took the cup of coffee he offered me, wrapping my hands around its
warmth. So absolutely content with him, but somehow, at the same time,
I couldn't bring myself to reach out. Those simple lover's touches that
had come so easily in past relationships just didn't seem right.


He noticed. 


"There's still something, isn't there? Your guard goes up, straight
away." He was frowning in thought, playing with his lower lip. "It's
like you don't trust me."


"It's not that I don't trust you, Mulder. It's because I don't think
you trust me."


Pure astonishment. "What?! Scully!"


"You don't treat us as a team, Mulder. You let me tag along most of the
time, but when you've got an idea or when you're really hurting, you
take of by yourself. How do you expect me to depend on you when I don't
feel the action is reciprocated?"


"You think I'm going to let you down?"


"You do." I knew the news was going to hurt him but it had to be told.
"You do it all the time."


And he was hurt. I could see it in his eyes. I wondered for a moment if
he was going to get angry and leave. He looked almost as though he was
considering the option, but he didn't take it.


"You have to trust me," I said quietly.


"I do."


"No, you have to trust me completely. I can't spend my whole life
trying to keep up with you, Mulder. You have to tell me what's going
on. If you want us to have this -" I gestured around the room -"then
you have to be just as honest with me about everything else. We can't
do this, otherwise. We can't face everything else if we're not in this
one hundred percent. I need to know you won't run from me when things
get painful. You need to come to me."


He frowned, as if he almost didn't understand me. "This is about what
happened with my mom?"


"It's about a lot, Mulder. I'm here and sometimes I just don't think
you even see me. I'm not just there to get the lunch and do the
autopsies. It needs to be an equal partnership."


A nod, still with that frown. 


I reached out for his hand, squeezed it. "Meet me in the middle,
Mulder."



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


MULDER


The genie case. The invisible body disappeared. She was absolutely
deflated. I felt for her, shared her disappointment, but mostly I was
just enchanted. I had never seen Scully so excited before, and I hoped,
wished, that somehow it was because of us. That the things that had
happened between us had allowed her to open up. It was good to see her
happy. And in the green sweater, nothing less. It had been missing for
a few weeks, and I wondered if maybe she had stopped wearing it because
of the night she associated with it.


Beer and popcorn and a movie at my place. She was still relaxed, in
that delightfully whimsical, girlish way. 


What's the occasion? You.


We watched the movie, laughed. I could tell she relaxed, was getting
sleepy. She shifted to draw her feet up under herself and I seized the
opportunity, sliding my arm around her, tugging her just that little
bit closer, rubbing my thumb along her shoulderblade. 


The movie ended. I switched off the TV and then came back to the couch,
nudging her aside so that I could stretch out, opening my arms to
encourage her to do likewise. She did, surprisingly. Didn't protest,
didn't pull away, just stretched out alongside me, back into my chest,
tucked under my chin so I could breathe in her shampoo. Close, fitting,
my arms around her. I didn't need or want to talk. I didn't want to get
more physical. I just wanted to lie there with her, feel her warmth,
feel as though we'd reached a sort of stability, an understanding. 


"Mm... I'm going to fall asleep," she murmured, without any negligible
concern in her voice.


"Does that matter?"


"No."


We could have moved to the bed, but I didn't want to break the magic.
Neither did I want either of us to feel obliged to do anything other
than sleep. 


I kissed the top of her head, comfortable despite the uncomfortability
of the couch. "Night, Scully."



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


SCULLY


Vertigo. It was the third or fourth time in a matter of days, and the
unexplained nature of it was starting to frighten me. My medical mind
had far too many suggestions of what it could be, none of them good,
the possibilities more frightening than the occurrences themselves.


My feet took my to his door. He drew me in, tucked me into the bed,
wrapped himself around me. Everything I wanted and needed him to do,
quietening the roar in my mind. All I wanted right then and there was
to trust him, and he didn't fail. 


"It has to end, sometime." Even though in some ways it had always been
coming, his spoken words made my stomach sink. Like an inevitable
breakup, I still fought instinctively against it. Wanting to tell him,
no, I won't give up of what we have, I won't let them take it. To
imagine - life without the x-files? A horrifying prospect. But the
alternative, life without Mulder?


He buried his face in my neck, kissed me again. "I'm here."


The most reassuring two words in the human language, when spoken by
him. 


I didn't what our partnership to end. And yet, I knew it alone wasn't
enough for me. I wanted a physical relationship, too. I didn't want to
be alone the rest of my life. I wanted somebody to come home with and
wake up with. I wanted that person to be Mulder, but it couldn't be,
not so long as we worked together. But it could never be someone else -
I couldn't divide myself between two men, and I didn't want to. So I
could hold on to what we had, the working partnership, and be left
forever wondering - knowing, even - what I was missing out on. Or I
could take the chance, trusting that the best was yet to come. It was a
decision I'd faced before - when I left Corey, when I left medicine to
join the FBI.


I rolled over in his grip, wanting to face him. Studying his face,
wondering if I was prepared to commit myself fully to this complicated
man with all his intensities and idiosyncrasies.


I caught his hand in mine, squeezing it. Understanding that we had to
let go of something. But not everything. Not this. Not who we were and
what we meant to each other. That was what we were going to have to
hold on to.


What I could have missed...


Yes.



fin.



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The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear?
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