TITLE: Something Challenging AUTHOR: aRcaDIaNFall$ FEEDBACK: arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au RATING: PG SPOILERS: None, but drawing slightly from Revelations, Never Again, and other episodes. CLASSIFICATION: AU, MSR/UST SUMMARY: Sequel to These Ungodly Hours. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I only just discovered the existence of Haven forums (thanks Inya!) and had a great time exploring there. So a warning to all those who post there - I now walk among you!! *evil laughter* But seriously, I'll be checking it out so if you want to talk about the fic (ie. yell insults, threaten stalking, offer strawberries and cream, etc.) I'll be around. :) --> http://www.geocities.com/arcadianfalls/ - new guestbook now up! Something Challenging (1/2) by arcadianfalls March '96 - Sunday, 2 days later 9.33am. Clang of the gate, jingle of the guard's keys, two sets of footsteps echoing along the corridor. I stood, stretching, numb from sitting on the cold aluminium bench. History repeats itself. Her day off, but no jeans and sweater in sight. Instead, slacks, turtleneck, and tailored jacket. She stood beside the beefy guard, arms folded, watching as he fitted the key in the lock and slid the cell door open, letting me slip past. Pulling my jacket on, I gave her a sheepish grin. "Hey, Scully." She smiled slightly, despite herself. "I'm not going to ask." Early in the morning, but the paperwork still took forever. "Looks like yet again I've saved your butt," she remarked, standing by as my release was processed. Before I could comment on the gentle sarcasm of the statement, her face suddenly contorted and she sneezed violently, twice. I looked at her closely in the natural light of the bullpen, and realised something. "You look terrible." "I think the usual response is 'bless you'," she mumbled, shaking herself a little after the last sneeze. Her nose and eyes were red, her face swollen, cheeks burning pink. "You're sick." "I'm fine." "You should go home to bed." A look. "I *was* home in bed." Oh. I grinned sheepishly. "Sorry." A tired shrug. "I couldn't leave you here, could I?" My wallet, celphone, keys and two holstered weapons were returned. Forms were signed. We stepped out into the bright morning and I squinted. She dug for her keys. "Am I driving you home?" "I'm driving you home." I could get a cab from there. "Mulder..." "No arguing." I grabbed the keys from her hand. She shrugged in surrender. Must be sick. "Where did you park?" I saw a slight smile her lips as she watched me readjust the driver's seat. Keys in the ignition, and I eased out of the parking lot, onto the road. She was looking at me. "So, where's your car?" "You don't want to know." A raised eyebrow. "That bad?" "New Jersey." "You're right, I didn't want to know. I thought I told you not to do anything crazy." I smiled. Down but not out. "You didn't call me." "I did call you. You weren't home. Why is your car in New Jersey?" "Impounded." "What did you do?" "Parked in a no parking zone." "Don't you have some sort of special permit for that?" "Not in New Jersey, apparently. Or at least, it doesn't apply when I've stopped off for coffee." "So, why couldn't you just get your car out of impound?" "Impound lot was closed on the weekend." "You're kidding." "It's a crazy world out there." "So you just left your car there?" "What can I say? I thought I'd fly back, anyway. I'm fickle." "You're certifiable." I grinned. "Can I tell you what I was doing in New Jersey?" "Let me guess. Chasing UFOs? Exposing government conspiracies?" "Who's telling this story?" "Sorry." She gestured. "Go ahead." "There was a reported case of stigmata, a young woman named Kayleen Rogers, exhibiting the wounds of Christ, bleeding from her hands, her feet, her side. By all accounts, this was the real deal." "And you went to see for yourself. What did you find?" "I didn't. The woman had disappeared, apparently into thin air, which led credence to my suspicion that it was a hoax." "You don't believe in stigmata?" "Most are exposed as hoaxes." "That's not what I asked." "I think it's possible for people to believe something so obsessively that they physically manifest such symptoms, but I don't believe that in any way they're a sign from God." I glanced at her. "What do you think?" A moment's hesitation, then she shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't really studied stigmata, not since high school." I saw that she was toying with the gold cross hanging on the chain around her neck. I'd noticed it before, but not really considered its symbolism. What did she believe? What drove her, challenged her? "I'll lend you a book on it," I quipped. "Real page-turner." A small smile, then she sneezed again. "Bless you," I said diplomatically, remembering her earlier comment. That gained me another smile. We reached an intersection. "Left or right?" "Left, then left again at the third street." A pause. "So, did you find the woman?" "Maybe." Tolerant skepticism. "Either you did or you didn't." "Well, we found her, hiding out in a motel a few miles away. The manager tipped us off after he saw her on the local news. But she got away again." "She ran away?" "Literally. Run down neighbourhood. She bolted when she saw us pull up outside the motel. She moved fast. Disappeared into an alley and I lost her." "If she ran, that would suggest that it's a hoax," she said slowly. "She's avoiding capture because closer examination would reveal her to be a fraud." "The blood-soaked towels and handprints and footprints over the motel room suggest otherwise." She looked at me, curious, wondering. "Her blood?" "Preliminary tests say so." She was looking out the window. "Slow down. My place is just on the left, here." I pulled up to the curb as directed and turned the engine off. Looking across at her, I found her gazing at me, considering me. "Did you interview anybody as to her mental state?" "No masochistic leanings, as far as close family and friends know. However, they reported that since the wounds first appeared, Kayleen has been moody and edgy, as if under enormous stress." "Nervous breakdown, maybe." "That's what I thought." "So I guess this isn't really one of your 'x-files', is it?" "Well," I countered, "we won't know anything for sure until she's found. There's an APB out on her and her family's still searching. They'll have to find her eventually." "How badly was she bleeding? She may need medical attention." I nodded. "The hospitals are on alert. Soon as they hear anything, I'm going back." A small smile. "So you haven't given up, yet?" "Give up? Never." I reached for my door handle. "Come on, I'll walk you up to your apartment." "I can manage, Mulder." "Do you know how stubborn you're being?" "I'm not being stubborn, I'm being independent." "You're being stubborn." She held my gaze. "I'm going straight back to bed." I smiled. "I'll tuck you in." She led me up to her apartment, taking the keys from my hand and letting us in. It was bigger than my apartment, comfortably decorated. Very IKEA. I saw a cardboard box on the kitchen table, half-filled with CDs, books, and a few framed photos. A closer peek at the photos showed two smiling faces. "Exorcising the ex?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't ask." Shrugging off her jacket, she tossed it over the back of the couch. She kicked off her shoes and dropped the keys on a side table. Then she stopped, turning to look at me. An awkward silence. "How are you feeling?" "Tired," she admitted. She didn't like being ill, I thought. She didn't like feeling powerless. "Sore. Headachey." I took a few steps closer, laying a briefly hand on her forehead. "You're burning up." She half-shrugged. "There's a mild strain of the flu going around. I'll be fine. I just need some rest." I grinned guiltily. "Sorry I dragged you out of bed." Another half-shrug. My cue to leave. I backed up a few steps. "I'll let you get back to it. Thanks for springing me." Tired, ironic smile. "Any time." I was at the door when she called out, "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "You were in New Jersey. How did you end up in a lock-up in Alexandria?" "That's a whole other story." "Tell me." I grinned, unable to resist the tease. "I'll tell you later." "Mulder!" "What happened to you going straight to bed?" She didn't have an answer to that. She drew a breath, and met my gaze evenly. "Call me." I nodded. "Absolutely." 1.42pm. She picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" Her voice sounded muffled, disoriented. Had I just woken her up? "Hey Scully, it's me." "Mulder?" "Who else?" "If you're about to tell me you're back in the lock-up..." Warning in her voice. "You think I'd do that to you?" "I wouldn't be surprised." She sounded distinctly grumpy. "You told me to call you." "I didn't mean today." "Then you'll have to be more explicit in future." "You know, my brother would love to beat you up." I smiled. "Are you always like this in the morning?" "I only just managed to get to sleep." "So what you're really trying to say is that I'm being a pain in the ass today." "Something like that." "And I don't get any brownie points for calling to check you were doing okay." "None at all." "Am I allowed to ask how you're feeling?" "No." "Lousy, huh?" "Worse." "I'll let you go back to sleep, then?" "Smart idea." "Sleep tight, Scully." A grunt of a reply and she hung up. I returned the receiver to its cradle and pushed my chair back from the desk, putting my feet up with a grin. What a wonderful, stubborn mind. What a challenge. 6.21pm The front door was unlocked. After knocking and getting no answer, I took the plunge and let myself in. The keys were still on the side table where she'd left them, though her jacket and shoes were gone from sight. Fastidiously tidy, I remembered. You could tell. Everything was impeccable. I heard voices floating down the hall and stopped. Somebody else was here. Who? "Scully?" I called cautiously. More murmuring, then a guy appeared in the hallway. He was my age, I guessed. I recognised him immediately. So the ex was back... I grinned sheepishly, suddenly very aware of the takeout cartons in my hands. "I just came to check on -" I hesitated "...Dana." The guy stared, obviously none too pleased by my presence. He sized me up for a second and I wondered what he made of my broken nose and slowly fading black eye. "She's trying to rest." I hesitated, not knowing whether to insist or not. But Scully seemed to solve that problem for me, appearing behind him, pulling on a robe over blue satin pajamas. Her hair was a mess and she ran her hands over it, trying to smooth it down, as she saw me. She didn't look much better than before. "Mulder..." Another sheepish grin. "Hi. I thought you might be hungry, so.." I held up the cartons. She nodded. "Thanks." A small smile, which disappeared again as she realised the ex was still standing beside her. "Oh, Mulder... Fox Mulder, Greg Barrows. Greg is an orthopedic surgeon at DC General. Mulder is an FBI agent." I revised my estimation as we shook hands. Definitely three or four years old than me, at least. How old was Scully? A few years younger than me. "FBI, huh?" "Yeah." I smiled tightly. Silence. Scully broke the silence. "I'll put the takeout in the kitchen." She moved forward, but as she reached to take the cartons from me she faltered, falling back a little with a hand to the side of her face. I caught her arm. The ex caught the other. She managed to get her balance. "No, I'm okay. I just got dizzy for a second. I'm okay." Her protests didn't get her very far. He hustled her back to the bedroom and insisted on checking her over, sitting on the edge of the bed as he quizzed her on her symptoms. She was getting irritated, I saw, but enduring it. I stood by the doorway, awkward, refusing to leave before I got to talk to her one-on-one. She nodded obediently at his instructions and thanked him for his concern. He seemed to get the message. He leaned across her to drop a kiss on her cheek, murmuring a goodbye, then stood, nodding at me in frosty acknowledgement before leaving the room. Silence. She gave me a quick, embarrassed smile. "Sorry about that." "Hey," I grinned, trying to ease the discomfort between us. "Your friends are my friends, right?" "I didn't know he'd drop through. We haven't seen each other weeks. I hate being fussed over." I moved closer, sitting cautiously at the end of her bed. "What's that they say about doctors making the worst patients?" "You think he's bad, you should meet my mother." I smiled, imagining a woman tough enough to have raised Dana Scully. Glancing around, I saw a vase of pink roses by the bed. "Those from him?" "From Greg? Yeah." She sounded a little breathless, uncertain. "This is the guy that was going to propose, right?" I checked. "The one from the photos?" She dropped her gaze to the blankets, brushing off imaginary dirt. "I don't really want to talk about it, Mulder." "Why not?" I gazed at her keenly. "Having regrets about breaking it off?" "Sometimes it's nice to be taken care of," she admitted. "Taken care of but not fussed over?" She smiled. "Yeah, I know. Pretty hard balance to strike." She glanced across at the flowers. "I don't know what he was thinking." "You don't like roses?" "I don't like pink. I thought he knew that." She half-shrugged. "That aside... He's such a gentle guy. Smart, funny, handsome... What's wrong with me?" "You mean, what if you made a big mistake?" "He's still interested," she pointed out. "I kinda got that." "He still cares about me." "You made the decision and you were happy with it, right?" "I guess." She reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, taking a sip. "You never told me he was a doctor." "I never told you anything about him." She put the glass down again, resettling herself up on the pillows, hugging the covers around her knees. "Are you surprised that he's a doctor?" "No. Not really. It makes sense." "Makes sense?" she queried. "You build bonds with people through common interests, through understanding and respect for their work. Your relationships are on an intellectual level, not just a physical or emotional one." "You think that?" I nodded. "Then what about you and I?" I smiled. "I appeal to the rebel in you." She was amused by that. "You do, do you?" "I do. That's what attracted you, at first. Then, we got to talking, and you were amazed by my wit and charm." "And the intellectual respect comes in where?" "Did I mention I was a psychologist?" "Once or twice." She half-smiled, and I could see the fatigue and discomfort on her face. "You want me to go now, let you get back to sleep?" She shook her head. "No. Keep me company." I was surprised at the invitation. In our previous encounters she'd been pushing me away, deflecting any comments that got personal. Now she seemed less wary, more open to contemplation. "Greg's safe," she admitted. "Right now, feeling like this... I want the security, I guess." "You don't think I can be safe?" I wondered aloud. She half-smiled. "You risk your life almost every day." "And I guess that doesn't really qualify me as a safe haven, then?" Still that small, almost regretful smile. "Not really." "I can take care of you, though. If you want." She looked at me analytically. "You don't really want to be here." "Why do you say that?" "You don't like being around illness. It frightens you." "Frightens me?" "Because it can take away somebody you love, and you can't kill it with that -" She gestured to my sidearm. "Or handcuff and imprison it." I raised an eyebrow. "You've only got the 'flu, right?" I joked. She half-smiled. "You're doing it again." "Doing what?" "Using humour to avoid emotions." I acknowledged that with a nod, watching as she rearranged herself again, curling up on her side. I moved closer, tugging the covers up over her and sitting on the edge where Greg had sat. "If you want me to stay, I don't mind." She nodded. "Stay for a while." We didn't talk any further. There was something challenging about the silence. We'd parried, teased, questioned and answered, but we hadn't just sat together in silence for more than a minute or two. The constant conversation had yielded a wealth of information about each other and established a strong rapport, but had also kept the relationship on that intellectual plane, not allowing it to venture closer physically or emotionally. We'd both done that intentionally, I thought. We were both wary of putting ourselves on the line. Those beautiful blue eyes were on me, watchful. In the silence, I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. Not lifting her head from the pillow, she smiled, returning the squeeze. Getting sleepy. Her eyes scanned my face, curious, wondering, absorbing. Her thumb ran over my knuckles. She yawned, her eyelids fluttered. I laid the heel of my hand on her forehead. Still warm, though not as bad as before, I thought. I smoothed her hair down, then retracted my hand. "See," I murmured, smiling. "I can be safe." Almost out of it, she gave me a brief smile. "Mmmh. You're doing okay." 2.41am. Wide awake as I was, the knock at the door still startled me. Stretched out on the couch, I contemplated getting up for only a second before I called out, "It's open." Craning my neck, I saw the knob turn and door swing inward. The sight alone was enough for me to swing myself around and get to my feet. "Scully..." She smiled, sheepish. Same pants and turtleneck from this morning. "I was feeling better and just had to get out of the house." "It's nearly three a.m." "Yeah. It is." "You know, that's a crazy sort of thing to do." "I know. "I think I'm rubbing off on you." "I think you might be," she agreed. She looked much better now, more colour in her face, her eyes sparkling. I was both glad to have this lively fencing partner back and sorry to see the quieter, more vulnerable one go. She stood, surveying the room. The TV was on but only to provide background noise. My book on the occult and my mug sat on the coffee table, as well as a pile of sunflower seeds and discarded shells. "So this is the famous couch," she remarked, gazing at it. I gestured. "My couch is your couch." We sat at either end, facing each other. Not so much wanting distance but rather wanting to see each other, face to face. She sat curled up, shoes kicked off, feet under her. "So, tell me the story." "What story?" "Jail? Alexandria?" "Ahhhhh..." I grinned. "I thought you would have forgotten about that." A look. Get on with it, Mulder. "Where did I leave off?" "You found the motel room with bloody prints all over the place and your car was impounded because you parked illegally, though not necessarily in that order." "Right." "So...? "Why was I in Alexandria? Great bars around here." "Mulder.." "I got a call from some friends who had traced a hacker known as Jeremy Lonsdale to an address in Alexandria. About three blocks from here, actually." "Wait..." She was trying to get it straight. "This has absolutely no connection to Kayleen Rogers?" "Nope." "Right. And what's so special about this guy?" "He's selling government secrets to the highest bidder. We've been trying to track him down for months. He's been moving around the country, holing up in motels and rented rooms, never in one place for more than forty-eight hours." "What sort of government secrets?" "You ever heard of the MJ12 documents?" "You're kidding me, right?" She grinned, obviously amused by the suggestion. "And what, this hacker has information about the government - *our* government, the government you *work* for - hiding proof of the existence of aliens? Mulder, do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?" "What's that they say? It's crazy but it's true." She just shook her head. "So, you went to the address, what happened?" "There was no Jeremy Lonsdale at that address, only a very pissed off middle aged couple with a nasty watchdog and irritable neighbours." "What did you do to irritate them? Turn up at the front door at three am?" "Not exactly the front door." Her eyes widened. "You went into the house? Without a warrant?" I shrugged, embarrassed. "Seemed like a good idea at the time." "So you were arrested for trespassing? That's all?" "What were you expecting, armed robbery?" She looked a little sheepish. "You kept me wondering... All this time I thought it was something death-defying, with explosions and car chases and jumping onto moving trains..." "Did I give you the impression that everything I do is so dramatic?" "Your medical file certainly did." "Then I'm sorry to disappoint." She smiled. "You seem to be juggling a lot of cases at once." I shrugged. "I keep myself busy." "What happened to that other case you were working on, anyway? The one you thought was a plesiosaur?" "They ran more tox screens and discovered all four victims had been poisoned with tetrachloroethylene." "Tetrachloroethylene?" she echoed, interested. "That's a solvent. We get teenagers in the ER with tetrachloroethylene poisoning after sniffing corrective fluid." "There's been several deaths linked to its use in coin-operated drycleaning machines. The amount of tetrachloroethylene in each body was more than a fatal dose." "They didn't pick this up in the first place?" I shrugged. "Sloppy investigation by local authorities." "So you're saying, what? These people died accidently?" "Exposed to high-level carcinogens. We managed to get an ID on the second body and traced it back to a laundromat near the coast, where the owner, a Mrs Emmeline McLeod, is apparently not above employing illegal immigrants or travellers with expired visas, her particular taste being men in their late-twenties to early-thirties." "How were they exposed?" "There was some sort of solvent spill at the laundromat when all four victims were present, all of them exposed. They all started getting sick, dying one by one. She panicked, and she and her ne'er-do-well brother decided to dump the bodies rather than admit negligence." "So, no plesiosaur." "Well, we still don't know what caused the bite marks." "But... That doesn't disappoint you?" "Disappoint me?" "Instead of a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow there was a crooked drycleaner and her brother." I shrugged, unable to help a smile at how fascinated she seemed by the cases. "There'll be other rainbows." I left her there for a moment, returning with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. She raised an eyebrow. "At three am?" Sitting down on the other end of the couch, I poured two glasses and passed one to her. "You're the doctor, Scully. You should know that it's good for you." An ironic smile. "So, what are we drinking to?" "What do you want to drink to?" She thought it over, eyes on my face, then stretched out her glass. "To future rainbows." I smiled, bringing my glass to hers. We both settled back, sipping the merlot. I watched her. "You sure you don't want to come follow them with me?" "Follow what?" "Rainbows." She eyed my shrewdly. "You're serious?" "You'd be great at it." "I already have a job, Mulder." "And you're great at that. I know that. But, if you wanted a change..." "I don't know. I like my job. And yours seems.. well, to be honest, I don't think I'd last a week." "Don't underestimate your strength. You'd handle it. You're amazing." She smiled despite herself. "You really want me there, don't you?" "I want somebody by my side who understands me like you do." A pause before she asked, "Aren't I at your side, right now?" "That's different." "How is that different?" "I need somebody to watch my back. Wouldn't you rather be there, take out the guy about to shoot me, rather than in the hospital taking out the bullet? Prevention rather than cure?" A small smile. "Risking my own life in the meantime." "We'd protect each other." "But there's still a risk. I don't know if I'd be willing to take that risk, walk into it. You almost died three years ago, Mulder. You've cheated death I don't know how many times since. You can't just pretend it isn't a dangerous job." "It is a dangerous job. I never tried to convince you otherwise." "I know," she agreed. "So why is it, then, that you still think I'd want a part of that?" "Because you believe in justice, and fairness, and defending those who can't defend themselves. You're strong and compassionate. You're loyal, and you're smart, and you've got an amazing, stubborn mind." She smiled. "I think that's what you like best about me. I'm a challenge." "In the best way." I paused. "I need someone like you, Scully. I need somebody who'll make me work for the answers, who won't just let me bulldoze right through." I could see the doubt in her eyes. "It's a big decision to make, Mulder." "I know." I'd been pushing hard, I knew, trying to get my message across. I didn't want her to feel pressured into it. "I just think you'd be great, that's all. I think we'd be great." She half-shrugged, that small, confiding smile returning. "I don't think we're doing so bad, as things are." A pause as she took another sip. She seemed to decide we were leaving that topic for the moment. "How long have you been working on the x-files?" "Six years, now." "What about before that?" "Behavioural science. Profiling." "What was that like?" "Getting into the mind of a psychopath every day? A nightmare. Soul destroying." "Sounds like you were too good at it." "I was. I had to get out. Finding the x-files was like being suddenly set free. They revived me, restored me." She gazed at me, curious. "But you must still do it, when you meet somebody. Size them up, try to understand who they are and where they're coming from." "We all do." "But you in particular, with your training... You must see things most people don't. You look beneath the surface. You've done it for me." I watched her closely. "You want to know what I know about you, aside from what you've already told me? What I've learned from watching you, listening to you?" She hesitated for a long second, then nodded. "Okay." I gazed at her, studying her, the curious, almost skeptical apprehension as she waited. "You're in your early thirties. Middle child, your parents had a strong marriage. Upper middle class, authoritarian and/or authoritative household, churchgoing, law-abiding citizens. Happy childhood, but some event early on which has made you particularly independent; moving often or losing a close influence. You worked hard at school, studied conscientiously. You always knew what you wanted to do in your life, as long as you can remember. A decision your parents approved of. You wanted to make them proud, but that approval is still not entirely enough to keep you satisfied with your chosen vocation. "You're independently minded, intelligent and logical. You eat healthily but rationally, not allowing yourself to be swayed by the latest health-food crazy but instead basing your decisions on your own judgement. You keep fit, mostly running or jogging. You'd rather take classes, such as self-defense, than work out in the gym, because in a gym you feel self-conscious and vulnerable to unwanted advances." I paused. "How am I going?" It seemed to take her a second to register the question. Strange to hear yourself described, I knew. She had to think it through. "Not bad," she allowed. "Keep going." "You're dedicated to your job, and your relationships suffer because of it. You've had a few serious boyfriends who you've slept with, but none have lived in, partially because of your work hours, and partially because of disapproval from your parents, who have tried to instill in you strict morals. You lose these relationships because you're unwilling to commit, not out of fear but because, consciously or subconsciously, they fail to meet the standards of your idealised relationship, which probably has its roots in a childhood attachment to your father or another dominant male figure. For this same reason, you attach yourself to older men, because of their power and maturity. They give you the approval you seek and this is satisfying at first, but then you struggle with the lack of freedom and independence you find in the controlling relationship." "I think we've already covered that." She was obviously a little unsettled by the dissection. This had put us on uneven footing, reduced her. The sooner that was rectified, I thought, the better. "Okay," I said quickly, "you tell me, now." "Tell you what?" "About me. Profile me." "Profile you?" "Come on. You said it yourself, everybody does it. Tell me what you see in me." I watched her draw a breath. She was taking up the challenge. "All right," she began slowly. "You're thirty-six, I know that from your chart. You're unmarried, no next of kin listed. You don't have anybody close to you, anybody who you trust well enough to go to. Your upbringing was difficult, I think. You don't talk about your parents. You put on a tough skin of sarcasm and cynicism but you feel things deeply. You're extremely intelligent, well educated, private schools. A good student, but you won't always conform to the rules. You like sport, basketball, maybe baseball, too - games that require athleticism and skill, not just brute force. You're passionate about your job, obsessive. Because you're alone you don't have anybody to pull you out when you get in too deep, and you don't give up easily, not when you know you're right. You take risks, not for the high but because you are so involved you're blinded to the danger..." She paused, looking up at me. "What do you think so far?" "Impressive." She smiled despite herself. Another sip of wine, then she continued, eyes on me. Slower, now, more tentative. "You've had serious girlfriends but not recently. You've given yourself completely to somebody and then been hurt badly by them, hurt so deeply that you don't let yourself trust anyone. You're trying to shut people out so you can't get hurt again, but at the same time you're desperate to trust somebody, to share your life with somebody. You have aquaintances but not friends, and you don't go out much. You spend a lot of time at home, by yourself. You feel very alone, sometimes." I shrugged. "Doesn't everybody?" "Not this badly." "What about you?" "I have friends at work. I see my family. I had Greg." "From what I saw this afternoon, it looks like you still have Greg, even if you don't want him." "He's a sweet guy," she acknowledged. "But I didn't want what he wanted. That seems to be the big problem I run into, really. The relationship gets more serious, they want more commitment - marriage, kids... Guess that's my fault, for choosing older men. They're looking to settle down. It's not that I don't want those things, but..." "Not with them?" "Something like that." She thought it over for a second, gazing into the dregs in her glass. "Sometimes I just want to give up on men all together." "That would be our loss." She smiled despite herself, wriggling closer to refill her glass. Glancing around, then her gaze returned to my face. "If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?" "Yankees World Series line-up," I answered flippantly. Another smile. "Be serious." "Okay, serious. Serious..." I mulled it over. "I'd be more careful." "Why?" "Because that's what you want. Because I don't want you to worry about losing me." She gazed at me for a long moment. "What are we, Mulder?" she wondered. I shrugged. "Whatever you want us to be." She pondered it. "We're friends." "I nodded." Eyes on my face, she pushed on. "Are we in a relationship?" "Yes." "Then why haven't you tried to kiss me, yet?" She asked the question curiously, in an almost detatched, scientific sort of way. I smiled. "I don't know. Maybe I respect you too much. Maybe I love talking with you so much I forget to." "You forget to?" she echoed, amused. She was smiling widely. I shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah. I do." We gazed at each other, considering. I wanted to kiss her, to know that body as well as I did that mind, but, paradoxically, that respect I had for her was holding me back. She was watching me, wondering, waiting. I had almost found the courage to move in when a shrill chirping cut between us. My cellular. Damnit... I rose and moved swiftly across the room to answer it. "Mulder?" It was Officer Brookes from New Jersey. They'd found Kayleen Rogers. She'd tried to kill herself, jumping from a tenth floor balcony, but she'd landed in a dumpster full of shredded papers and, miraculously, survived without a scratch. The wounds on her hands, feet and side had vanished. I thanked him and hung up, relaying the conversation to Scully. "It's a miracle she's still alive," she remarked. "You believe in miracles?" Her fingers instinctively sought the cross around her neck. She hesitated for a second, fingering it. "I was raised to believe with God anything is possible." "Do you believe she was really stigmatic?" She half-shrugged. "I can't say. I'd have to examine her to know conclusively." I grinned suddenly. "I have to go back there to collect my car. How about you come along? Special consultant to the FBI." She smiled. "You're not going to give up trying to get me onboard, are you?" "You said it yourself. I don't give up easily." She acknowledged it with a tilt of her head, then rose, slipping into her shoes. "I should probably head home, try to get some sleep." "Is that a yes or a no to my offer?" "I'll think about it." "Now who's teasing." She smiled. "You should get some sleep, too. I don't know how you survive." "Sometimes I don't know, either," I shrugged, following her as she headed to the door. She paused at the door, reading my face. "Take care of yourself." I nodded. "I'll try." I paused, memorising the beauty of her as she stood in the shadows. "Scully?" "Yeah?" "I don't want ours to be just another relationship for you." She shook her head. "It's not. It's different... very different, believe me. You're not safe, like Greg and the others." "Can you handle that?" "I think so." She looked me in the eye. "The question is, is it worth it?" "Worth it?" "You live for your work. I can see how much that means. The question is, how much can I matter to you?" I touched her arm lightly, ducked my head, and kissed her, very lightly, on the lips. Before she could respond, I pulled back, moving my hand to her face, cupping her cheek. No reason to rush. "One phone call and I picked you. That's got to mean something." She smiled. "I guess it does." She unlatched the door, stepping out into the corridor. "Goodnight, Mulder." "What about New Jersey?" "I told you: I'll think about it." "I'll call you." Another smile, ironic amusement. "No. I think after today, I'll call you." I grabbed a pen from the side table, and caught her hand in mine, holding it still as I neatly printed the digits. "This is my cellular number. I always keep it on. Call me any time, day or night." I finished writing and blew gently on her hand to dry the ink before letting her go. "Call. Let me know what you decide." She nodded, then rose to her tiptoes, planting a barely-there kiss on my cheek. "I will call." "I know that." "Goodnight, Mulder." "Goodnight, Scully." And I watched as she stepped into the elevator, and was gone. fin.