TITLE: "Beneath The Surface" (1/4)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

CATEGORY: S, A, MSR, MT
RATING: PG-13 for adult situations (more implied than
described) & med stuff
SUMMARY: Explanations for behaviour in the Beginning;
just what was going on in Mulder and Scully's minds?
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: "The Beginning" and the movie,
as well as "The End" and "Emily". Mention of other
earlier eps in passing.
NOTE: I have not seen The Beginning yet - in Australia we
don't get the sixth season until February. But I've read
the summaries and various opinions and had friends in the
US read this. I didn't want to have to wait a few more
months to get my opinions in! The only difference I made
to the story is that Mulder and Scully have been given a
small temporary office.

ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be
archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer
stay intact.
FEEDBACK: Love it.

DEDICATED TO: Kristina J, for cyber-dragging me through
this one. Thanks for your relentless enthusiasm!

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and
Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions
and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained.


The X-Files: "Beneath the Surface" (1/4)
By Ten, December 1998


He's dead.

He's lying in my arms and he's dead. Don't be dead,
Mulder. It's impolite. It's inconceivable.

I sit here with him in my arms and ice all around us and
he is dead. My arms don't believe my brain -they wrap
around him tight.

Proof, I need proof. I fumble my fingers out of these
long Mulder-coat sleeves and feel the morgue-coldness of
his neck. No pulse. I put my cheek to his mouth. No
breath.

He is dead. Mulder is DEAD.

There is a gaping hole in my heart, bigger than the
crater behind us. No - my heart is in my arms.

I am shaking. My chest hitches over and over. It is too
cold for me to cry.

The person I was the closest to, but whom I kept the most
distance from, is dead. I loved him. I've known for a
long time that I've loved him more than I would anyone
else, except my family, but that's in a different way.

My soulmate.

But the fear of losing him, of him dying on his quest, in
the line of duty...it kept me at a distance. *I* kept me
at a distance. It's nothing personal, Mulder, don't you
understand? It's me. Its always been me. Ever since I was
a little girl I've known that those I loved would die,
and I'd keep some of me from them, to save the pain when
the inevitable occurred.

Grandma and Pa Scully, my father, Missy, Queequeg,
Emily...though I didn't get to bond with her. It was hard
enough to comprehend that I was a mother, then she was
gone. I talked to the counselor about it; she says that
my confusion is perfectly natural, that I'm grieving for
my lost fertility. I'm upset that she died, angry at what
'They' did to her, but I didn't really know my daughter.

But you, Mulder. I knew you.

And realisation hits me, more blinding and painful than
the glare off the ice. In denying myself, in not letting
all of me become close to you, your death is worse to me
than the risk of loving you ever could have been.

I felt devastated after New Mexico, but those were the
early years, when our bond was strong but not quite deep
enough for me to realise it was evolving beyond the love
of friends. Or to accept.

What have I done?

I have always been a silent griever. You've seen that,
Mulder. You got a taste of it early on with the Boggs
case, when Ahab died. My sorrow consists of quiet sobs in
the night and behind closed doors; a blotchy flushed
face; long periods of staring out windows; and throwing
myself back into work the first chance I get, to bury
myself, to forget. A statue that moves, mute with sorrow.

But for you, Mulder, I scream.

I don't have much voice, and my throat is more pain than
flesh from the removal of that tube, but I scream. It
rings out and is swallowed up. I banshee-wail to the
world. I have no language. I have been reduced to the
wordless and barren dirge of thousands of women before
me. A primal echo.

He's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead

I have no voice, but I have no life, so that is fitting.
I keep screaming though.

I knew him, knew how much I loved him, but did he know
that? How could he?

He died for me. He gave his life. And I couldn't even
give him all of my love. All wasted... Stupid -

Noise. I am still making noise. No. It's...helicopters. I
stare at them in detachment as their sounds increase and
they come closer and closer, preparing to land.

Then I feel panic. They will take Mulder away from me.
They will cover him with a sheet, bag him up. They will
take me back to the world. Back to work. I don't want to
work. I just want to stay here with Mulder in my arms and
let the cold have us both. It can freeze us here,
together at last, inseparable, a statue in permanent
tribute to lost chances.

Wherefore art thou, Romeo? I will be there soon, God-
willing.

The copters land, contaminating our resting place. Have
they no respect for the dead? For my loss?

Men alight and run forward, yelling.

I clutch Mulder. My grip must be breaking his neck.

"Oh God!" one of the men blurts out as he gets close.

God? Is He around at the moment? I want to speak with
Him. Is this punishment for losing my cross? It wasn't
deliberate.

I glare at the intruder.

"It's all right, love. We're here to help."

My love is not all right, can't you see that?

The man bends down and examines Mulder. I allow this. But
if he tries to take my partner out of my arms, I won't
let him.

There are more men around us now. They're all talking at
once and I just want them to leave us alone.

Someone is trying to take Mulder. My "No!" is more a
short, guttural scream of outrage than a real word. I
practically pull Mulder into my ribcage.

"Love, it's okay. Let us take him. We've got stretchers
here."

They'll zip him up in a bag in the copter. "Don't touch
him. Leave us," I say, but I have no voice. My mouth
moves, nothing happens. "No body bag!"

The man frowns, catching a word here and there. "L- er,
ma'am...he's not dead."

I glare at him and his patronising. "I'm a doctor. I KNOW
dead. No pulse!" I mouth.

His frown deepens and he checks again. "He's as
hypothermic as all get out and he certainly WILL be dead
if we don't get him to the infirmary at base soon, but
he's still kicking!"

I shake my head. It's a cruel joke. "No PULSE!" I mouth
again.

The man grabs my hand. "Can you feel that?" he asks.

I look down and see that he's squeezing, but I can barely
feel it. My fingers are an interesting blue colour. I
blink.

"If you can't feel that properly, then how could you pick
up a pulse?"

Or how could I tell if Mulder was breathing? ...my cheek
is numb...too numb to feel...

Oh my God...

"HELP HIM!" I scream-croak, bundling Mulder at them.
Someone is putting a blanket around my shoulders, but I
bat it off. "Help HIM!" I try to surge to my feet, to
drag Mulder to the helicopter, but it is beyond me.

But Mulder is no longer beyond me. I have my second
chance.




I've been telling myself to breathe for the last ten
minutes, but my heart is still racing. So, 'dear diary',
I've opened you up in the hope that the rhythmic clicking
of the keys will soothe me, restore me to reality.

I don't want that nightmare again. Living it was bad
enough.

But if I pick up the phone and dial, he will answer. Even
though it is 3.41 in the morning, he will answer. He's
not dead.

I repeat that over and over in my mind, and my breathing
slows.

It is the first night that we've been apart since the
iceflow though, back in our own apartments, so I guess
the nightmare was part of some sort of separation
anxiety. I suppose I need the time apart from him to sort
things out... Not that there has been or will be much
time in the foreseeable future. Hospital in Antarctica.
Hospital in D.C. Extensive tests. All clear given. And
now that we're discharged, the FBI want answers and
reports. Now. Hearing tomorrow with Cassidy. I have to
present my preliminary report on what the hell we were
doing... There is a good chance they will fire us. But
Skinner will argue that we need more time to analyse the
evidence. The labs *lost* my blood sample before they
could get any results, so I won't have that for them. I
should really take the blood personally to the labs
(easily done, seeing as I'm carrying it in me) and do the
tests myself to make sure it isn't tampered with. To find
out what evidence the virus and the vaccine have left
behind.

Why am I going on about work? To avoid the issue that is
my partner and I? Our relationship.

He nearly kissed me. His lips just grazed...I didn't even
get to taste...

I've never liked bees.

When I woke up in an Antarctic base infirmary, I was on
my side, staring at a wall and door. I panicked. I tried
to turn over, praying that Mulder would be lying in a bed
just next to me. My body felt so weak and sluggish. The
sudden movements sent aches through my neck and throat
and stomach.

All of which were forgotten in mid-struggle when I caught
a glimpse of Mulder lying there. He was on his back, with
an oxygen cannula in place - something I was missing. His
eyes were closed. He looked very pale.

But he was here with me, not in the morgue. I tried to
read the numbers on the monitors surrounding him, but
their lights were too bright for my eyes.

I rolled completely onto my other side so I was facing
him and tried to lever myself up. I had no strength.
"Mulder..." Damn, I still had no voice either.

So I stretched my arm out. It immediately protested at
losing the support of the bed and felt like it would just
snap off and tumble to the floor. It came nowhere near
touching his bed. Or him. His arm was just there, lying
on the sheet. I could see it.

"Mnghp..." I grunted, and strained to reach out further,
trying to support my arm on its mission.

Suddenly a nurse was there in the space between our beds.
I blinked - I hadn't heard the door open. Then again, I
had been rather focused. She was smiling at me. I waved
my fingers desperately towards my goal.

/Please don't be heartless, please let me just.../ I
couldn't even get out a clear 'please', just pitiful
whining noises.

She didn't say anything. She just took my hand, supported
my arm and, with her other hand, took Mulder's limp hand
and placed it in mine. Relief nearly made me pass out.
She clasped her hands over our joined hands, letting me
hold on until I could no longer keep my eyes open. But
during those precious minutes, I channelled everything I
could to Mulder through my grip. My love, my strength.

Over the next few days the doctors gave me the lowdown.
If the helicopters hadn't come so quickly, we would have
been dead within fifteen more minutes. Mulder nearly died
of hypothermia anyway. I had a milder case, but
significant enough. Somehow we didn't lose any
extremities.

Mulder was in a coma and would not wake. A few times I
would wake up and desperately need to connect with him.
And each time I would not have to worry about staggering
to my recovering feet to go do just that. My nurse would
appear and give me his hand.

One night I knew that Mulder would either have a turn for
the worse or the better. I had to keep holding his hand.
I wondered how long the nurse could stand there helping
us before she would be discovered and get in trouble. But
I woke up next morning to hear a doctor saying "How did
that happen?" and I looked to find that a chair had been
brought in and placed between our beds - and our joined
hands were resting atop it on a cushion.

"How did what?" came a croak from the other bed. My
partner was awake!

And I sent a silent thanks to Nurse Owens. After my
abduction, I remember her speaking to me; this time she
did not. I wonder why, but it does not matter. Because
Mulder was awake, and his fingers were moving in my hand.

We haven't spoken about the kiss or us...even when I did
get my voice back. We have been catching up on a lot of
sleep, after all. But we hold hands, and the way that you
look at me is those hallway words in visual form... The
kiss in spiritual sign-language. In the hospitals and on
the planes it is a constant... I hope that the look I
give in return shows you the same feelings.

We won't be able to show it tomorrow in front of the
hearing, but hearings come and hearings go.

I will not waste our second chance. I swear that on your
life.




I love you, Mulder.

Wow, I'm breathing harder than I do after the icescape
nightmares. But there are the words. They exist. They
belong grouped together. It is a scary concept though.
Irrefutable proof of my feelings.

Now to say them out loud.

Okay, I have. Progress! Well, the real progress will be
when I can actually say them to Mulder, instead of to my
empty apartment...

And I will soon. As soon as we're off this dizzying round
of hearings and tests and evidence-gathering. Not to
mention report writing, which is what I'm supposed to be
doing at the moment.

But I can't stop thinking about you. Us. You accepted me
back into your professional life in the park today after
the hearing, and I know by your look that I'll be part of
your personal life once this madness is out of the way.

You love me more than you've loved Diana. In the past and
now. You want me, even in my scepticism. I'm confident of
that.

I saw Mom when she was leaving from dropping off my usual
week's worth of groceries, bless her. She hugged me and
said she knew she couldn't keep me, that I was busy, but
then she pulled back and scrutinised me very carefully.

"What?" I asked. It couldn't be the frostbite - she'd
seen my face when she visited us in Georgetown.

"You just seem...I don't know. For the first time in a
while you look...content...no, that's not the right
word... Serene, almost. I can't explain it, dear. I know
that must sound very strange."

"No, Mom, it doesn't."

"Anyway, you wear it well."

I love you, Mulder. I say it to the room. I don't care
who is listening or that my voice wavered. I say it again
and again. With each successive time, I become stronger
and more confident. I have no doubts about my feelings or
yours - I just doubt me. Will I be able to break so many
years of habit and isolating walls to let myself get that
close to you?

Remembrance of your frozen body in my arms is the only
answer I need.

Now where's the damn sledgehammer?




What a rushed day. Same pattern as the last - Mulder and
I off in our separate directions gathering the
information we need for the next hearing. It's quicker
that way, and we can pursue our individual angles:
science and instinct, then put them together to make a
picture. There was only time to meet briefly, almost in
passing. And it was a bit of a surprise: Mulder's had his
hair cut. Butchered, really. He's NEVER had it that
short, not even in the second year of our partnership.
Almost crew cut. It may suit my brothers and have suited
my father, but Mulder isn't in the navy and I have none
of those 'attraction to men like your father' impulses.
Ahab and Mulder couldn't be more different men.

Mulder chuckled at my stare. "Don't you like it?"

"When on earth did you have time to get that done? And I
know it's none of my business, but why so short?"

I got the little-boy pout. "All that hair was hurting my
head."

I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, what the bullet didn't take off, the ice snap
froze! I had to do something with it."

I'm going to have to marry this man as a mission of mercy
- no one else could put up with his brand of humour. At
least the head wound is nearly faded - just like my
frostbite.

There was just time to tell him that I'll be going to the
labs tonight to get my blood drawn, then analysed by
myself, and we'll have time to go over it tomorrow
morning before the hearing with the really big guns. This
afternoon will be taken up with coordinating some very
unhelpful agents in the Texas branch to collect and send
over some of the razed cornfield rubble that is left of
what Mulder and I saw. We managed to get aerial photos of
the blackened remains, but the board won't be satisfied
with that. The ashes might provide some clues... If not
swapped for innocuous fireplace ash along the way.

Mulder is buoyant. He's got that believer's charge
rushing through his body again, the one that had dimmed
and gone out earlier this year. I'm pleased, though I'm
nervous too. For all that we went through, we don't have
definitive proof to present on the existence of aliens.
Mulder is very sure of what he saw. I was hazy... But my
blood analysis will be the key.

He's sure that it will be the ultimate proof. Despite the
panic that this concept gives me and my religious faith,
I hope for his sake that it does.




Yes, the virus is something new and deadly, but there is
no indication that it is in any way alien.

I saw the look in his eyes when I told him that -
unfortunately he had to hear it at the same time as
everyone in the hearing...

Last night, everyone at the lab had mysteriously been
booked solid or was too busy to help me draw the blood. I
ended up drawing it myself, smelling a conspiracy. Yep -
place suffered a power blackout as I was working. Backup
generator failed too. By the time I found the facilities
at another lab and got there, the morning was underway. I
did everything myself...and didn't find the evidence
Mulder was so sure would be there. That he needs. Without
this, there is no way that the board will buy his story
enough to investigate further - it would be tenuous
enough with it. The cornfield ash has given us nothing.

So I picked another lab at random as I drove - one the
Consortium surely would not have had time to tamper with
- showed my FBI credentials and ran the tests again.
Twice.

Same answer. One that reassured my scientific and
religious sides...

But what to tell Mulder?

I barely had enough time to get to Headquarters for the
hearing. I couldn't raise Mulder on the phone to prepare
him. I was ushered straight in and the meeting was in
progress before I could let him know.

And in his absolute certainty of what he had seen and
that I would collaborate it, he all but hung himself as a
fool in front of everyone, telling them of the space ship
in the Antarctic and that we're destined to be alien
digestives as the planet is taken over around us. The
board asked for my facts. I gave them - I tried to say
something to support my partner and his assertions, but I
didn't have a leg to stand on and the board cut me off.
The X-Files were reopen, but not with us.

Diana Fowley and Spender. Just perfect.

But, jealousy (which I thought I'd gotten rid of) and
irritation aside, I'm haunted by the look Mulder gave me
when I presented my bloodwork findings. It was the look
I've given him often enough: disbelief. Only my look is
usually a diluted type of disbelief, one that I've
perfected, just enough to get him to present more than a
just a theory, to work for it - to prove to Skinner and
the FBI what he believed. To gather the proof, stark and
scientific, so we wouldn't be thrown out.

Mulder's disbelief and hurt would fill the Grand Canyon.
When we got out of the meeting, I could tell he was doing
his best not to yell at me or let too much anger show. I
know it's a shock to him, but I can't back him up in this
the way he wants me to. Not if we haven't got the proof.

I have to be the sceptic again, but not in the rigid way
I used to. I have to ground you, Mulder. You'll get
killed or too badly discredited if you rush headlong in
any further with nothing but what you saw. Aliens or
genetic mutants or hybrids or clones or humans or
whatever, they are deadly serious and not afraid to
remove anyone in their way. Man, woman or child.

I reminded you about our conversation in your hallway,
the one before the bee struck - stung. That you said I
make you a whole person. Please don't forget that,
Mulder. Yes, you're angry with me, as much as you try to
conceal it, but I hope I showed you why I'm doing this,
when it must seem like betrayal to you.

That's another reason why you're so hurt: you told me
what you saw in the Antarctic and what the Englishman
said to you. I can remember nightmarish bits and pieces
from when you rescued me. And when I say that we need
proof and that the virus isn't alien, you hear me telling
you that I think you are lying about what you saw. Or
that you hallucinated because of your head injuries.

God, just when we were getting so close...

When will I see the love in his eyes again?

XxX

It's so hard to watch him with the strain he's under -
how difficult it must be reconstructing our files on the
sly. To be reassigned from the X-Files. Being more
disbelieved and ridiculed than ever. To not have your
partner backing you up in the way that you need.

But Lord, what if alien colonisation is true? FEMA being
behind the bees and corn is bad enough. If this is true,
in any shape or form, how could You let it happen?

Or are Mulder and I Your answer?

Diana is back on the scene. I must remember not to grit
my teeth so much... My dentist will get cross. When she
appeared on the chess case and the Gunmen told me about
her past with Mulder, my stomach felt leaden. Here was
the perfect partner that I was not. They got on so well
that Byers 'always wondered why they split up'. Mulder
had a relationship with her while they were assigned
together. What's good enough for her wasn't good enough
for me?

No, Dana, stop that. You're as much to blame for you and
Mulder keeping at a distance in the last five years.
You've promised to address that, and you will.

Anyway, at the motel, Mulder went off with Diana. He told
me he was and why. I know there's nothing to it, that I
shouldn't feel hurt. He didn't ditch me; Diana is just
the one who can give him what he wants - the 'alien'. So
he can club it and bring it home to me as proof. He'll
follow anyone - the Englishman, Krycek,
Cancerman...despite what they've done - who will lead him
to what he wants.

But if Diana turns on the charm and the 'oh Fox it's you
and me against the world, no one understands, especially
our lame partners', I'm worried that he'll decide that he
wants the easier life back. Matched minds. Total belief.
Path of least resistance. Someone who doesn't
automatically doubt him simply because she has to.

I have to tell him how I feel now, even before this case
is over. I don't want our partnership ruined.

I've been thinking over what I said in the hall outside
the hearing room. Did I say too little - though for me,
what I said was certainly verbal nakedness. Did Mulder
know exactly what I was saying, or did he misunderstand?




This has been a hell of a case - an unofficial case, that
is.

This morning he arrived in our temporary office - alcove
really - carrying that box of files and a major case of
exhaustion. Lately his glasses have been trotted out for
the first time in ages - proof that he's well and truly
pulling a succession of late nights.

"You look tired. How late were you up with those files?"

"Don't know."

"Mulder, you need to get some sleep."

"No, what I need to get is proof. We have proof in these
files." His look told me that's what I wanted after all,
wasn't it? "I have to get them back." He took his glasses
off and rubbed his eyes, slowly sitting down.

Now. I had to tell him how I felt. Now. /You can say it,
Dana. I love you, Mulder, and although it might not seem
like it, I'm demanding proof so that you will be
believed, because I love you and I couldn't bear it if
they killed you or broke your spirit.../

"I...I..." I stammered.

He looked up, blinking. "Mmmm?"

"I..." I panicked. "I think you're taking on too much."
Ouch, wrong words. He took offence, and I couldn't blame
him.

"Too much? I'm the only good guy who knows that a joint
alien-Consortium colonisation is going to happen and that
the Government is in on it; naturally that would seem
like a lot, and naturally I'm under a little strain at
this burden. You see, I kinda feel obliged to stop it,
crazy guy that I am. Somebody has to."

"Mulder, I believe that there is some vast viral release
being planned - I've seen the crops and the bees..."

"And you felt the bee and I saw the spaceship, but you
don't believe that. If you don't believe in aliens,
Scully, that's fine. Whatever lets you sleep at night. As
for me; I don't sleep any more." He grabbed a legal pad
from a drawer and a pencil from the holder on his desk.
He began to write, then stopped, glaring. The pencil was
blunt. He grabbed another. Same story. He looked
frustrated. I gave him one of mine.

"Mulder, I believe IN you."

"You believe in your science. Science and I don't mix."

"You said that my science kept you honest. That by it I
made you a whole person."

"NO! I said that YOU made me a whole person, that YOU
kept me honest." He pressed too hard with the pencil and
the lead broke. He hurled it away, not even in the
direction of the bin.

"My science is part of me. I can't just -"

"No room for me. I could never compete. Yes, your science
has saved me; you have saved me, but there's help and
then there's unnecessary hindering."

"Are you saying that I'm hindering you?"

"No, I'm saying that with this case we can't afford to be
hindered. We have to use our instincts. The bad guys will
just keep distorting the truth. Remember what Gibson
said, Scully. 'You know what it is, you just don't want
to believe it yet.'" His eyes were accusing.

We had found Gibson again only to lose him. The poor
little kid. Mulder didn't seem to care very much about
his injury though. I know he thought that Gibson could
track down his precious alien, but Mulder is usually much
more sensitive with children. My heart still aches when I
think of how tenderly he picked Emily up to take her to
the hospital...how he held her... But with Gibson...

I didn't want to be reminded of that failure, that he was
lost while under my care, and Mulder was now tearing
pages off the legal pad and scrunching them up into paper
basketballs, his mouth in a tight line, so I went before
either of us really blew their top, or either of us
cried.

Five minutes in the ladies composed me enough. I had work
to do anyway - to check if the analysis of the claw found
at the house was finished, and Skinner had promised us a
copy of Diana's report, which she and Spender would be
handing in right about then.




She betrayed Mulder.

Okay, I hate her for how close she and Mulder once were
and that she thought she could just come back and pick up
where they left off, and I hated her for petty reasons
like her being his perfect match in beliefs, but she lied
in her report. She withheld evidence.

I was worried about how Mulder would take this after
everything else, but HE DEFENDED HER! I can't believe
it... Why did he? She contradicted him seven ways from
Sunday. He admitted to me that she held a gun on him!

Is he punishing me because I can't prove or accept his
aliens? I can't afford to accept them without proof,
Mulder - they'd hang us in a second! Or is all this
betrayal too much to comprehend and he's stubbornly
denying everything?

There was a glimmer of hope though. After telling him
about Diana's report (while thinking up all these evilly
satisfying things I'll do the next time I encounter her)
and seeing him so defeated and drawn, yet defensive
because of his precious beliefs, I gave him the findings
on the claw and Gibson Praise. The similarities in the
DNA.

And for a few seconds my Mulder was back. He was in my
personal space, devouring the files, the facts that I'd
provided, and coming up with a theory that gave him his
aliens.

We're ALL aliens...

Great, that's an even more scary concept for me. But hey,
whatever keeps him happy.

He looked immediately charged with light again, though
his eyes were bloodshot from being bent over charred
files. We bantered about our theories, the evidence,
having at last found a common thread in this to use as a
tightrope to rejoin us. But that's so tenuous. I wanted a
bridge.

So I tried again to tell him my feelings. I didn't want
him to end up with Diana, even though I think she's shot
herself in the foot with her actions if she had any plans
to reseduce him.

It was time to lighten the mood. "After work, let's go to
my place and relax. Have some take out."

"Sorry, got two more files I want to do tonight. Have to
keep to quota."

I hung in there, but my smile was straining at the sides.
"But if you don't come, you'll miss something really
amazing. I plan to be spontaneous at exactly 9pm!" I
joked.

"That's nice, what are you going to do?" Mulder looked at
me with a sort of polite interest, not even a chuckle in
his eyes.

I was starting to get angry. Damn his deadpanning!
Couldn't the man spare a laugh once in a while?

And look who was talking about smiles, Dana Katherine.

I thought of his frozen body in my arms and tried again.
I wanted to say in response: 'What am I going to do?
Well, seduce you for starters!', but when I opened my
mouth, I panicked again. Big surprise. "I...well...I
think it's time that I...um...changed a certain pattern
of mine..."

"Pattern? What, your curtains?"

China patterns perhaps. "No, no - I mean...not that sort
of pattern. A habit. I leave too much space around me and
I don't want that, I want to be closer to -"

Mulder, who had made several attempts to return to
restoring his x-file during my babble, interrupted. "Too
much space? You want a smaller apartment? And you want to
be closer to work? No? Oh, to your Mom?"

Damn, this wasn't working. My face was going beet-red and
how could I expect him to pay full attention when he was
working on an x-file, even if it was old and ruined?

I gave a bright smile. "It doesn't matter. I'll see you
later."




And I planned to see him later. On the drive home I kept
going over what I'd said and felt embarrassed at all my
weak hinting. I should have just come out and told him!
Okay, we were at work and he was distracted, so that
meant I'd just have to pick my time more carefully. I
should have learnt from the whole desk episode a few
years ago. I'd call in and see if he was in a more
receptive mood. If so, then I would be CRYSTAL clear.
Even if he rejected me, and I was sure he wouldn't - well
he might suggest that we didn't get romantic for a bit
longer, and I could understand that - then I would have
been true to my feelings and growth. So after supper and
a good pep-talk to myself in the mirror, I set off for
his apartment. I figured that he'd eventually come home
from the lab tonight.

He had. But he'd brought company. As I looked for a
parking space, I saw him escorting Diana out of his
apartment. His hand was on the small of her back.

I didn't wait to see if they drove off together or if she
had her own car or if they kissed or were arguing or
what. I drove on, blinking back tears.




I'm still here in the office. Today was awful. I didn't
think anything could top yesterday, but extreme
possibilities are a bitch at times.

Mulder came into work late. I'd already nursed up a
goodly amount of injustice and anger and horrible images
and hadn't got a decent night's sleep myself. He was
distracted all day, not able to find a particular file
and getting narky about it. He kept wasting good paper as
bin basketballs, not that any of them were reaching his
goal. Usually he averages 8 out of 10, even when just
back from sick leave. Boy, cheap sex must really screw up
the reflexes.

Dana, curb that. You don't know that anything happened
last night. She could have gone over to explain
herself... Ha.

There might still be time to salvage him from her. Time
to save us. I'm torn between my anger and my feelings for
him.

"Nothing but floor. What gives?" I kept my voice casual.

He glared at me like it was my fault. "The bin's in the
wrong place. I'm used to our REAL office!"

There was no need for him to snap. Damn male pride and
bruised ego. Perhaps he's feeling guilty that he's laying
her after he all but declared his love for me... Maybe
that transfer wasn't such a bad idea after all. Salt Lake
City would be a nice change.

The horrible thought has hit me that perhaps he DID
understand what my hints were about, but he was awkward
and avoiding me because he couldn't find a way of letting
me down gracefully...

It was an uncomfortable morning. Mulder took off for the
afternoon, ostensibly to gather some research, but more
likely to use the Gunmen's lab to keep working on the
files. I was relieved to have the distance, even though
I'm stuck with the paperwork. Even though a few days ago
distance was the last thing I wanted.

Something is niggling at me, some detail I'm overlooking,
perhaps about the claw, but I just don't know what.
Something important.

He came back near knock-off time to grab more files,
muttering that the world is full of irresponsible
drivers. Must have been a bad day on the Beltway.




Today he came in dishevelled and irritable. What a
coincidence: I was neat and fed up.

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them:
"What happened? Did you get up on the right side of
someone else's bed?" My God, I had no idea I could sound
so spiteful.

He froze and stared at me. "What?" he asked.

"If you're going to screw Fowley, at least have the
decency to get here on time of a morning. I've covered
your ass in the past, but there's no way I'm covering
your naked ass if it's parked in her bed!"

I opened my mouth to tell him that I was a breath away
from transferring or quitting, but stopped when he pulled
off the now ever-present glasses and I saw his eyes
suffuse with anger. He stalked up to and around my desk,
looming over me in my chair. Oh that's right, big man, go
for the intimidating height thing.

His words were frost. "For your information, the last
time I slept with Diana Fowley was December the 4th,
1991. She was on top. Do you want to know how long we
kept it up for? Jesus, Scully! What the hell's gotten
into you?"

I floundered suddenly. "You were partners at the time!
Yet with me -"

"YOU! Yes, Diana was my partner, but at least I didn't
start up with my *academy instructor*!"

I swallowed. Damn him for remembering Jack. And damn me
for never enlightening my partner that I only became
involved with Jack six months AFTER graduation after we'd
run into each other again at a seminar. Not my finest
hour. And neither was this.

Then this afternoon Kersh gave us a real dogsbody
assignment - the equivalent of the boss sending a manager
out halfway across town to get donuts. Mulder kept up
that inane deadpanning. Kersh didn't see the humour in
it. Mulder and I were still smouldering at each other,
only saying necessary words in oh-so-polite tones. Very
adult. Once upon a time we had a common enemy, now we are
each other's enemy. I thought we'd got past that after
our very first case.

I was insane to think that a believer and a sceptic could
love together as well as work together. I'm surprised we
lasted this long...

I was so wrapped up in my bitter thoughts that I didn't
really notice the first time that Mulder braked a bit
quickly and swore. The second time jolted me forward.
Mulder whacked the horn and received the finger from the
car in front. "How the hell did she get her license?" he
fumed, more to himself than me.

"What did she do?"

"Cut me off."

Three blocks later we nearly hit a businessman who was
crossing the street. He yelled abuse as the bumper bar
stopped two feet from his knees and may have taken down
our license plate in his computer organiser. Kersh will
love us.

"Is everyone suicidal today?" Mulder raged.

I stared at him. "Mulder, the guy had the right of way!
He stepped off the curb with the lights. I saw - you
didn't even look!"

He was even more furious at the insinuation. Great.

I tried to keep calm. "I know you're angry at me, but
focus on driving for the minute! One more 'incident' and
I'm taking the wheel."

We got to the organisation, collected the 'donuts', and
after an argument in their car park that resulted in the
security guard coming up to us, I ended up driving us
back. Mulder just sat in the passenger seat, arms folded,
and glared at the passing world.

We got back to the FBI, parked the car and went in,
heading for Kersh's office. Then Mulder's cellular rang.
I saw the charge come over his face, then the guarded way
he looked at me. And I knew what was coming.

We had slown down to a stop. Mulder hung up and put the
phone away. "I have to go; you take the stuff to Kersh."

"You have got to be joking, Mulder! That was Diana,
wasn't it? I'm not covering for your little tryst!" I
didn't care that there were others in the hallway.

He looked at me contemptuously, then got in my space and
lowered his voice. "She's got a lead for me - proof about
what we saw in the nuclear reactor. Proof about the
alien. She wants me to be able to prove it."

"Then why did she lie about it in her report?"

"She told me she had to do that to get in close with the
ones watching her; now that they think she's one of them,
she's been given access to more info. She did it for me."

I wanted to strangle him.

He moved back and spoke normally again. "And delivering
that to Kersh is a one person job. I'll see you later."

"No, Mulder. No, you won't see me later. What you'll see
is an empty desk and my transfer papers."

Mulder stared at me. His eyes were angry and hurt, but
his face was that damn deadpan. "I have to go," he said,
and did.

He didn't really love me. I slumped against the wall as
my brain gave me that fact and then delivered the proof.
Everything he did in Dallas and when I resigned...every
touch and plea...it was all a manipulation to get me to
stay. Even the near-kiss. Because I was of use to him
then: the only one who would follow him, defend him, that
he trusted. Nothing more. He only followed me to the
Antarctic because he was my partner and felt guilty and
responsible for my situation. Now I couldn't take the
final step that he wanted, and Diana had recuperated,
returned, and come-hithered. I was relegated to
liability.

People passed by, staring at the tears gathering in my
eyes.

I told myself that it didn't matter - that I've gotten
through this before. I hadn't given all of myself to him,
so now that the crunch came, I'd be spared all the pain.
I would walk away from him.

But I couldn't dismiss the agony now anymore than I could
when out on the iceflow.

I would have to walk away from Mulder. I would deliver
this to Kersh and go gather up my things and perhaps
transfer to the labs where I could still study this
virus, still do my part to learn and defeat it.

That certain elusive something was nagging at my mind
again and I shoved it down. I straightened myself up,
squaring my shoulders, tucking the 'donuts' neatly under
my arm.

It nagged again. It was my instincts, battering at the
door to be let in. Oh all right...what is it?

My instincts hustled me to the question I'd been asking
for days now: why is Mulder like this?

Because I don't 'believe' him! I cried in my mind.
Because she does!

Then my instinct, my gut feeling, hustled me past my
jealous excuses and theories and personal conclusions,
and took me to my scientific side. One part of it in
particular. And got it to re-analyse the things that I'd
been analysing with the personal side of me instead... Or
ignoring.

Mulder's strange behaviour all fell into place.

As symptoms.

"Oh Mary, Mother of God..."

I ran for the carpark.

XxX

Please let him be here, please... I ran along the rows of
cars, having lightened my flight by dumping Kersh's
stuff. Mulder had only left me a few minutes ago, but
with that fast stride of his, he could have already
reached the car and driven off. I was trying to dial his
number and run at the same time without hitting anything,
when -

There. He was there, just getting in the car.

"Mulder, wait!"

He froze, half-poised over the driver's seat. He stared
at me suspiciously. "What?"

I raced up, my heels killing me. "Mulder, you can't go."

He got out of the car, but remained with the door jutting
out between us. "Why not? You'll snitch on me to Kersh?"

"No!" I put the phone away. "Mulder, if I'm right, you're
in no condition to drive. I think you're sick -"

"Sick? Oh sure... You've thought that I'm crazy since you
were first assigned to me. Look, I had a bad run with
traffic yesterday. I'm sorry." He moved to get back into
the car.

"Mulder, I think you've got a subdural hematoma," I
blurted out.

"Excuse me?"

"Bleeding between the skull and the brain. The symptoms
fit -"

"I don't believe this... I don't believe this!" He
slammed the door and loomed over me. "You'll do anything
to keep me from seeing Diana, won't you? Are you jealous?
Or are you making up ways for Them to sack me?"

I was jealous, but now was not the time to admit that. He
was defensive enough as is. How was I ever going to
convince him?

"Mulder, if I mean anything to you at all, will you
please hear me out? Preferably while I'm driving you to
Georgetown to get a CAT scan. We can't afford to -"

"A subdural hematoma? What will you think of next? We had
tests done when we got back from the Antarctic - we were
fine! And I certainly haven't hurt my head since then."

I agreed with the latter bit - I would have seen a bruise
straight away thanks to that crew cut. "We had tests
done, but I wasn't in the room when they did yours - I
was having my own done. They could have doctored or faked
the results; covered up that you were bleeding, so that
you would destroy yourself, like the time They drugged
you. You snuck out of hospital to chase me all the way to
the bottom of the world when you had just been shot -
then with all the pressure on the planes and the exertion
and everything you said happened in the ice base -"

"It DID happen! Stop saying that it didn't! I'm so sick
of your attitude!"

"You could have been hit on the head or aggravated the
wound and not known."

"It's been two weeks since the spaceship left; don't you
think the 'bleed' would have killed me by now?"

"Bleeds can be slow. They can gradually cause more and
more symptoms over a period of weeks."

"Well, convince the sceptic, Agent Scully. Where's your
proof?"

Mulder will accept alien life, travel to the South Pole
in a heartbeat for me - yes, FOR ME - but he wouldn't
accept his own life and death situation.

"Depending on where the bleed is, it could be affecting
various parts of your brain. You're wearing glasses again
-"

"Because I've been slaving over the files for all hours."

"- because your vision is blurry. That could be pressure
on your optic nerves." He snorted and looked at his
watch. I pressed on. "You said your hair was 'hurting'
and then cut it surprisingly short -"

"Oh yes, I agree absolutely; I'm sick. Men have been hung
on less rock-solid evidence than that," he said
flippantly.

"- which could indicate confusion in judgement..." Ouch,
that had probably torn it. And I hadn't even mentioned
his Diana-ing. "I thought you were deadpanning at my
jokes, but you were taking things literally."

Mulder laughed without humour. "You don't TELL jokes."

"You've shown signs of clumsiness -"

"No need to rub in that I'm rapidly approaching forty."

"- and your motor skills are affected." I opened my mouth
to say more, like his late arrivals at work and the
headaches he must be experiencing, but Mulder's face
could have been filed under 'Disbelief'.

"For everything you have just said, there is a perfectly
reasonable alternate explanation."

"I know, but I'm doing what you told me to do: going by
my instincts. Please Mulder, just let me take you to the
hospital and we can sort it out once and for all..."

He shook his head and yanked the car door open again.

"NO!" I grabbed the edges of the door. "You can't drive;
you'll have an accident and hurt yourself or someone
else!"

"Go away, Scully. Get out of my way, get out of my life.
I don't believe you, and I can't believe how far you're
going to keep me from the truth."

Tears were swarming in my eyes, but I wouldn't let go. He
got in the car and heaved at the door - with his strength
he was able to move it, and my brain made my fingers let
go before they were crushed. "Mulder!"

"Shut up!" he yelled. He locked the door and inserted the
key in the ignition.

I ran around to the front of the car and stood before the
bumper bar. Mulder looked up and saw me and cursed. He
glanced left and right and behind, but he was hemmed in
by cars. The only way out was through me.

"Scully, get out of the way!"

"No! You have to listen to me. I don't want you to
destroy yourself! I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"Get out of the way!" he roared, revving the car and
honking the horn.

I could hear a voice or voices in the background - other
agents, I supposed, wondering what the hell was going on.
I hoped one of them or someone from security would come
over and help me get Mulder out of the car. I couldn't
dare move from where I was. I was a metre from the bumper
bar. "I need help over here!" I called. A calmness
descended over me. I knew what had gone wrong and that it
could be fixed. I knew what had happened to my Mulder and
that I would do whatever it took to stop him driving out
of here.

I considered pulling my gun on him...no telling how he'd
react... Then he deliberately moved the car forward, just
a foot, hoping I'd instinctively skitter back. I
swallowed and held firm. Again. And again. The car slowly
moved forward and bumped my knees. I leaned forward, my
hands pressed onto the hood. I considered climbing up
onto it.

"Scully!"

"Would I be doing this if I thought you were okay? You
need help, Mulder! I'll be there the whole time; I won't
let anything happen to you." Ouch, that sounded like I
was enticing him into the nice padded cell, but with my
partner ill and about to drive a car over me, I wasn't my
usual articulate self.

I couldn't hear the voices anymore. Whoever it was had
probably gone to get help or security or something.
Mulder would probably keep moving the car forward at the
same pace, just enough to force me inexorably backwards
until he had enough room to get the car out of the space.
I couldn't let that happen. So I took a deep breath and
pushed myself sideways, falling so that I lay directly in
front of the left wheel. Leaving no room for him to
manoeuvre except over me.

I'd left a metre between me and the bumper bar, but it
was still scary to see the tread of the tire before me
and hear the engine running.

Then the engine cut off. Mulder was out of the car and at
my side in a second. He seized me and hauled me to my
feet, giving me a shake. "What the hell were you
thinking?!" His voice was angry and upset, matching his
flushed face. "I could have run you over!"

"Agents!" The voice was unmistakably that of a security
guard. "Would you mind explaining yourselves?"

I opened my mouth to reassure both Mulder and the guard.
Then Mulder's face went stone-pallid. He blinked and
staggered slightly. I reached out for him as he put a
hand to his forehead. He stared at me and whispered a
single, confused: "Scully?", then sank to his knees.

I knelt on the cold concrete with Mulder in my arms and
reassured him with my touch while I barked orders to the
guard. People gathered, milling at the sight.

The ambulance was on its way. "Scully?" Mulder whispered
again. "What's happening to me?" His voice hitched. It
nearly broke my heart. And the look in his eyes... This
was my Mulder, breaking through the fog of confusion that
the last two weeks must have been, reaching for the
surface as the current was trying to pull him under for
good.

"Stay with me. It's okay; it's all going to be fine. I
love you."

Just like that, I told him. With him barely conscious in
my arms and a rapidly growing crowd of agents around us
who could use those words against us.

And now I sit here in the waiting room as the hands keep
moving around the clock, writing this on paper because I
need to keep my hands and mind busy, dammit (well, the
parts of my mind that aren't entrenched in heavy duty
praying at the moment). His previous surgeries have never
seemed this long.

And I wonder whether my declaration of love was all he
was holding on for, and so now that he had it, would he
die? Should I have saved it? Given him something to fight
back for? To be able to hear the words?




He's in a coma.



He's off the respirator.



His coma has lightened.



He's hanging on for me.



Diana Fowley has just visited. Once I find a cup of
coffee to rinse the taste out of my mouth, I'll vent my
anger in here. The safest place. I'm so confused.

Okay... Just before that, I was sitting at Mulder's side
- bed rail lowered - watching him. It hurts to see him
pale and still and surrounded by white again. And the
bandage high up on his temple. They had to shave a little
of his hair - even closer than his haircut.

He did avoid a full-scale craniectomy - the removal of a
section of skull which would then be replaced by a steel
plate - which would have ended his career as a field
agent. He had a craniotomy: they gave him coagulants to
clot off the bleed and drilled a hole to evacuate the
clot to relieve the pressure. Of course, being a Mulder-
injury, the clot proved too big to suction out through
the little hole...problem. They ended up using a laser
and that worked - it got rid of the clot without the
doctors having to do anything more radical.

But I need something to break up MY jangling nerves.
Coffee certainly isn't cutting it.

He's progressed to an oxygen cannula and has been making
movements and faint noises on and off through the day. So
there was hope that he'd wake up soon. I kept talking to
him and telling him how sorry I was, and stroking the
soft skin between his eye and ear with my index and
middle finger since I couldn't run my hand through his
hair.

"Yes, Mulder, I did say that I loved you, and I do love
you, but that is NOT an out for you to keep hiding in
there or give up. I want everything that goes with it..."
But even as I said those words, I had doubts. Doubts
about whether we should try to be a couple. Look what
happened to him because I was focusing on being jealous
and wanting to get romantic, instead of doing my job.
Perhaps there was something to be said for
DistanceScully! after all.

So much guilt... I put my wants before his own good. I
should have picked his behaviour up sooner.

It will kill me to have to retreat back to my lonely
walled city with its population of one. But I will get
used to it again...if I build the walls double thick...

Enter Diana, stage left.

I stared at her, trying to fight off a glare.

Diana gave me a polite little smile as she went around
the other side of the bed and looked down at Mulder. Her
face became all pious and anxious. "How is he?"

"Fine, for someone who you had hoped would be quite dead
by now."

"Agent Scully -"

"You're not welcome here. You had no interest in helping
him. You betrayed him."

"Then I'm in good company with you."

"What?"

Her attack was devastating, rending me speechless. "You
betray him on a regular basis. I've only been able to
read a few X-Files that survived the fire, but I've
studied people long enough and heard enough about you to
make a very educated profile. You keep undermining him in
your reports. Sticking to your rigid views. It's been six
years, Agent Scully. I bet that you would have seen some
amazing things during that time, but did you ever
collaborate Mulder's version of events? No - you fought
him every inch of the way, dismissed anything that didn't
fit in with your faith or your way of looking at the
world because it scared you. You've held him back. He
could have known so much more if you weren't hindering
him at every opportunity. At least I act in his own best
interests; you act in your own. Denial is the only lover
you'll ever have, Agent Scully."

I wanted to leap on her, hissing and spitting and
clawing. Instead, I told her coldly to get out.

Mulder stirred. He didn't wake, but he mumbled something.
A word that could have been either 'Diana' or 'Dana'.

Diana flashed a triumphant smile and swept offstage. I
felt sick.

I sit and think.

XxX

The next time the nurse came in, I asked to look at
Mulder's chart. I studied the location of the hematoma.
It had affected his motor skills, without question, and
also led to retinal nerve pressure, which explained his
eyes. Some of the other things may have been symptoms, or
they may have been due to his exhaustion and the
situation. I guess we'll see when he's conscious. I don't
know whether his defense of Diana was due to his
judgement being affected or him trying to hurt me or just
stick up for a woman who had been loyal to him in the
past. It's a toss up.

Why didn't Nurse Owens tell me about Mulder's hematoma?
She was mute in the Antarctic...perhaps her connection
with me was too weak this time...or perhaps she was a
manifestation of my faith and desire and need for enough
strength to reach him... So, again I come to the
inescapable conclusion - I should have known he was sick.

Other thoughts come to me. Why had the
Consortium/FEMA/whoever gone to so much trouble to
sabotage my blood testings since there appeared to be no
conclusive proof of aliens in it? Was it all just a run
of bad luck with the labs, or did they want to set Mulder
up as a fool with the hearing, by having him ignorant of
my findings? Another piece laid on his path of 'self-
destruction'? I bet Diana was one of those pieces too,
carefully chosen and set down, a move in a game of chess.

But even if Diana is, I can't deny the truth in her
words.

"Scully?"

His eyes were open, he was blinking... My God, he was
awake! And looking at me. He was groggy from the
anesthetic and confused, but as soon as I said, "I'm
here, I'm right here," and squeezed the hand that I've
been holding for the last hour (while writing with the
other one), he smiled and gave me the look that he gave
me in the hallway before the bee. Not the bit where it
was full of desire - he's just woken from major surgery,
after all - but the love I never thought I'd see again.

"Scully," he repeated.

"Yes, it's me. You're okay. You're in the hospital."

He blinked. "Why...?"

Where should I begin? "You had a subdural hematoma,
Mulder. Bleeding - in your fronto-temporal lobe. You've
had surgery, but you're fine now. Don't worry about it
now."

I watched him try to absorb this. My hand reached out,
independent of my head, bonded with my heart, and the
same two fingers stroked his skin. He moved fractionally
so that my touch deepened. I waited to see if memories of
the last two weeks would come bursting through.

Instead he just whispered "Scully," again with a small
smile, as if I was the answer to all of life's mysteries.
Or all he needed to know. Then he closed his eyes and
slept.

And I sat there, still torn with indecision.




Diana hasn't come back. Since Mulder is no longer in a
coma, the nurses have started doing neuro checks, waking
him up each time. The first few times he has answered
their questions, submitted to the physical stuff, then
looked for me, before promptly going back to sleep,
reassured.

This time, the nurses left and he looked at me and his
eyes went wide. "I nearly -"

"Shhh, it's okay."

"I nearly... Oh God, I nearly ran you over..."

"You weren't yourself. I knew you wouldn't."

"But for a moment - for a second - I wanted to just hit
the accelerator -" He was almost sobbing.

"You didn't. You'd never do anything to hurt me."

"Yes, I would. I said things... I was so scared and
tired, and I thought I was going mad, and I just bit out
at you..."

"It seemed like everyone was against you, even your
body."

The memories had temporarily banished his grogginess,
though every time he's woken up he's been noticeably more
alert. "How do you feel?" I asked, checking.

"Got a headache," he admitted. "But it's not as bad as
the ones I was getting before I passed out. Thought it
was stress." He looked sheepish.

Mulder has always been good at hiding his headaches -
probably because he knows I'd make him take it easy,
which is the last thing he wants to do in the middle of
cases. This time must have knocked some sense into him at
last if he was admitting it. I got the nurse to give him
a painkiller - he didn't require a lot, but it would keep
his intracranial and blood pressures on the low side as
well as fix the headache. The painkiller didn't slow his
mind down though.

"Diana." His brain was still going back over things. "You
- you thought I was screwing Diana."

Wow, they really got these sheets whiter than white...

"Scully?"

Reluctantly I looked up. "I saw you and her outside your
apartment building one night - the day I gave you the
findings about the claw."

He thought hard. "She wanted to 'talk'. I heard her out,
even though I didn't want to, and led her downstairs so
she'd go home. That's all. December 1991, Scully. I
swear." He gave that little grin.

"You were touching her... Your hand was on her back."
Just where he touches me. I knew I was being pedantic,
but I couldn't help it.

"I was gently steering - propelling, really - so she'd
move!"

Relief and joy washed over me like a waterfall. I
attempted to move the conversation on. "They had to shave
even more of your hair off... A little patch."

He frowned. "Even more? Oh - I got a crew cut, didn't I?"
He felt the top of his head, careful to avoid the bandage
on the way. "Yow, that's short! Bad move. I'll grow it
out. I didn't get an earring or my nose pierced, did I?"

"No." I laughed.

There was a long silence. We just sat and stared at each
other. His body was frail, but his eyes were alive with
his feelings for me.

"Go to sleep," I said quietly. If he closed his eyes it
would be both a relief and a loss for me.

"Nope. I'm enjoying the view."

"It'll still be here when you wake up."

"Something happened... I can't remember... Something...
Scully - I think I know why!"

"Why what?"

"Why the lab results didn't pick up that the virus is
alien!" The theory poured out of him. "I mean, it looks
like our DNA is the same as theirs, just underused, but
the aliens might have evolved us to use in time as less-
developed slaves. But in the Antarctic, in the ship, I
saw all those people with aliens incubating in them. I
thought that's what the virus did - and that I gave you
the vaccine before you reached that stage - but what if
the virus just sets up the environment - the host body -
for the alien gestation? The alien is then introduced
into the body on the ship..." His eyes widened. "The
black cancer! I saw tanks stained with black...and the
tanker trucks... There are other pieces, I know that's
not the whole picture, but as you said: the virus creates
nothing. It prepares instead! That explains why you
couldn't find it in the lab results!" He was triumphant.

"I looked, Mulder. I swear that I looked for it for you.
I wanted to find the proof for you."

"I know."

"And proof or no proof, I have to keep you grounded -
just enough of you - so we can get through this. So that
when we save the world, we'll be still alive to enjoy it.
And you'll stretch me that bit further so that my head
isn't buried in denial of what's going on around us.
Above us," I ventured.

"Gibson said that you knew it was an alien."

"And to you I admit it, but to our superiors and the
world at large...not until we have the proof. Can you
understand that? Accept that in me? My failing?"

"Yes - your strength. Mine." He smiled and slept.

I knew I still had major religious issues with the whole
concept, but on the whole I was relieved. Until I
remembered Diana's words.




Next time he was awake, his mind kept ticking over: "Was
I hallucinating, because I thought I heard Diana...?"

"She...dropped by to see how you were. Yesterday
morning."

He snorted. "Glad she hasn't come back. I don't think I'm
up to being stabbed in the back a third time. I remember
something else too."

"What?"

"You wanted me to come round to your apartment, and I
dismissed you. You were trying to tell me about wanting
to change some pattern, that you had too much space
around you... You weren't talking home furnishings or
moving house there, were you?"

The moment of truth had arrived. Confirm or deny? I could
make out that I was just talking about redecorating - he
probably wouldn't believe it, but he would know by it
that I didn't want our relationship to move forward in
that way. But I could make it clear that I'd be there for
him, that we'd work to get back the X-Files...

Diana's words came back to me:

*He could have known so much more if you weren't
hindering him at every opportunity. At least I act in his
own best interests; you act in your own.*

What good would I be to the X-Files? What good had I ever
been?

Mulder's words:

*You saved me...a thousand times over...as frustrating as
it's been...you make me a whole person. I need you on
this...*

Could I be there personally for him, but not
professionally? My head felt like it would split apart.
Iceflows and castle walls blurred in my head. An
impossible battle.

Mulder's hand was squeezing mine. "Scully? Scully, talk
to me!"

"I'm so confused... I don't know what to do... I've held
you back in the X-files!"

He blinked, but kept a firm grip on my hand. "What do you
mean? I thought we'd got past that - I told you in the
hallway... And as for what I've said in the last few
weeks...well, I was confused and angry and desperate to
prove what I knew was true..."

"But I've held things back in the past - things that I've
seen. I've held you back."

"Who told you that?"

I was silent.

"Diana. Damn her, she's really done it this time. Scully,
you may have been...selective...in what you've put down
in our reports, and I may have gotten angry about it, but
you do it to help us. They would have taken the files off
us years ago if you didn't do that. You offer alternate
explanations and make me work for my theories and you
leave out stuff that would harm our cases. Diana just did
it to manipulate me."

I didn't feel very consoled, even though his argument was
logical.

He continued. "How about that from now on, we write
everything in our reports, then go through together and
agree on what to remove, if anything? So then neither is
hiding anything from the other, just from the jerks.
Okay? At least give that a chance. We've come too far to
quit now."

"But we haven't got the X-Files back yet."

"We will. But we can start with the events of the last
two months. Redo our reports on Texas and Antarctica and
the nuclear facility."

"The nuclear facility report was Fowley and Spender's.
And it wasn't burnt."

"Well, it should have been! But let's do our own report
on it and on Gibson. We've got to get the poor kid back."

"Okay..."

"Okay?" he asked leadingly.

"Yes, let's redo the reports and be more honest." I owed
it to us to try. "And if you show me how, I'll start
reconstructing our other files."

His smile was wide and wonderful. "And what about what
you were trying to tell me about more space and
patterns?"

"I..." I went mute.

He didn't. "I love you, Scully."

It was like I was peering out at him through the bars in
the gate of my walled city. His words were wondrous
things...but they meant nothing if I stayed in here. I
looked down at the gate and realised it didn't have a
lock. It never had; I've just kept it pulled shut.

But now I pushed forward and through and stepped out into
his love. His world.

"And I love you."

Wonder raged with doubt in his features. His voice was
small and uncertain. "What sort of love? The same way
that I love you?" Even though he believed, he needed the
final proof before his personality would let him accept
how I truly felt.

I could understand that.

It was an answer I didn't have to plan out or consider
before I spoke. It was us - everything we had done and
would do and were. "The sort where the girl will rush to
Alaska to save him and he'll rush to Antarctica for her.
The type where we start talking china patterns. The sort
of love where, when you get out of here, the second
you're well enough...I'll give you a session that'll curl
your toes. And your hair."

I could hear walls tumbling down in the background. I was
shaking, but still intact. Free.

Mulder grinned and immediately looked fully recovered. I
so much wanted to take full advantage by bending down
into our first proper kiss, but I didn't want to risk
raising his intracranial pressure. Damn the doctor in
me... So I kissed my fingertips and touched them to his
lips. His smile went wider, and he tried to wrap it
around my fingers. I gently pulled them back. "Later."

He pouted.

I crossed my arms, as much to keep myself on good
behaviour as him. "If I kiss you the way we both want at
the moment, we're both going to forget to come up for
oxygen for at least ten minutes. Now that wouldn't be
good for me, let alone you."

"Spoilsport."

"Toecurler, Mulder," I whispered, leaning closer. "Never
to be straightened out again. Hold that thought and some
patience."

It was a mantra I had to keep repeating to myself too...




I'm writing this diary entry by mental telepathy, because
there is no way in God's wonderful world that I am going
to leave this bed and these arms.

Oh God...

when I -

when he -

when WE -

WOW!!!!

It is December the...December the...what is the date? I
can't remember...1998, anyway. I think. All rational
thought has fled from my bones. But mark this day! This
is the beginning.

I was Queen of the Castle and loved it. So did the healed-
enough Rascal. Though his performance will gain him a
knighthood. I could go into scaling the highest turret
and loving the view...

I can safely say that Mulder yelled out 'Dana', not
'Diana'. Just ask anyone in my apartment block. Though
the whole of Georgetown is probably busy dialling 911 in
the belief that I screamed 'Murder'.

Hey, I was a little breathless at the time!

We could have been doing this - getting this - for six
years... But we weren't ready. We haven't left it too
late though. We're young enough and strong and eager. And
determined to make up for lost time.

A fact that's being proved right now as Mulder's hands
begin to move... I do believe he's going for his earldom!




Four Days later:

In some aspects we're taking things slowly and talking to
each other every step of the way. Sometimes I find myself
panicking and diving back behind the rubble of the walls,
frantically and subconsciously trying to stack it back up
again into a rapid and haphazard barrier. It was such a
habit. But it is easier to knock down when I become aware
of it. The shelter that Mulder and I have built together
is worth going back to, even though I flee from it
sometimes. Now we can finally and fully dwell in it
together.

Some things we hide from the world, but not from each
other. We're feeling our way with this aliens versus
religious aspect too. If Mulder and I can find common
ground in our work, then I can reconcile these two
things. One day.

"You're gonna blind someone with that smile," he remarks,
watching me as I watch him wake.

"There are other ways of going blind, they say."

"I'm less interested in the saying than the doing..."

"Go back to sleep."

"Nope. I'm enjoying the view."

"It'll still be here when you wake up." But I don't
refuse. No way.

Mulder is King of the Shower... Lord, that session alone
made up for all our hands-off during the second year of
our partnership. I think we're up to 1995 now...

Oh, by the way...he doesn't get up on the right side of
my bed - he always ends up on the left.