TITLE: "The Lake at Gethsemane" BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: S, angst, MSR RATING: PG-13 (violence and adult situations) SUMMARY: After "Gethsemane", a grieving Scully discovers Mulder's journals and finds that what is in them and her dreams might save not only her . . . TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Resolution to "Gethsemane", refers back to all four seasons. To paraphrase Vickie Moseley, MulderResurrection is included free of charge. (So what if that spoils the story - did you *really* think I'd leave him dead?) I have made several decisions in planning this story: that "Gethsemane" was set in late April 1997, not May; that all episodes in the show occurred to our Agents *in the sequence they were shown*, despite inconsistent dates (eg chronologically "Zero Sum" is set after "Demons"); and that Mulder is not Jewish (I mean no offence to the religion by this - I can see Mulder either way, but for plot purposes and lack of familiarity, I went on another course.) 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. THANKS TO: Debbie Goldstein - I simply could not have found a better editor. Doctor Crockett - for all the medical help (So much that I think I'd better give you a break from Mulder & Scully and I for a month or so!) Vickie Moseley - for will & funeral advice, wonderful stories, and helping me get my first vignettes out there. And for your story "Lake of Stars", which gave inspiration here. Carol - for sitting patiently through my explanation of the characters and situation, so she could tell me how she, as a counsellor, would react. Fiona, Lisa and Tina - for rising to the occasion despite work, school, illness & lack of sleep, when a mad writer screamed across snail mail & cyberspace for their opinions. I owe you all! And Kelly Youse for giving a great observation in her XF Romantics Website on just why the Apollo keychain reminded Mulder of Scully. The X-Files: "The Lake at Gethsemane" by Ten, written Aug/Sept, Posted October 1997 DAY ONE: Late morning "Agent Mulder died late last night, from an apparent self- inflicted gunshot wound to the head . . ." Scully was vaguely aware of the stunned silence in the huge room. A muted gasp somewhere to her left. /You drove him to it! Why are you all so surprised? You didn't care for him - no one did except me!/ She tried desperately to control herself, but sobs broke from her chest and the tears streaked from her eyes. Her professional mask had finally cracked - it was a surprise it lasted this long. It had been mortally wounded hours ago by a gunshot she never heard, yet should have expected. Should have prevented. /They invented you. Everything you believe in is a lie./ /The men behind the hoax, behind these lies, gave me this disease in order to make you believe./ Just what tipped him over the edge? "Agent Scully -" She pushed away from the heavy wooden table, hands briefly on the smooth polished surface - /Like a coffin/ - thighs sending the plush chair backward. SScully pushed out of the seat, racing for the door. She couldn't actually see it, but she knew it was - A blurry white figure hastily stepped into view and caught her. Not roughly, but she fought. "Agent Scully - Dana -" Skinner. She hadn't heard him enter the conference. She wiped at the tears and stared at him, agonised. There was alarm and grief behind his glasses. He knew. She saw him turn his head slightly and heard his voice say something to someone. Her ears were ringing and she couldn't pick up the words. She feared she might have another nosebleed right here where everyone could see it, then suddenly didn't care. She would welcome proof of her passing. A voice answered Skinner. It was Blevins. Skinner looked at her. "Come on, Dana. I'm taking you home." She let herself be led out the door, his hands on her shoulder and arm, steering. Then she ground her heels in. "No! I'm not going home - I have to do the autopsy!" "Agent - Dana . . ." He looked horrified. "You *can't*! Not of Mulder - no one expects you to. And in your condition . . ." "I've got the body - him . . . Mulder - under guard. There was only time for a preliminary examination before I had to front the meeting . . . Now I have to get the answers. I have to know it's him. I have to know they weren't drugging him, or that the black cancer somehow came back and drove him to it . . ." "At least get some rest first." "No, the sooner I do it . . .the sooner I'll know, the sooner we can go after those responsible -" She sniffled and gave a hysterical giggle. "- the sooner done the less chance of 'Them' tampering with the body . . ." Skinner had that face he wore when Mulder did something particularly ill-advised. But he escorted her to the autopsy bay and said he would hold her gun for safe- keeping. Two guards stood by the lockers, as ordered. Scully decided she was composed enough to proceed, though still rang for an assistant - a pathologist she'd worked with before and trusted. Melanie Dexter would ensure she did not miss anything through grief or fatigue. And Mel could do the incisions and so on which Scully could not bear to do herself. Not to him. His beautiful face . . . half-blown away. As if all of his guilt and agony within had finally exploded through skin and bone. She watched, trying to be dispassionate, as Mulder's completely sheeted body was slid from the locker and transferred onto a trolley. She followed it as she had followed him countless times. Him striding those long legs, off on another case, him being wheeled on an gurney, pale and unmoving and injured . . . Examination room. The squeal of a chair being moved startled her. She turned to find Skinner settling into a corner, out of the way. She opened her mouth to protest and he nailed her with a firm look. The one Mulder never obeyed. Melanie came in, ready to go. She was a willowy thirty year old sprite, able to separate herself with ease from the gruesome aspects of the job, but today she was solemn and silent. Scully knew Mel was aware this was Fox Mulder. She did not know about Scully's cancer, but probably would within a few hours. Wildfire. So she blinked but obeyed when Scully asked her to please help her tie on a face mask. At least none of her blood would drip on him and spoil the evidence. Evidence. Mulder was now evidence. She had tried so hard to keep her blood from dripping on Mulder all these months. Trying to shield him. Not telling him the cancer was spreading. Ten billion "I'm fine"s. Where had it gotten her or him? Melanie put a hand on the corner of the sheet, hesitating. She threw a glance at Skinner and the guards, then back to Scully. "Ready?" Scully professionally checked the outlaid instruments and the tape recorder. She nodded. Then she was on the floor, dazed. /How did I get here?/ Skinner was gathering her up, pulling off the mask and eye protection and loosening her autopsy garb. She felt limp. Useless. Apart from the fact her tear-ducts were in overdrive. She buried her head in his lapel, trying to get away from the sight on the trolley. She felt him pick her up and carry her. "No!" She twisted in his arms. "I have to know!" "Scully!" His shout stopped her struggling. "You cannot do this now. Tell me the name of another pathologist you trust to do this. I'll double the guard on them and have all the samples escorted and tests done under close supervision. You can perform a secondary autopsy if you wish after we get the results back. But not now. Now the guards will stay here while Agent Dexter helps you change, then I am getting you out of here." "I trust Melanie . . .and Doctor Iben." It was all she could say. Skinner put her in the passenger seat of his car and drove in silence. Scully got a nosebleed and was so past caring she wouldn't have bothered to clean it up if she wasn't in his watchful presence. It was a while before she actually took in their surroundings. "Where are we going?" "Your mother's." /How do you know her address?/ "I don't think you should be alone right now." They pulled up by the kerb. Scully stared listlessly at the familiar house. She still felt like a rag doll. It occurred to her Skinner had not given her gun back after the aborted autopsy. She had a feeling she would not be getting it back for quite a while, if at all. She sat unmoving as he came round. He opened her door and began to help her out. "Dana!?" Her mother came hurrying down the steps, William Junior at her heels. "Dana, what's wrong? What's happened?" he asked, frantic. Then he turned to Skinner. "Who are you?" All the bearing and front of the ship he sailed on. As usual. "I'm Agent Scully's boss, Assistant Director Skinner." He guided Scully over to her mother's arms. "I'm afraid there is bad news, but I think Dana wants to tell you herself. Is that right?" She nodded. "Yes, thank you, Sir. Please let me know . . . about . . ." "I will. When I know. Please get some rest. I'm sorry." He squeezed her hand and went back to the car. "Dana, what's -" Bill Jr cut off at his mother's look. "Let's get her inside first. It's okay, sweetie. Come on." They headed for the first sofa in the sitting room. "No!" Scully cried out. "No, the other one." Confused, they obeyed. The furniture had been moved since the last time she had to make this announcement. If she could just tell it on that sofa, following the ritual, she bizarrely thought he would then turn up alive . . . "Dana, love - can you tell us what's wrong? Is it the cancer . . .?" "No . . . no. Mulder . . ." She heard Bill Jr make a sound like "Not *him* again!" She saw her mother's fierce glare. It returned to her as a stare, full of worry and compassion. "What's happened?" "He's dead . . ." She looked straight into Bill's suddenly shocked eyes. "What?" he asked, stunned, anger yanked out from under him. "Who killed him?" Maggie gasped. "He did!" She sobbed. "He shot himself . . ." Fury rose in her like lava and focused on her brother. "I hope you're happy!" she screamed at him as Maggie turned even whiter and her elder sibling, her towering bear of a brother, suddenly appeared to be very, very small. "Everyone hurt him." Scully whispered. "*I* hurt him and he couldn't take it any more. He didn't know he kept me alive; I didn't tell him properly." Her voice rose back into a scream. "And I'm *glad* I'm dying now! I've got nothing else to live for!" She hit out at her brother, the sofa, everything. "I'll go to him soon. We'll reincarnate together - I don't care if Melissa is his soulmate. I can stand it just as long as we're together!" Then everything swirled again, and time and light and vision bent in on themselves. She felt herself being carried. Up stairs. Snatches of whispered conversation. "I'm sorry the guy's killed himself, but . . . did Dana *love* him? Is that why she stayed? All those long hours and injuries and going back after she was so sick -" "You never saw them together, dear. You wouldn't understand unless you saw them together. They were devoted to each other. Just like you and your father with the sea. A hard life; a lot of sacrifice. So much time away from family. But you wouldn't trade it, would you?" "What does she mean about Sis being his soulmate? Did he and Melissa have a thing -" "No. I don't know what she meant. Now hush, she might hear you and get upset." Bed. Mom's soothing hand on her forehead. The sound of a chair being moved close to the bed. /I should be in the chair. That's my role. Mulder should be in here, under the sheets and blankets. In the warm. Instead, one lonely sheet . . . And so very very cold./ There was a phone ringing. Scully began coming out of sleep, knowing it would be Mulder. Then she remembered. A chair was softly moved and feet padded quietly out of the room. She lay huddled in bed and listened for the door closing, but didn't hear it. She supposed they wouldn't want to miss any potentially alarming noises. Her mother would get the hall extension and be as quick as possible with the caller, then get back to her to ensure she didn't do anything she shouldn't. /Keeping your already dying daughter on suicide watch. Now there's a laugh./ Scully was grateful she could not remember her dreams. It was nighttime now, so some degree of sleep had been achieved. Another few hours less of her life. The same bitter taste in her mouth and drain on her soul as two years previously. Those days after New Mexico. But back then had not been suicide. Blame permeated her. Both times; her fault. She had sent him off into the desert with a bullet wound she had inflicted. Last night, she shot him again, in a sense. Right through the heart. Right next to the round Kritschgau put there. But the Defence Department man's bullet hadn't been the fatal one. And she'd let Mulder go. Knowing his turmoil, she still let him go into another desert. And she had spent today telling her superiors what they had waited four years to hear. Mulder's work in regard to aliens had been illegitimate. But he had not known that. How could he have seen what a puppet they'd made him? There *were* cover-ups, but the culprits were all too human. Their treatment of him enraged her, and how she'd had to be the one to betray his beliefs. She wanted to express all this in the meeting, but had broken down before she could. She was so tired. She was vaguely aware of her brother calling her mother downstairs. Footsteps going down. Then she was very aware of another presence in the room. Her spine tingled. She did not move. This feeling - she had experienced it before. She was not scared as she rolled over and looked up. "Daddy?" she whispered. He smiled. She was so glad. "Daddy, I'm ready to come. Is Mulder there?" His hand reached out to soothe her cheek. "Here, Dana. Take this, take it into your soul. It will set you free. Embrace it." She wanted it. He leaned over and touched her forehead. Warmth. /Funny how people always said death would be cold,/ she thought, then thought no more. DAY TWO: Scully woke up mid-morning. Her mother was asleep in the chair beside her. Stretching under the blankets, Dana looked up at the ceiling. She was not dead. She was not with Mulder and Ahab. But it had not been a dream last night. She would be with the two most important men in her life soon enough. /Perhaps that's what Ahab meant about embracing. Embracing my own death and accepting it. That brings peace. I won't do anything with my spare gun to speed the process./ The doorbell. Maggie stirred then settled back in her uncomfortable position. /Poor Mom./ Scully quietly got out of bed and went out to the top of the stairs as she heard her brother answer the door. Skinner. "I'll be down in a minute!" she called, and hurried back into the bedroom. Maggie sat up, disoriented, as her daughter raced to pick up her clothes. Even though the skirt and jacket had been neatly folded, they were crumpled. Scully didn't care about her appearance, all she cared about were the answers. The truth. Mulder could still be alive. She came down to find Bill Jr angrily demanding in a low voice why his sister was still working in her condition, and just what her partner put her through. "Bill, butt out." Her voice was a bar of iron. She turned to the A.D.. He was holding some folders and his voice was regretful. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. The DNA and bloodwork match Mulder's . . ." She crossed over and took the folders. She went and sat on the sofa, examining each page as the two men watched her anxiously. Corresponding DNA and fingerprints. X-Rays showed the metal plate and screws present in his left leg from the bullet wound to the femur, and the dental records were identical, down to every filling. The scars matched. The toxicology was clear. No evidence of the black cancer. The cause of death seemed cut and dried. /Suicide. Powder burns show he was holding the gun. No apparent sign of struggle. But someone could have made him do it. There could have been a fight. And the DNA and fingerprints could have been changed in the database . . ./ "I want to do another autopsy." That was it for her brother. "Dana - for heaven's sake -" "STAY OUT OF THIS! You know nothing about Mulder and me! I want to do another autopsy." Her boss hesitated. "Scully, Mrs Mulder is demanding her son's body be released so she can bury him and grieve. She wants to begin the funeral arrangements as soon as possible." Scully forced herself to face the body later that day - she had no choice if she could ever feel satisfied. There was just enough time to re-examine the scars, do another set of X-Rays, and draw more bloodwork. Scully herself guarded those samples all the way from his veins to the test labs. She sat close while they were worked over. The toxicology done again. General blood and drug screening. DNA. A match for Special Agent Fox William Mulder. It all matched, no matter how long she gazed at the X- Rays and photos of the scars and the lab result sheets. She was dying, he was dead; their work and partnership were in ruins. She gazed off into the sky, remembering the last night of his life. When he met her and Kritschgau at his apartment, her partner had stared at the bruises on her face - heavy makeup hadn't covered them properly - and asked: "What happened?" She deflected the question, not wanting Mulder to go Kritschgau's throat. Another betrayal of his trust in her. He knew. Mulder drove them both to the warehouse in silence. And she remembered his face there, at the site of the raided "alien" autopsy, when she told him about being given the cancer to control him. How he walked out. She followed to find him on the front steps of the building, speaking into his cellular, alerting police to the murders and theft. He was still on the phone, using it and the night to mask his face from her when the squad cars began pulling up. Then statements and a blur of activity. Crime-scene photographers flashing bulbs. She spoke so many words then. Not to Mulder. Scully had seen the look on the officers' faces when Mulder explained about the body. The same look she had given him through their partnership. "An *alien* body, sir?" He didn't jump to defend it with that usual resolute faith. "It seemed to be. More tests needed to be run . . ." His voice was unsure. For once he was not certain of his beliefs because of the blows she had delivered. "I wanted - I just don't know." Since he had even begun to believe it was all a hoax and lies, that helped her in a perverse way to deliver her findings to the meeting. There was no victory for her in that achievement. His last words to her. When he was going past, following a policeman to once again examine the scientist's body. He had not made eye contact. "I called you a cab. It's outside." Hardly famous last words. She knew his last actions. He went home and took solace with the only company which would not let him down. The TV. The Alexandria police found the set on. A tape was still playing. A documentary by eminent scientists, who were stating the strong possibility of alien life. /What pushed him over the edge? My cancer, or the lie? What was he thinking as he sat there, cradling the gun? Why didn't I call him?/ She'd wanted to. She sat on the sofa after taking the cab home and agonised over it, staring at the phone. Would he answer if she tried? How much hurt would be in his voice? She had fallen asleep - this she would never forgive herself on - exhausted from her injuries, the cancer, lack of sleep and all the confrontations and events. When the phone did ring early in the morning she woke up grabbing it, saying: "Mulder?" They'd placed Kritschgau in custody on their way to the warehouse, but somehow he disappeared from both there and the face of the earth during the night. The FBI committee pointed to Mulder's mental state of just a few weeks previously. How "the signs" were all there. His willingness to allow himself to be an experimental test subject of the doctor in Rhode Island. His behaviour, his threatening to shoot Scully. Imminent breakdown. An unsurprising result. She tried to argue with them, but they had all the facts. And facts were one thing Dana Scully lived by. She stared and stared into the sky, wanting to see a UFO, even if it was far too late. DAY THREE: Dana gave Skinner some reports she had written which held allegations of the mistreatment of Mulder and his quest. He took them, but she didn't think anything would come of it. Or the dark forces would conspire to delay any hearings until she was too ill or dead to defend her partner's memory. She also handed Skinner her resignation. He calmly tore it in two. "Sir, I only have three to six months left to live. I don't want to spent it as an agent for the FBI - whether on duty or on sick leave." "I'm not allowing you to give up." She noticed he glanced at the ash tray on his desk. "Stay on sick leave. The FBI owes you. Just because I haven't given you your gun back doesn't mean I wanted you to quit." DAY FOUR: Mulder had not wanted to be buried at Arlington. "No stars and stripes or trumpets or pretentiousness. Or waste of bullets." He wanted to be laid to rest in the cemetery at Chilmark, his boyhood home town. A place where for twelve blessed years he actually knew happiness and peace. Now Scully sat in a Chilmark church, eyes on the closed casket. There was no draped flag over it. A bunch of flowers sat on top. Tastefully chosen and arranged. They weren't Mulder. They were not his style. She looked down to her lap. One hand clung to a well- loved book of poetry she had treasured since childhood. The other supported a bunch of sunflowers, long stems reminding her of his fingers, his legs. They were too cheerful, too bright for this place and purpose. They were Mulder though, and he would have them. By habit, her hand went to finger her cross, then stopped as she remembered. She was not wearing it any more by choice. The chain lay in limp loops in her jewellery box. Maggie had noticed its absence. And how Scully was uncharacteristically wearing a silk scarf around her neck. "The cancer is in my lymphatic system, Mom. The nodes in my neck will begin swelling, so I'd better leave the cross off and invest in more scarves." "I can buy you a longer chain. Or a soft length of ribbon." Dana had no intention of wearing the cross again, but not for the reasons she gave. Her mother and Skinner flanked her. They were in all in the front pew on the left. On the right Mrs Mulder was surrounded by family. She was not acknowledging the Scullys, so they kept their distance. She had asked Skinner to perform the eulogy when he rang to tell her of her son's death, but only came up to speak to him here for a moment when the A.D. was briefly apart from Maggie and Dana. The Lone Gunmen were in the row behind. Scully didn't look any further. She did not want to know who considered themselves friend enough to Fox Mulder to show it now when he was dead instead of alive. She didn't feel she belonged here either. And she did not want to find the Cigarette Smoking Man amongst the mourners. There were no prayers. Again, Mulder's request. There would be poetry readings, of his own selection and ones any friends felt suited him. He had chosen the music, so "Jupiter" from Holst's Planet Suite filled the air, and the "Star Wars" theme. What she managed to listen to of Skinner's eulogy was carefully worded. Respect for his rebel agent was clear. Mulder's dedication and passion. His love of mysteries, how he helped so many people. "And now, may he finally have the answers he seeked." Then Skinner was motioning her to the dais. Scully handed her mother the sunflowers and stood. She placed the book carefully on the stand and opened to the bookmark. The William Blake poem. She was glad it was short; she did not think her emotions would allow her control for too long. For a moment Scully stared at the stained glass window beyond the pews. Her focus went to the coffin and stayed there, not touching a single face or even the book as she recited from memory. "Ah, Sun-flower! Weary of time, Who countest the steps of the Sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done: Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my Sun-flower wishes to go." Dana saw her mother's face go a sick white. But even though tears trickled down her own face as she went back to the pew, she felt very much at peace. Maggie didn't say anything during the ride to the cemetery. She just sat in the back, holding Scully's hand tightly. Dana knew her mother had hoped her ramblings about wanting to die were just from the shock and grief. She wished she could spare her this pain, the loss of her second daughter. She wished she could fight the disease for the sake of her family. She did not want to. Mulder was gone. She was gone. It was that simple. She could not live without his passion, which gave her strength, and the love unspoken between them. Skinner found a spot to park a little way from the gravesite. Scully did not mind the walk. It gave her time to absorb her surroundings. She studied the greenery, the lovely little flowers, the varied headstones. None of the stiff formality of Arlington. "I like it here," she said, and realised her voice held relief and a touch of happiness. "I will like it here." "Dana, what do you mean?" Mrs Scully asked nervously. It was clear she had a good idea. "Mom, I want to be buried here. With Mulder, if I can get permission from his mother. I won't ask her today, of course. If she refuses, I've already asked the grounds keeper to hold the site next to it for me, just in case. I'm going to organise the paperwork and financial details." "No . . . not my baby girl, so far away!" "Mom." Scully halted and put her arms around her, the bunch of sunflowers straining her muscles. "I'm sorry, I don't want to upset you. I don't want to die, but I am. I've accepted it. I won't be far away from you, not in here." She touched her mother's chest. "And Arlington isn't who I am." /Mulder is who I am./ "But treatment could still help you." "It's unlikely. And I'm not going to have any more." Scully placed the sunflowers on the casket before it was lowered into the grave. /Soon, Fox. Soon./ She calmly watched. People began disbursing or coming up to the edge one last time. Then these latter people began turning to Scully. She was amazed to realise more people were going up to her than to Mrs Mulder. Were there more FBI people here than family, or were they just coming to her first, or what? Brief words of condolence and touching her hand. Like she was his widow. She saw Mrs Mulder being guided away and hastily went round to speak to her. She halted as the white-haired woman turned and stared at her. She had never seen so much hate even in the faces of horrifying killers. She backed off, and Mrs Mulder, bereft of husband, children and happiness, went on. DAY SIX: "Dana, phone for you." "Hello?" "Hello, Dana. It's Karen Kosseff." /Oh no . . ./ The last thing Scully wanted to do was talk to her counsellor. /*I* come to *you*, Karen. Not like this. You're breaking the rules./ She knew she was being irrational. She figured she was entitled. Karen spoke off her silence. "Dana, I heard about Mulder. I'm very sorry." "Thank you," she said quietly. It was six days since his death. The last time he'd died, he'd come back to her by now. Her mind wandered as she glanced at a calendar visible from the kitchen. April was gone now. What a horrible month. The anniversaries of Melissa and Mr Mulder's deaths, and Mulder's near death, all back in 1995. Now this year they could add Mulder again and drop the 'near', as well as the doctor's appointment where she received her death sentence. Far too much. She forgot about Karen until the gentle tones washed over her. "I know this must be a horrible time for you, and that you haven't been in to work. I just wanted to let you know I'm here if you want to talk to me. I think it would be a good idea for you to come in for a session, but of course it is your choice." "Thank you, Karen. I'm on leave. I know you are there, but I can't talk just now." "I understand. Please keep me in mind." "I will. Bye." /There's only one person I want to speak to. And unless you hold seances in your spare time, Karen, there isn't much point./ DAY ELEVEN: The will was read a week after the funeral. Since Mulder's death had been ruled a suicide, there was no insurance payout, but the division of money from his bank accounts and investments needed to be settled. Most of Mulder's possessions and money were left to Scully. Provisions had been made for his mother's financial security, and particular items were designated for the Lone Gunmen. That was it. That was the allotment from a life. Mrs Mulder had her lawyer sitting between her and Scully as a buffer. When all stood up, Scully went towards her again, this time determined not to be put off by those eyes. She would not ask about the grave yet though. "Mrs Mulder . . . I'm so sorry. I don't want his money - it won't bring him back. I-" "Keep the money," his mother said curtly. "It is very apparent you meant more to him than I ever did. I could say spend it on your cancer treatment, but since that's no longer an issue, use it to go far away." She reddened and moved quickly to leave. Scully blinked and let the woman pass. /How did she know? She must have overheard at the funeral how I've accepted the disease . . ./ She was too upset to fully comprehend it. When she arrived back at her mother's, Bill Jr was on the phone arguing with his superior, angrily saying he had to extend his leave because of extreme personal circumstances. "Look - I couldn't be there when one sister died and when my other sister nearly did too! It's not going to happen again. I have to have more leave - after all I've given in service over the years, I'm damn entitled!" He was so fired up he didn't notice her enter. Maggie did and came towards her. "Honey, your doctor has been trying to reach you. He said you haven't been in for treatment or anything." She held her hand up to stop an argument. "I know you don't want any more treatment, that you don't think it will make a difference now, but Dana, at least go in for a check-up. Please?" Dana shrugged, unconsciously fiddling with her scarf. "There doesn't seem to be much point. I promise I'll think about it." "How did the will reading go?" "I'm richer in wealth if not spirit. I'll tell you later. I'm going to go have a nap. And Mom, thanks for accepting my decision. I know it's hard." Scully found herself in a forest. It was dark, as usual. And somehow familiar. "Mulder?" she called, hoping to see a reassuring flashlight beam bobbing up and down as he came towards her. Nothing. Then she looked up at the sky. There were no stars. Not a cloud to block, but the sky was an empty black. Not one star . . . She woke up, breathing heavily. She knew that place, but it was no forest she had ever been in on a case. Where was it? DAY TWELVE: Scully turned her dream over and over in her mind the next morning, but could not work out why the forest was so familiar. "Mom, I might be out all afternoon. I'm going to Mulder's . . . To sort out his things." "Do you need help, sweetheart?" "I'm fine. I want to do it alone." She tried to lighten the mood. "Who knows what I'll find, after all!" /Nothing to give me peace. And I'll have to box up all his precious possessions and give them away because what use are they to a dying woman? But I need to see them; it's as close to him as I can be now. I don't want anyone else doing it./ At Mulder's apartment building, she got into the elevator with a couple from the same floor level. She recognised them from other days, but could not manage a brief smile or greeting. They were busy avoiding her eyes anyway, and hurried off as soon as the doors opened. /No one ever knows what to say to the widow. And Mulder wasn't exactly the most normal neighbour. They're probably glad he's gone./ There was number 42. Her life, her universe, her everything. Scully pulled her keys out and halted in her search for the correct one. She stared at the dangling keyring. Apollo. She lifted the disc of metal with her free hand and traced over it with her thumb. "You've never remembered my birthday in the four years we've been working together." That wasn't strictly true. Mulder had given her other birthday presents, but each time in their partnership it had been after the actual day. He was so buried in work that the significance of dates socially didn't seem to sink in until after the fact. To be fair, one time he *was* badly injured, and she didn't realise that what seemed to be agitated, semi- conscious babble was in fact him trying to tell her his gift was back in their office in his desk drawer. When he recovered enough to be lucid, he was very apologetic at her missing her birthday through sitting with him. His recovery had been the best present. Another time he turned up at her apartment door just after midnight, out of breath from running to try to make it. This time he was on time. And when he handed over the little box, there was such a look on his face, so serious and handsome, that her heart had raced madly, and for a moment she very much wished it was a ring. Key-ring. Close enough. Had he remembered this time because it could be the last birthday she ever celebrated? Her ramble to him over what she thought his gift meant . . . Why didn't she have the courage to just ask him? Did it mean she meant as much to him as outer space? And she had missed his birthday once. In 1994 . . . Enough of this. She sniffled and wiped her eyes clear enough to find the key. Once inside she did not know what to do first. She wanted to do nothing. His table, his chairs, his books . . . Scully wandered into the living room and looked around from the doorway. The evidence of that night was gone. Cleaned up. /Suicide. No! I won't accept that!/ Dana leaned against the doorway, wondering why she wouldn't. Because it meant he'd abandoned her? No, she did not feel angry at Mulder. Because she might have driven him to it? That was valid enough. Then she realised that on top of all that, what really bothered her was if he had done so, why hadn't he left a note, an explanation? Frohike had told her after the funeral that Mulder had left a letter with them for safekeeping after the deaths of Melissa and his father, to be given to her in case anything happened to him. But he had come and asked for it back soon after breaking into the fertility clinic. He did not return or replace it. She looked dully in the mirror, then hastily away, suddenly remembering another mirror in a ladies room and afraid of seeing a message in blood or his disembodied soul gazing at her. She took a deep breath and made herself look again. To face her image for several minutes in case he was trying to reach her. But nothing happened. His sofa. She managed a smile, thinking of the times they sat there and argued over theories or what channel to watch. The times when her control had slipped and she found herself wishing he would put his arm around her and kiss her. The times spent wondering whether he would love her on the sofa or take her into his bedroom. The time Mulder made them both a huge bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate topping and they ate it in large spoonfuls, nearly choking on their laughter and at the mess on each other's face. Scully's laughter filled the room. She could see him there, so adorably boyish, for a little while so free of the pain, and covered with ice cream, bringing the spoon up to his mouth - - bringing the gun up to his forehead. A gunshot. Her brain overlapped the happy memory with brutal reality. One shot and her partner was no longer sitting on the couch. He was sprawled on the floor, dead. She could not even take solace in the happy times. The living room was too stifling. Quickly she fled to his bedroom. Some clothes were piled in the laundry basket. She plucked out an orange t-shirt and remembered it. Under his leather jacket, as he stood waiting in the dawn at the site of a crime scene which had come to him in a dream. From a "nexus" with a child molester. Orange. She had thought it was a good colour on him. Until several weeks ago when she saw him coming towards her in that orange prison jumpsuit, handcuffed and lost. Scully put it back down and picked up one of his white t- shirts. She would have to wash all these before giving them to a charity shop. Remove his smell from them. She sniffed the cloth and crushed it to her cheek, trying not to cry. Then she saw his black leather jacket dangling off the open wardrobe door. She reached up and pulled it down. He always looked great in this. Though on his "lost weekend", the jacket with his white t-shirt and jeans gave him the appearance of the Fonz from "Happy Days". Or Elvis. Desperately wanting to be close to him, Scully removed her sweater and put on the jacket. She tugged the lapels so they overlapped tightly against her torso. Fortunately there were zippers in the sleeves so she could fold back the arms easily and not lose her hands in them. She sat on the bed and watched herself in the mirror, face pale above the blackness. Her scarf looked odd next to the jacket and she removed it. For the first time in days she examined her neck, dreading what she would see. But it did not seem to have started swelling yet. That would come. Sometimes the area did feel swollen and tight, but that was when she'd been crying. If the tumour grew, it would distort her face . . . She dropped her gaze from her reflection. She felt cold and put her hands in the pockets. Her left hand encountered a piece of paper. She drew it out. A magazine clipping. About brain tumours. How Baltimore surgeons have discovered that an oil taken from the liver of dogfish sharks can cut off the blood supply to a tumour and slow its growth. How trials were very encouraging; so much that human testing was hoped to begin within a year. The scientists were hoping to produce the oil artificially to prevent plundering the sharks. /Oh Mulder . . ./ She curled up into a ball on the bed and cried. DAY FIFTEEN: Two more Mulderless days had passed. No more trips to the forest in her dreams. She did not approach Mrs Mulder about the grave. Time enough for that in a few weeks. She went home to her mother's to eat and sleep at night. During the day she spent long hours going through his belongings, arranging and packing them. The tank and its remaining fish were quickly send to her nephew - she could not stand the silence of the only witnesses to her partner's last minutes. For a start she had the radio on for company, but kept finding links in the songs to her and Mulder. The sad songs made her feel upset, and the cheerful ones made her painfully aware of her lost opportunities. She lived in his jacket. Maggie told Scully that Mulder had phoned her the day after the dinner party to apologise for calling her daughter away on work. He hadn't been able to talk for long as he was preparing for the expedition up the mountain, but he *had* called. Bill wasn't in the house at the time, so her partner was spared his wrath. The navy had ordered Bill Jr back to his ship. Dana and Maggie tried to soften the blow as best they could. Dana and Bill talked and achieved an understanding, crying as they hugged. "The Government don't care," Bill whispered, shattered, as Dana held him. She felt so sorry for him to have to learn a truth she had encountered ages ago. "We serve them; give up everything - and they don't care." "They just use people. Mulder understood that. That's what he was fighting to expose, and that's what he was up against. Don't hate him, Bill." "You really did love him?" "I do love him. He was my strength. I never told him before he was gone; but I am glad I can tell *you* that I love you, big brother." "I love you too, little one. I wish I could be here for you -" "You are with me wherever I go. Don't forget it. That's an order." He shakily saluted her. "Aye aye, Starbuck. And Dana, Mulder would have had to have known what you felt about him. I may not have picked it up, but I haven't been around much. If you were with him day in and out for four years and radiated that strength, then he would have known." Karen rang again. Scully knew her mother must have told the counsellor where she could be reached - and what she was doing. Karen's voice was unbearably kind. "Dana, people are concerned about you. People who care for you very much." There was a pause. "Why are you packing Mulder's belongings?" "I don't want anyone else doing it." "How are you feeling?" "I'm okay." /Don't ask me about failing Mulder. Don't ask don't ask don't ask . . ./ "Do you think you're letting yourself have enough time to grieve?" "I need to do this. Thank you for calling." /Please leave me alone./ She knew Karen would not phone again if she didn't give her any encouragement. Karen wouldn't push the issue. There was a pause, then: "Dana -" "Karen, I have to go. I know you're there for me, and I'll come if I need you." She stared at the jacket in the mirror as she hung up, wondering what conclusions the counsellor would draw from it. Now she was back in the bedroom sorting again. She still couldn't face being in the sitting room for very long. She would have to deal with it soon. Sometimes she found herself staring at his computer and wondering if she had the strength and the curiosity to go through his files to find out just what was there. The magazines and videos were in one pile near the dresser, the last of the clothes over there, books . . . While carrying an armful of socks to a box, Scully accidentally bumped against the video pile. Some of the videos dominoed underneath the dresser. Cursing, she dumped the socks on the bed, which was rumpled from the times she kept lying down there. Not to nap, she didn't seem to need to, perhaps driven on a final burst of energy - but to think of him. What could have been. She would never wake up in this bed in his arms. She got down on her hands and knees and began laboriously restacking the videos. She had to reach right underneath to catch the final strays. Wiggling and straining her arm, she muttered angrily. Mulder's long arms wouldn't have this problem. The back of her hand brushed against plastic. /Strange . . . That can't be a video cover; it's up on the *underside* of the dresser./ She peered under and thought she could see something. She turned her hand over and felt along. Plastic. A box. Something stuck underneath the dresser. It took a bit of manoeuvring to work the box free from securing strips of packing tape, but eventually she brought it out. A disk holder. "Dana . . ." Frohike said as he opened the door, tailing off as he eyed the leather jacket. "Hi. The 'collection' isn't ready to be picked up yet. Are Langly and Byers here too?" "Yeah, come in." She looked determinedly at the three men. "I want - I need you to do something for me. It's very important." "You know we'll do whatever we can." She held out the box full of disks. "I found these hidden at his apartment. I tried accessing some of the files but it looks like they're all password protected. I tried all the words I could think of, but no luck." "Why do you want to open them?" Langly asked. "What do you think they are?" "I think these are his journals. The file names are months and years. Would you please do this for me? Would you please crack them, beginning with the most recent files?" Byers hesitated. "Scully . . .are you sure you want to read these, if they are his journals?" "Yes. I need to know." His tone was worried and compassionate. "You could find just what you want. And things you never wanted. You could be saved and destroyed within the space of a paragraph. Something he wrote he could've changed his mind on a month later." "I want to know why he killed himself. What he was feeling. I want to know Fox Mulder, and this is my only remaining chance. Even if it is painful. I live with pain." Reluctantly, they agreed. Scully was not surprised; she almost always won arguments through sheer force of will. Perhaps that's why Mulder ran off a lot - he couldn't win outright verbally, so he'd try another tack. And she'd won their last argument of all. Apparently she had convinced him that alien life was one big lie. But the only light it had made him see was that of death. Nighttime. She sat on the sofa, idly looking at the window. At the pane which used to hold the "X". She and Mulder had joked about that "X", or rather the countless ones put up there. About the poor sap who must have camped out somewhere nearby on the orders of X, the man, to keep an eye out for the signal. X the man did not look like the type to just stand around waiting for it himself. The phone rang. She hurriedly answered, hoping it was the Gunmen with news. As she heard her mother's worried voice, she focused on Mulder's answering machine. She would play back his message in a few minutes. Hear his voice and pretend for a moment . . . "Dana, honey, why are you still at Fox's? Are you okay? Dinner's been ready for ages." "Oh, Mom, I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I won't be home tonight. I have to finish something here. It's important." "You'll be worn out." "I'm not tired," she said truthfully. Langly dropped off two disks and a slip of paper. "He uses a different password for each disk. Once we cracked it, we didn't have to access all the files. We're leaving that to you." She gazed at the flat squares of plastic, biting her lip. He turned to go, to give her some privacy. "Langly, wait. Here - you can take some of this with you." She pointed to the telescope in its box and some of the packed "collection". Scully really wanted him out of there, but she was frightened to open the files now she had them. A delay was in order. Lack of words had hurt their relationship. What would too many do? The Gunman soon left. Scully sat at the computer desk. She turned the machine on, put the disk in, called up the list of files. Then for twenty minutes she studied the patterns on the curtains; an insect which landed on the outside of the pane. Angry with herself, Dana pulled her gaze back to the listing. The april97.doc beckoned her. Taunted her. Was the truth in there? Could she bear it? Did she *really* want to find a suicide note? She clicked on the file. His words filled the screen. And at the top of the page she read: "Mulder, oh God . . . Mulder what did I do to you?" she cried out. Then her gaze fell on the next line. The Harold Spuller case at the start of April. Not this one. Her hand still went over her mouth, fingers shaking. She seized the mouse and sent the arrow key down to the bottom of the document. She read the last entry. It was before the last case. Before Mulder was contacted about the "alien" in the ice. She had been denied a suicide note or explanation. But the cracks were there. Cancer snake? Again? He'd been dreaming about this for how long? Since she told him about the tumour? She scrolled through the entries backwards, most recent into the past. She found one dated after his release from hospital a week and a half before the ice alien cometh, after he was given the all clear from the memory- seizures. She closed her eyes, remembering. She had only gone out into the corridor for a few minutes when it happened. His screams cut through the walls, terrible to hear. But the fright was minor compared to him suddenly falling to his knees at the Cassandras' summer house. She had been so scared he was having an aneurism and would die right there. "Oh Mulder, trust you to remember that! Don't you realise I cared more for you than I did for myself?" She knew she was very angry about his trip to Rhode Island. Even now. He hadn't told her about wanting to contact the Cassandras or undergoing this treatment and even though it was a twisted thought, she was very jealous he was pursuing Samantha at a time like this where he'd assured her he would keep looking for a cure. Then she found the entry on Friday 11th April. For her. It *had* been for her . . . And the ice-alien - he would have seen it that way too. A bargaining chip. Why he'd pulled her out of her mother's dinner party. What had he said? "This is not some selfish pet project of mine." It *was* selfish. A selfish desire not to lose her. Scully struggled not to cry. The tears would interfere with her reading. They would render her useless. And she had so much to do. She clicked on the file for March. This time she read it from top to bottom. Mulder's connection with Max Fenig. His guilt over the man dying while trying to bring him proof of alien life. His guilt over Pendrell. /More deaths he's taken on as his own fault./ Her birthday. /And if it was hard to part with it you probably figured you could get it back when I died./ The thought slipped into her mind before she could help it and was tossed out with anger and horror at herself, her cynicism. He'd given her an important part of his life. Scully reached out and traced those three little words with her finger as they sat on the screen. /My back? Does he mean the tattoo?/ The phone. Her phone. She managed to find it and answer. Skinner. "Agent Scully, we're all very worried about you. I've spoken to your mother and -" "Thank you for your concern, Sir. But I'm fine. I'm rather busy at the moment. Thank you for thinking of me. It's too bad none of us thought as much about how Agent Mulder was. Goodbye." Hanging up on him didn't make her feel better. She scrolled a bit more, wiping away tears. The date . . . when he got Skinner to help him on a case while she was undergoing tests. "Skinner did *what*?" She gaped. Skinner had struck a deal with the enemy for her safety. Mulder had *tried* to. "Oh God." /Skinner, what on earth were you . . .?/ She stared at her phone, but did not try to contact him. She hoped he was not coming over to see her. She couldn't handle it at the moment. She read just what Skinner had done to cover up a crime. She nearly choked. She remembered waking up in hospital, drained from the tests and the knowledge that radiotherapy was not improving her condition. Mulder was there, slumped with his head in his arms on the bed, asleep. He appeared to have had just as rough a time as her. How could she tell him about the progress of the cancer? He told her some details of the case, the bees, the disappearance of the evidence. Not about confronting their boss with a gun. /When I gave my resignation, is that why he - did Skinner still think there was a way to save me?/ /How does he know about that? I never mentioned it to him./ "I was trying to protect you . . ." she whispered tremulously. "I so much wanted to protect you and look what it drove you to . . ." To her he *was* strong - to survive all he had over his life. Oh no . . . The Eddie Van Blundht case. Did she really want to read this? She jumped over the rest. Maybe in a few hours. Not just now. She glanced at her watch. Nearly 11pm. A long day. Knock at the door. Hopefully the Gunmen with more disks. Her mother. White and sick-looking and holding a picnic basket. "Here's some dinner. I . . .I thought you might be hungry . . ." Dana let her come in and hugged her. She wanted to get back to the computer, but it was also the last thing she wanted to do. "Thanks, Mom. I'm sorry if you've been worried, but I was caught up in something." Her mother's eyes flicked to the bright square light of the computer screen. Scully had flipped the wordprocessing program onto the safety of the program manager screen when she heard the knock. "Dana. I know you are determined to follow your own path in how to deal with the cancer -" Her voice caught. "- and you want to be independent, but I have to be selfish about it. You're my only girl now, my baby girl . . .and if you are dying, I want to be able to spend time with you instead of you being shut up in here in your last days. You'll be with Fox soon enough." She looked sadly around the apartment. What remained of Dana's heart broke. She and Maggie hugged fiercely for a long time. As they hugged there was another knock at the door. Byers with more disks. It broke the mood. The Gunman left immediately, but when Dana turned back to her mother, she was Scully again. "Mom, I need to do some more searching. But I'll make an appointment with the doctor for as soon as I can, tomorrow if possible, and would you be able to take me there? I need you." Maggie promised, clearly relieved, and left when her daughter promised to let her know the appointment details in the morning. Scully went back to the computer. For a second she thought she had found his last entry. "Mulder, I didn't!" /No . . .God no!/ The police had come as she was on her way to call them. She assumed neighbours had heard the noise, and that still could have been the reason. She had not known Mulder had been there with her . . . "Please don't be angry with me . . ." She was crying and sobbing and pleading at the screen. Even though she sounded like a little girl begging forgiveness from her father, she was not. It was to her lover. Her Mulder. She tried to remember just why she had done what she did. /You just dismissed my conclusions on the case, you didn't take me seriously in the office when I needed your reassurance . . . you didn't believe I could possibly have a date! It hurt . . ./ They were a couple. And just like any couple in a relationship, there were misunderstandings. Things he thought small were major to her - how would he know? What was perfectly clear and logical to Mulder was not to her. She'd had no inkling of his thoughts on the matter, apart from smouldering, suppressed fury. But now here were his reasons. His incredulous and arrogant tone about her having a date was suddenly crystal clear. /I had a side too, Mulder. I had my reasons. I told you about the desk - but it wasn't really just about the desk... He's a psychologist! He should have known what I meant! But Dana, he's also *a man* . . . Why didn't we talk? Did he forgive me for this?/ Then she saw the next sentence. He'd taken it all on himself again. So much pain and guilt and suffering. How could he survive with it all? How indeed? "Mulder . . . I stayed because I loved you. Couldn't you see that? You *knew* I didn't blame you for the abduction or the cancer!" But wait - had she actually ever *told* him? "Oh God . . ." she realised. "I thought we had . . . an unspoken understanding . . ." She buried her face in her hands. Perhaps throwing out her hospital diary had not been a good idea after all. What he had got to read would not have been much, not enough to understand all she wanted to convey. And they'd never really resolved that horrible time because other things suddenly swept them up . . . The day she phoned him from the hospital. The day he brought her flowers. Mulder recorded his nightmares, and they chilled her with their horrific detail. But to him they were nightly occurrences, calmly catalogued. /You were the first one I called!/ her mind protested. /Oh yes, Dana. I'm sure he welcomed the joyous information you shared with him, and the honour of first place. I finally opened up to you and look what it was about. And your eyes . . . you were so sad; I didn't want to make it any worse after that. I was wrong. I should have known you'd research. I should have known from Sam's abduction and mine that lack of information makes you as desperate as being given all the grisly details./ /I never told him how much strength he gave me . . . Oh God, if I had let him in more, I would have gained so much more. We could have saved each other./ She couldn't feel angry at him for leaving her. She could understand him not wanting to watch her die. She skipped to another month. Doing a search, she eventually found out what the "Scully- soothe" method was. Mulder had found the best way to get himself off to sleep was to imagine himself back in her bed, just like the night of his drugged fever. To recall her right there beside him, stroking his face, telling him it was all right. Needing a break and with dawn yet to make the apartment golden, she opened some of his desk drawers and started sorting. After a while she found something in the stubble of a scribble pad at the bottom. Dated November 1994. He sat in the ruins of his life Waiting for the end of hers The dried tears had set his face to stone No movement. The phone rang It was a tolling bell Booming "She's dead. Your fault." He did not stir The machine spoke for him "Hello, this is Fox Mulder. Leave a message please." And though he couldn't stand it He owed it to her To answer To hear the cost of his crusade first hand. He snatched up the phone "I'm here." And waited for damnation . . . But instead Found two lives moving out of the dark. She would not get that phone call of salvation. Her arms ached to hold him. "Oh, Mulder . . . I'll be with you soon." DAY SIXTEEN - early morning She sat for ages, mind blank. Then reality encroached. She sniffled and the tears came again. She managed to find some tissues and as she was wiping her nose, a thought struck. /When was the last time I had a nosebleed?/ Scully's mind raced. The last time - it couldn't have been too long, surely. The cancer was a runaway train now. But she had not bleed since in Skinner's car going to her mother's . . . Days ago? Around two weeks ago . . . And her neck wasn't swollen at all. She felt drained and tired, but her grief and lack of care of herself would account for that. Not what should be going on in her body at the moment. Her mother took her to the doctor that morning and sat with her. Scully could see Maggie's surprise when she mentioned the lack of nosebleeds. She hadn't wanted to get her mother's hopes up. Dr. Jarinine decided to take a look at the tumour by direct vision telescope, putting a fibre optic laryngoscope down her nose. A little TV screen showed the sinus cavity. Maggie could not bear to watch it, she was focused on Dana, holding her hand. But Scully watched the screen. The telescope's vision, as if it was a tunnel explorer, searching for the motherlode with a lantern fixed to a hard hat. The tumour was not there. The doctor gasped, causing Maggie to inadvertently look at the screen. "What's wrong?" "It's . . .it should be right there . . ." he whispered, incredulous. Dana studied the image. The cancer was completely gone. Maggie crossed herself. "Are you - are you sure the equipment isn't malfunctioning?" Dr. Jarinine shook his head. "There's no way it could be. We can see the telescope's progress, and the feedback is clear and strong. Right there is where the tumour was. Dana - we'll check your bloodwork, make sure your lymphatic system is clear, but . . ." He began carefully removing the DV scope. "You are cured." Scully stared numbly at her mother, who was hovering between joy and concern, and at the doctor, who was in a state of amazed shock. She didn't feel any of those things. She felt cheated and betrayed. /I was ready to die . . ./ Scully left her mother, saying she needed time alone, and wandered in a daze. She found herself back at Mulder's apartment around noon. A note had been slipped under the door. The Lone Gunmen. They'd accessed more disks and when she was ready they would drop them around. She went and lay on her side on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. /I should tell Mom that it's okay. That I've moved out of the dark. But I haven't. I haven't really./ She was cured. But how? It couldn't have been the treatments - not when the cancer was in her lymphatic system on an inexorable path. The doctor had suggested perhaps her last tests had accidentally been mixed up with someone's who had the cancer at the more advanced stage. That she was in fact responding to the treatment all of a sudden and . . . But that quickly? The tumour *completely* gone? Ahab. The vision of Ahab. Him touching her. The warmth flowing through her whole body, cleansing her. A miracle? She'd seen enough amazing things in the last four years. And been a part of one when she came out of her coma. The coma. She'd had this feeling of warmth and peace, especially when Nurse Owens was around - then woken up. The same feeling from the other night. A serenity, as a balance was restored in her body. A serenity also sensed when she met Jeremiah Smith. She had not connected it with her coma at the time, but it had gone a long way to her trusting him when he turned up at her apartment asking to speak to Mulder. And other times. Not as strong, but there. In the hospital after rescue from the SS Ardent, where she and Mulder nearly applied for old age pension together. The times she woke up at Mulder's bedside as they fought the retro-virus - she kept feeling something important had happened and she was missing it. And each time he was a little bit better. The amazing recovery of Mrs Mulder. Nurse Owens. Jeremiah Smith. Her father - or the image of him. Healers? Alien healers? Changing appearance to suit the occasion? Was that why Mulder managed to survive such odds? Why would they keep healing her and Mulder? She remembered Mrs Mulder saying how her cancer "wasn't an issue any more". She had interpreted it as his mother realising she had accepted her fate. But now . . . had Mrs Mulder known she was healed? Had Cancer Man told her? Pulled the strings to get both women healed? Made Mrs Mulder insist on getting her son's body back so the second autopsy would be a rush? Kritschgau had explained why Mulder was so useful to the Government. To feed the lie. But if these *were* aliens . . . To cover alien life . . . It was too much to think about. She couldn't believe she was even entertaining the thought of miracle healers, human or alien. There had been Samuel Hartley. Unsubstantiated. Kevin Kryder - well, there was a place for miracles in her life. Shapeshifters - the "Pilot" who held her hostage twice, once looking like Mulder, then changing into a more deadly form. Somehow... She'd felt strange around him, but the situations and an icepick at her neck could account for that. Definitely no serenity sensed there. Eddie Van Blundht. No. He was completely different to that "Pilot" and Nurse Owens. Dana just knew. There was another connection in there she was missing. Her coma and something to do with her dreams . . . Something . . . She was too tired to think straight. The forest again. Still shrouded in darkness. Mist curled around the trees. Not a star to be had. Scully began wandering through the landscape. She could see enough not to stumble. It was completely quiet apart from her noises and breathing. /What's that?/ There was another noise. Lapping water. She realised where she was and raced forwards. She burst out of the trees onto the shore of a lake. Her lake from her coma dreams. But the water was strange. It was full of stars. As if the heavens were collected up and poured into this place. Sparkling eternity before her eyes, drifting gently back and forth. /My life, my universe, my everything./ "*Mulder*?" Frantically she scanned the star-water she could see through the mist. No sign of him. No rowboat. Scully picked a direction and began running around the bank of the lake, searching desperately for the pier. "MULDER????? MULDER! Please answer me!" She could feel him, but she couldn't see and it wasn't strong enough - She woke up. "No! No, dammit, I was so close!" she screamed, then sank down and buried her face in her hands. /I could feel you close, Mulder . . . But it wasn't close enough. It was not just a dream. Are you back on that bridge spanning two worlds? Do you want to come back from the dead to continue with me, but can't find the way? Or are you trying to give me a message? The lake is so different for you. What does that mean? Why was it so dark for you? I've been in there before, I got in there again. I will come back for you./ How? She needed to increase their connection. She knew she had to. Her eyes fell on the note on the coffee table. Within five seconds she was dialling the Lone Gunmen and asking them to bring over the latest disks, quickly. They did so. How much more would she have to read to strengthen her link with her partner? "Only one way to find out," she muttered determinedly, and began picking disks and files at random. She read how he sometimes visited Melissa Scully's grave late at night to stand and talk to her about her little sister. About his guilt over her death and how by the same token he had been so glad it was not Dana and he hoped Melissa could forgive him this. How much guilt he felt even over Queequeg's death, but how he had never really liked the dog because Scully had given it such visible affection. Affection she kept hidden from him. The times he recalled Scully's presence beside his bed when he was injured, how it made him want to get better and how he felt such healing warmth and safety. /Because I was there, or the healers . . . Not now . . .not just yet . . ./ He had a nightmare where they had two daughters. Twins. The Eves. Scully's red hair and his brown eyes. His diary entry that day she woke up from the coma. She wanted to read more on how he had been affected by her abduction, but those disks were still with the Gunmen. Even though there was only one password per disk on the whole, he hadn't been as predictable with the words as the other time she'd broken into his files, and it was still taking time for them to go through the options. It was clear in his entries how much she meant to him. Not just on the big cases, but day to day. Just walking into work knowing she would come. How one look from her would replenish his soul. His bold touches in the cases after her return. Touching her neck and cheek at the Mount Avalon research site, wiping the sauce off her face at Delta Glen. She could still feel those touches, how her skin burned. He knew he was overstepping the mark, but he couldn't help it. His near-involvements with Dr Bambi and Det. White, because he had realised his feelings for Scully were love, and he had panicked, thinking she wouldn't feel the same and it would ruin their partnership. So he looked elsewhere, but then realised he was kidding himself, that he could not feel this way about anyone else. And how Scully didn't seem interested in going out with anyone else either. Pusher. That case proved his theory. And shook him up badly. He felt guilty he didn't have the strength to break Modell's control of him. The screen was becoming a blur. She yawned and pulled her glasses off and stumbled to the sofa. She sank down, hoping she had covered enough to get back into the forest. She was not in the forest. She was on the shore of the lake - she could hear the lapping, but could not see any of the star-water for the mist. Scully walked forward cautiously, trying to reach out to Mulder in her mind. The mist parted. The pier was before her. And out on the lake was a rowboat. Occupied by a lone figure. "Mulder!" She ran out onto the dock. The wood moaned yet held. She gazed out at her partner, across a distance of about fifteen metres. He sat in the boat, totally unmoving. She could see his face clearly in the uplight from the shifting stars. He was unresponsive to her yells and pleas, even though his gaze was unwaveringly on her face. "Mulder, hold on - I'll bring you in!" She reluctantly pulled her eyes away and looked for the tie-rope. There was nothing attached to the dock. She looked back and forth between it and the boat. No rope line. Nothing to tether him the pier, to the ground, to life? Nothing for her to pull him in with. The boat was just sitting out there, rocking gently. "All right, then. I'll come to you," she whispered. A little detail like that wasn't going to stop her now. She sat down on the edge and pulled off her shoes. She was wearing a trenchcoat, so discarded that and a few other items of clothing before remaining in her blouse and suit pants. It felt a little silly to be so safety conscious in a dream or vision, but she didn't want to take any chances with getting to Mulder. She put her legs out and turned over, bracing her body with her arms as she lowered herself towards the star- water. Her stockinged toes touched the water but did not go in. The water wobbled. Startled, Scully hauled herself back up and peered down. As she had pushed up, she felt . . . resistance? The water, or whatever it was, was practically solid. She dropped her shoe in. The surface rippled out around the shoe. The shoe did not get swallowed up. It lay on the water. Water like almost-solid jelly . . . Scully accepted this concept in a second. Swim or walk, whatever it took. She slid off the dock and her feet landed on the surface of the lake. She swallowed and clutched at the pier, thinking she would lose her balance, but the "water" was a little soft on top, moulding around her foot and toes, yet not over it. Ripples fanned out then vanished. It was supporting her easily. A skyful of stars winked and sparkled below her. Footing established, she let go of the wood and headed towards her partner. "Mulder? Mulder, it's me. I'm coming. I'm going to take you home." No response. /Take him home . . . His spirit is here, but what about his body?/ Closer and closer she walked, focused entirely on Mulder. Then it dawned on her that the slight give beneath her feet was turning into sucking. She looked down. The star- water substance was coming up over her feet. Panicked, she tried to pull her left foot out. She managed , but it was an effort. Frantic, she tried to hurry to Mulder. She was almost there, about five more metres . . . But the lake was pulling her down into its depths. The solidness was draining away beneath her, sending heavy liquid over her ankles, her calves, her knees. "Mulder! Mulder, help me!" It was like wading through heavy marshland. Hips, waist, chest. She struck out for the boat in a desperate swimming stroke, but the liquid wouldn't allow it. Only one reaching arm and her head were above now. She couldn't quite touch the boat. Mulder was gazing towards the docks. /A fly in amber./ Then she realised. /This is where my world ends . . .my dream, my beliefs, my facts . . . I've passed out of my realm of possibilities. This is Mulder's place -/ She called to him one last time before going under. His hand grabbed hers. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Scully was sitting in the boat directly in front of Mulder. His hands were holding hers tightly. "Mulder, thank God! Are you okay?" She squeezed one hand and tried to pull her other out of his grasp to touch his face. She couldn't - his hold was constant - and although he was looking directly into her eyes, he was still not responding. "Mulder, please. Come on, talk to me. I know you're in there." She was vaguely aware she was not wet, but dismissed it. "I know, Mulder. I know you. We can't leave it like this." She squeezed his hands, trying to make him feel the connection. She found she could move his left hand and arm and raised his hand in hers to her face. She rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek and kissed it. His mouth parted slightly and she saw a spark in his eyes she was sure was not a reflection of starshine. "Mulder?" she asked hopefully. He let out a strangled moan. The pressure of his fingers increased and his arms began shaking. "That's it, come on," Scully whispered. "Come back to me . . ." She could feel him, not just his grip and his body close to hers, but she could feel him spiritually. There was a connection, but she could sense her strength was maintaining it. Mulder was trying to reach her, but his soul was weakened, she could feel it. The tiniest hint of his voice speaking her name. But not spoken out loud. She heard it in her head. She leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. "If you can form a nexus with a child molester, Mulder, then surely you can create one with me. Concentrate; let me in. Let me into your mind." She felt him then, and reached out with her mind as if it were arms, encircling his soul and supporting it. Holding him up. /Where are you, Mulder?/ /Yes, Mulder. Yes, it just . . .disappeared. But that doesn't matter. Where are you?/ /No. I refuse to accept that! I've been here before. I know this state is *not* death. It may be close, but not the final end. More like a place for a soul to rest and decide whether to live or die./ /Don't lie to me. You are not dead and I want some answers. Better than answers, I want the truth!/ She pushed her will deeper into his mind. She could feel he was startled and was trying frantically to block her, but his soul was too weak. Was he injured? Drugged? Dead . . . Memories. There were memories here. She realised she could access his memories as simply as a computer file. And she did. She was staring at a TV. His TV. The documentary on the existence of alien life. It was hard to see the screen because she kept blinking and her vision blurred up because she was crying. Feelings and splintered thoughts: She was seeing that night through his eyes. He was on the floor of his sitting room, leaning against the sofa, right hand on his knee. Cradling a gun. She felt his thumb move as if it were her own, tracing the contours of the weapon. Then he lifted the weapon towards his head. Scully cried out and watched in horror. He slapped the gun down onto the coffee table and pulled his hand away. "No!" Scully heard him exclaim to the room. "No, I won't! Not while she's alive. Not while there's a chance to save her." He buried his head in his hands, still crying. Scully gasped with relief. /Mulder, you didn't . . .I was sure you didn't, thank God./ But what *did* happen? Had he changed his mind a few minutes later? His head shot out of his hands at the knock. He hesitated, then got up, reaching over to pick up the gun. As he quietly moved out of the sitting room, he glanced at his reflection in the large mirror on the wall. Scully gasped. He silently swore. Mulder was a wreck. His face was heavily flushed, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks stained with tears. And his eyes - beneath the sheen of liquid, there was complete gut- wrenching guilt and pain. Scully could not believe he'd managed to stop himself from pulling the trigger. To live with all that . . . Reading about his feelings was nothing compared to carrying them around. He swiped frantically at his face, but it was obvious there was no way to disguise the fact he'd been crying. In the reflection, his eyes went back and forth from the mirror to the door. More knocking. He bit his lip and edged out into the entryway. "Who is it?" His voice was croaky. "Mulder, it's me." Scully gaped. Her voice! How - ? /Mulder, it's *not* me! Don't answer -/ But it had already happened. And Mulder carried them both hastily forward, obviously so desperate to see her that he was forgetting about the state of his face. He pulled open the door. Cancerman. Cancerman stood there smugly, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Standing behind him in the dim light of the hallway was a man with nondescript features. Their enemy smiled. "I can't believe you of all people don't have a peephole." Mulder just stood there. Scully could feel one hand still on the doorknob, the other holding the gun loosely, pointing to the floor. Cancerman took the cigarette casually from his lips. "Agent Mulder, I understand you wish to make a deal with me? Do you mind coming to our apartment and discussing it? Before any of your neighbours decide they want to make a late night trip to the drugstore, and see us - regrettably for them." /Mulder, you didn't . . . DON'T!/ "*Your* apartment?" "Number 50. Lovely neighbourhood." Cancerman gestured around the corner. "We wouldn't know," Mulder replied. "The rest of us tenants are too busy stepping over assassinated informants and going insane because of the lovely spiked water. I wasn't warned the apartment had such a rat problem." "Fighting words, but they are delaying time, increasing our chance of discovery, and not helping Agent Scully." Mulder stepped wordlessly into the hall, gun-hand still passive, left hand automatically patting his pocket to make sure he had his keys. "You can keep your gun, Fox, but if you use it rashly, you will lose what you want the most." Cancerman stepped back and continued up and around the hallway to 50. The door was unlocked and he opened it, going inside. Mulder hesitated and followed him through, the nondescript man behind him. Mulder glanced back to see the man carefully watching his actions. Cancerman was going into the living room. Scully was trying to pick up Mulder's feelings, but couldn't. She could however, feel Mulder's soul struggling against hers to try to remove her from this memory. She held on tenaciously. The nondescript man refused to move until Mulder preceded him into the living room. Equipment. Computer screens. TV screens. One showing a bird's eye view of the sitting room at no. 42. Mulder's gaze shot to Cancerman. "How long have you been watching me?" His voice trembled with anger. "Oh . . ." The answer was breezy. "Only the last week. Only when our little ice-alien plan began really moving. Your partner stumbling across Kritschgau and then capturing him was unexpected, but it ended up working wonders. He instigated our contingency plan very well, better than how we planned to approach you. Now Agent Scully really will believe the truth is lies. After what I saw tonight, I decided it was time to make my move." He lit his cigarette. "And just what is your move?" The man smiled and touched a few buttons on a keyboard under the spy-screen. The image changed to another angle of Mulder's sitting room. Then another. More tapping. The camera panned in to one particular fish in his tank. "I hope that one lasts another two weeks at least. Then I'll win the bet." "Are you willing to deal? Is that it? Well, I'm ready, so just get to it." More tapping, smoke circling. Mulder's kitchen, bedroom, bathroom - "Gee, thanks . . ." "Well, Fox. You could have just as easily decided to slit your wrists in the bath to be tidier about things. For all we knew." "You've been watching all this time just to see when I cracked?" "Tonight would have been the night anyway, after you lost the body from the ice and were told it was fake. I was waiting for that. And what Scully told you. But she didn't tell you everything." "What do you mean? And why were you waiting for that?" "So I know you really are willing to bargain. That you were at your wits end and knew just what was at stake. And that I have the satisfaction of knowing I've beaten you." He moved to another screen, a blank one, and hit play on a VCR. Some sort of office - a doctor's office. Scully realised it looked familiar. It was *her* doctor's office. And there she was, sitting pale and stiff. Strong. Alone. The date in the top corner - oh no . . . Mulder's gaze was totally focused on the screen. The image changed angles and showed a side-on view of Scully and her doctor. Doctor Jarinine was looking through an open folder. He looked up, but Mulder's gaze kept himself and Scully focused squarely on *her*. The doctor opened his mouth and the shot changed to a near full-on close up of Dana. "Dana, I am very sorry . . .but the latest test results show the tumour has metastasized and the cancer is now in your lymphatic system." Mulder let out an agonised moan. For a second his eyes slammed shut, then came open again, and he watched his partner on the screen. "No . . ." Scully watched her own reaction to the news. Her face was impassive. Then a tremor ran through it. "May I see the results, please?" Superwoman. She had no questions to ask. She knew what was going to happen, what was happening inside her. And Mulder could not know the thought that echoed over and over in her head as she studied the sheets. /How am I going to tell Mulder?/ The screen went blank. She heard Mulder sniffle. Cancerman's voice was mockingly soft. "Such a trooper. So wonderfully full of denial. So intent on keeping it all in and marching through it. She's made our work so easy, Agent Mulder." "You can cure her. I know you can. What do I have to do to ensure it?" "Become dead. Suicide." A nod. "If you give me proof you can heal her, and proof that you *do* heal her, then that will not be a problem." /Mulder - I'd rather die!/ But it was far too late. "There's your proof." Cancerman gestured. Mulder turned to the nondescript man. The stranger spoke. In Scully's voice. "I have many talents." He smiled eerily. His smile grew and his whole face and body rippled and changed. The Pilot. Scully gaped. That man. And what she had just witnessed. Was Mulder hallucinating from stress . . .? No. "You . . ." Mulder gasped. "You killed Smith . . ." "I saved your mother." Now the voice was deep and the Pilot's alone. "And if you miss Smith, how about this?" He morphed into Jeremiah Smith. Mulder's groan was half astonishment, half growing realisation. "You can heal Scully?" "Certainly." The reply came in Smith's arrogant tone. "To give you a little more proof, here, cut your hand." He handed Mulder a knife. Mulder took it. "What, do you want to make sure I won't bleed green?" But he cut his palm enough to well up blood. Smith reached out and touched his hand, two fingers near the wound. Mulder and Scully watched in fascination as the cut uncut itself, mending before their eyes. In a few seconds you would never have imagined there had been any damaged skin at all. "A cut is one thing. Cancer is another." "Your mother had a severe stroke but I brought her back. With the cancer - we engineered and helped perform the tests on the women; we know the results and that we can cure it." "The Kurts said there was no cure." "The Kurts were kept in the dark about our healing powers. They are workers, nothing more. Our powers will work. We will even heal her in stages, enough for her to think that somehow the treatments worked. The first time will put her out of immediate danger." "How will I know for sure?" Cancerman blew smoke. "We will show the first healing. We will set up devices at Scully's and her mother's house - she might go there. And the monitoring equipment in the doctor's office again. Of course, you will have to be dead to the world before we cure her." "You could fake the whole healing - the whole meeting. Have two morphers play Scully and the doctor and say exactly what I want to hear. Or do some technical wizardry." "Oh no. You know Agent Scully. You would be able to recognise a fake or generated image with your spooky intuition. And you will have to trust us to do the rest of the stages. And I know you are wondering about our intentions. We will heal her; she is of no use dead. Especially now she is so convinced your work was all for nothing. The truth can still be covered. We need you dead, but if both of you died, it would raise too many problems. Your followers would cry foul." He smiled. "You are wondering just how we can pull off something which will convince Scully of what you have done." He pressed a button on a console. "Let me enlighten you." He turned. A man came around the corner of the kitchen doorway, through into the entryway, into the living room. Mulder. A perfect replica of Mulder. "Uh . . . nice job, but won't Scully get suspicious when she begins the autopsy and suddenly finds green blood and the retro-virus? Or is that your plan - to kill her too?" "This isn't a morpher, Agent Mulder. This is a clone." "And he's perfectly fine with the company he's been keeping? You obviously didn't manage to recreate my personality." The clone just stared calmly back at him. Mulder looked at Cancerman. "And he knows what you've got planned? What you're going to do - what you're going to get him to do? And he's willing?" "Completely. Our brainwashing techniques are quite exceptional. For example, Agent Scully remembers little about her abduction. Three whole months gone. And with you, we had to remove what you discovered at Ellen's Airbase. Clones, however, do not have the memories of their original - all we can reproduce is the body - so instead of deleting key aspects, we had a blank canvas to fill. Enough information planted so he can carry out a convincing conversation if he were to run into neighbours when he came into the building, and when he takes his final journey to your apartment. Hypnosis so we can be sure of his devotion to our purposes and that he will carry out our orders to the letter. Or the bullet. After all, he may not have your memories, but he is still Fox Mulder and by sheer chance your passionate feelings may have surfaced at some time and complicated things." Mulder circled his duplicate. "How did you do it?" "We've had plenty of time over the past four years to take samples from you and grow a clone. Slower than the process to make the Kurts because of their hybrid nature, but worth the wait. Perfect DNA and bloodwork matching. To keep Agent Scully happy - or shall we say, convinced - we recreated the plate and screws in the leg, did some dental work, and reproduced the scars . . . Every time you were injured enough to require a healer, we had always made sure the old scars conveniently faded a bit more to make our work easier. Early this year when the clone was developed enough, we injured him in the same ways, then healed him up to the stage we required." /So that's why the scars always healed so well - much better than I expected./ Mulder snorted. "And I just thought I had a great moisturiser. So you're even responsible for my smooth skin. Are you responsible for my *DNA* too? You said you've know my mother since before I was born." "Our relationship didn't start until after Samantha was about four." "If your brainwashing is so good and I've been in your clutches over the years, why haven't you rewired my mind to stop pursuing the truth? To think that UFOs are fake?" "Fox, we had blocked the memory of your sister's abduction, and for years that held up very well. By the time you underwent regression hypnosis you were already an FBI agent with good connections in Congress. You had been interested in the paranormal for a long time and gained quite a reputation. Developing a sideline into extraterrestrials and the X-Files was a logical progression for you. If we did anything to alter your blinding beliefs, people would notice. Especially Agent Scully. She would never accept you calmly giving up your religion. That would attract to us the wrong sort of attention. So we decided to be creative and use your passion against you instead. To our advantage." "Where is my sister?" "Sorry, this is a one-wish deal. We're only granting you one miracle." Cancerman eyed him keenly. "Of course, you can choose to get your sister back . . ." "Not at the cost of Scully." The man chuckled, clearly expecting this answer. Mulder's voice was tight with fury. "Why should I believe you'll heal Scully if I do what you say? Apparently Skinner's been quite your little whipping boy in the same hope, and it's gone nowhere." "Oh, Skinner was just an amusing diversion while I waited you out. He wasn't the one I needed the big sacrifice from. Now I have your clone to swap you with to avoid any messy complications and I have you wanting to deal. So much more satisfying than doing a snatch and replace." "What about if I had blown my brains out or slit my wrists? Would've saved you all this explanation." "We want you alive - but not to the outside world. If you had slit your wrists we could have got into your apartment in minutes and healed you. When you were holding the gun we had your phone number programmed into our special line there, ready to phone and make you an offer." "And if I'd ignored the call?" "We would have come over. If you had blown your brains out before we could stop you, we could still make use of your dead body. And your death. But alive is more convenient." "Why do you want me alive?" "Experiments. Now please be kind enough to remove your clothing and give it to your stunt double. There are other clothes for you to wear." He pointed to a pile which had a hooded sweatshirt on the top. "He has a duty to perform after we leave. Oh, I suggest you give him your keys and gun for the job." Mulder did so. He watched Cancerman bring up the apartment complex on the TV screen, all floors and angles and hallways, to study which would be the best way to leave the building. "A quiet night. A shame we have to ruin that. And don't think someone next door might have heard us talking at your door. No. 44 is on holiday, No. 43 are out, and no. 40 was asleep, rooms away. We checked." He tapped the screen. "Though the shot will wake him up . . ." "I didn't want her to - I didn't want her to be the one to find me. I mean, the body. Not like that. She will probably have to identify me. Can't you . . .cut the wrists instead of pulling the trigger? Please?" /Thinking of me, he's still thinking of me./ "No. This is the way it has to be. And with a gunshot, someone other than Scully will find you first. If you slit your wrists, she would stumble in on the scene. Vanity. A naked face or a naked body." He laughed and took the gun from Mulder's unresisting hand, passing it to the clone, who took it without hesitation. Mulder yanked her out of the memory with a great effort, but they were still in their nexus. /Where are you, Mulder?/ /You said you shot yourself./ /You aren't dead. And I'm going to find you./ She leapt back into his memories and grabbed. Bright lights glaring down. Masked faces. Operating room? Scared. Resigned. Needles. Oxygen mask. Black out. They hadn't wasted any time. He'd barely handed himself over to Cancerman before the experiments began. A small cell. White. His body full of drugs. Footsteps coming. Coming for him again. Shuffling in a line of walking corpses. An order to halt. Obedience. Two orderlies/guards arguing over something on a clipboard. A glance round. An open doorway. A whisper behind him. Another prisoner: "That leads to a way out! I've seen it, but been too drugged to try. Let's attack the guards!" "No. I promised to stay here. Besides, this isn't a very subtle test." More masked faces. Lights. Pain. Blood. Always taking blood. Being wheeled down a corridor. So dizzy . . . Lights going by one by one. Head slowly moving from side to side. Vision clearing. A giant orderly pushing the gurney. A logo on his lapel. An orange circle with lettering - Sorsha . . .r . . .? A clothing insignia or a company logo? Scully woke up on Mulder's sofa. She was clinging to a cushion, her forehead pressed up against it. Pounding at the door. "Agent Scully!" Blinking in the early evening dimness, she hurried to let Skinner in. "Agent Scully -" He cut off and stared at her. /The leather jacket again? Why are people so surprised? Isn't it customary to wear the skin of the beast you slew?/ Her mind was automatically on dark thoughts. /But no, no he is NOT dead!/ The A.D. went to speak. "Sir, I need you to do something for me." "Anything, Agent Scully." "Cut your hand." "What?" "Enough so I know you're who you are." He stared, but drew blood. Red blood. "Okay. You could be a clone, but I'll have to take my chances. This apartment was checked for surveillance devices after the death, wasn't it?" "Yes . . . Agent Scully, what *is* this about?" "I need another search, even more thorough. And of apartment 50, though they'd be long gone." /The clone must have got rid of it all . . . How perfectly they planned it! Only him coming into Mulder's apartment so there would be no trace evidence. Cancerman not even lighting up near it./ "The team you get could be rigged, but there's no way of knowing. I need you to trust me on this. I can't tell you what's happening until I know we're not being overheard here." He asked anyway. She couldn't blame him. "What is going on?" "I know you went to Cancerman to help me, Sir." She watched him blanch. "Well, so did Mulder. And I need your help now to save him." STILL DAY SIXTEEN: late evening Apartment 50 was empty. It had been under the same lease of Benjamin Gillington for three years. Gillington was untraceable. Either it was all a set-up, or the real Gillington had been snatched when the apartment was needed. There were no traces of any surveillance devices in Mulder's apartment. Scully didn't put it past some of the search team to put a bug or two down just before they left to find out what she was up to, but there was no time. She had used Mulder's computer and net access to get into the FBI database and look up "Sorshar". Not Sorshar - it was _Sorchan_ Sanatorium. A privately run hospital in D.C. Scully looked it up in the phone directory. She sucked in a breath when she found the correct page. The insignia she saw on the advertisement was identical to the one in Mulder's memory. It seemed too easy. Too convenient that the answer could come from a uniform logo. But why not? The place must be Consortium-run. They would have to cover by making it look like a normal private hospital, complete down to what the employees wore. All the patients would be under strict security - unlikely anyone would be capable of breaking out to enlighten the world. And how would the Consortium know Scully would make the connection through a nexus in a dream? /I'm coming, Mulder. You saved me. Let me do the same./ Fortunately Skinner had been too shaken about her reinstated health, her knowledge of his deal, and her certainly that Mulder was still alive after making his own deal, that he had not asked her how she made the connection with this sanatorium. Skinner reported in his background check: "Scully - we have nothing on this place. They'd never allow a search warrant." "I don't care what it takes. I'm going in there with or without backup. After what you did for Cancerman to save me, Sir, I think this is the least you can do for Mulder. You're an Assistant Director in the FBI. Forge something! Haul out a police squad so no one in the FBI tips off the bad guys. Be creative or illegal - I don't care!" She made to leave. "Scully - wait. We just got you back; we can't afford to lose you again. And if there is a chance that Mulder is alive . . . Give me ten minutes to make some phone calls. Then we'll go get him. I promise." He got onto a SWAT team whose leader he knew well. DAY SEVENTEEN: approximately 2am The SWAT team raided the hospital. Scully was in the first wave, going through an entryway she instinctively knew was *right*. Somehow closest to him. Her group came across a security guard/orderly sitting at a desk overlooking a bank of black and white numbered monitors. All showing little white cells. Most occupied by ravaged looking men. "Where's Mulder?" Scully demanded of the guard, who was now pressed face down on the floor by her men. "Who? I don't know! I just work here!" Scully scanned the monitors anxiously. Her gaze halted at an empty cell. She knew that room. She knew it, but not from her own fuzzy abduction memories. She told the team members to haul the guard to his feet. Alarms were blaring now. "The man who was in that cell - where is he?" "I just watch the cells . . . I don't -" She seized his head. "If you watch, then you saw where they took him!" "Please - they wheeled the guy out about half an hour ago. Heading for the surgery. That's all I -" "Surgery? Which surgery? Where?" "Room 102." Scully raced off down the corridor. The SWAT team tried to keep up. Room 102. Swinging surgical doors. Round windows. Holding her gun ready, Scully peered through one, the team fanning out, ready. A second later she burst through. "Federal Agent! Hands in the air! Get away from him!" There was a lone, masked doctor. He leapt away from leaning over a still form on the operating table, surrounded by machines and trays of equipment. There was a syringe in one of his raised hands. The SWAT team covered the doctor as she raced to the table. Mulder. She knew it was not a clone. He was lying limp and still and so very pale. She went over to him and touched his forehead. "Mulder?" Her voice trembled. Had she traded one corpse for another? No - there was a pulse. She looked up at the doctor and saw the syringe was empty. "What is that? What did you give him?" "Poison," the man said calmly, unperturbed by his predicament. "He's ceasing to breath as we speak." A shiver went up her spine. A monitor began beeping urgently. Mulder wasn't breathing properly. Frantically she looked around for a respirator. Fortunately the room was well equipped. She found one and began inserting the intubation tube just before he went into complete respiratory failure. "I'm here, Mulder. Hang on. Please hang on," she begged as she checked the monitors to ensure he was getting the oxygen. Scully didn't look at the doctor again until she was satisfied the respirator was working. Then she turned. "What have you done to him?" "You're a doctor, Agent Scully. What does the equipment tell you?" He was in a coma. And one screen had a very familiar image on it. Branched DNA. Branching as she watched. Only this time it was labelled "MULDER_FW". STILL DAY SEVENTEEN: Georgetown Hospital. Mulder was in critical condition. He was now on a ventilator. If he was taken off it, there was a strong chance he would not be able to breath for long on his own. The doctors could not explain what was causing his condition. Complete unawareness of self and environment. No language comprehension. No voluntary responses to extreme stimuli. No acute injuries, traumatic or non- traumatic. No degenerative or metabolic disorders. Scully had them pull her folder for her coma details, but her own recovery from this state was still a mystery and a miracle. Did the DNA affect males differently? There was no implant anywhere on his body. And he was not sterile - they did a sperm check. Had the Consortium still harvested him? After all, getting a large amount of reproductive material from a male did not require a high amplification radiation procedure. So when he recovered, he wouldn't get the cancer in a few years time. Shouldn't. The solution in the syringe could not be analysed because it had broken down and no one could work out what it had been. Perhaps it was poison - as in something to accelerate the branching DNA. The medicines in the operating room were labelled in some sort of strange code. The sanatorium doctor was gone - Scully was told somehow he had locked a SWAT member into his own handcuffs. By the time Scully managed to alert them their handcuffed team member probably *was* the good doctor/shapeshifter, he had been released and disappeared. /Why didn't I sense he was one of them?! He could have healed Mulder!/ She sighed. /I *did* sense it . . . but I was so focused on Mulder and the situation . . . And he wasn't one of the serene ones./ She told Skinner to have all the arrested sanatorium staff quarantined, and checked under strict caution to see if they were shapeshifters - a blood test would tell, as long as the medical staff were suited up to prevent the toxic reaction, and under security to avoid becoming victims of the incredible strength these "people" possessed. If they could find one shapeshifter, they would find a healer for Mulder. But no luck - when the team raided, either there were no other morphers in the building, or they changed into patients or tricked their way out of arrest. Skinner had agents going over the records in the sanatorium - the directors of the institution had disappeared, and the one official who was found had blustered about the outrage, but quickly shut up at charges of kidnapping a federal agent and bad medical practice. Then he was found dead in his cell. When Mulder's coffin was exhumed, the clone body was gone. Scully ordered guards on the hospital room door and sat stroking Mulder's forehead. She kept her eyes away from all the needle tracks on his arms. "We're going to approach this on several fronts, okay? Medical - we're going to try some manufactured viruses that make a normal human gene to combat the DNA. Miracle - I've got Skinner trying to find us a Jeremiah or contact Cancerman. Yes, Mulder. I think I believe in those healing aliens. If it heals you, I'll believe. Or hopefully a Jeremiah will come *to* us, just like the other times, apparently. But I can't sit and wait, so there's also the spiritual approach - I'm going to have a nap now and see if I can reach you again. Time you left the lake." Mrs Scully came in. She stopped as if she'd hit a brick wall, and crossed herself. "It's not as bad as it looks," Scully said. "You should have seen him in Alaska just after we got his heart beating again. He was worse than this. I was the same as this, and I survived." She turned to Mulder. "Mulder, my mom's here. She can do the praying for us all." Scully slept. It was a deep, refreshing sleep, her head nestled beside his arm on the bed, but she did not, could not, get back to the forest or the lake. She could not feel him in her subconscious. Had whatever was in the syringe affected him so badly that he was out of her reach now? But she had been in an almost identical condition, and she had been on the lake, heard her hospital visitors . . . She got the Lone Gunmen to print out hard copies of more journal files for her - she couldn't have a laptop around all the equipment - and she sat reading and reading until her eyes were dry and her fingers stained with ink. More sleep; but she knew she could not get back to the lake. Long begging talks to Mulder did not seem to help. She was getting frantic now. No sign of a Jeremiah. Skinner was drawing blanks in his investigations. While the folders were clearly labelled by patient name, the contents were in a strange code. Cancerman had not turned up to taunt their boss. Scully asked Skinner to put a call through to Albert Holsteen, to ask if the Indian elder could possibly come and perform the Blessing Way ceremony over Mulder again. They were waiting for a reply. "Please, Mulder. I've been given my life back, but I can't live without you. I . . .I read your journals. There are so many things I never knew, Mulder. So many things I want to tell you or took for granted." There was a knock and Mrs Mulder entered the room. Scully stood up and the two women eyed each other. Then Scully offered her the chair. Mrs Mulder came over and looked at her son. Scully spoke softly. "He will be all right, Mrs Mulder." "That's not what the doctor told me." "I am a doctor too. And I know he will be all right." "You believe in scientific facts, Miss Scully. Not miracles." "I believe in miracles. A miracle has happened to me, and to you. And I believe in him." Mrs Mulder faced her squarely. "Were you and my son sexually involved?" "No. Were you and that cigarette smoking man sexually involved?" Two could play at this. "That is none of your business." "Mulder is completely my business." "What if I told you he was that man's son? Would you leave him then?" "No, I would never leave him. That's why I fought the cancer. If that man is his father, it wouldn't change how I feel for him." "Fox was eight when I became involved with him. For a brief time. Are you happy now?" /Samantha was four. Just like Cancerman said to Mulder. Then it is the truth . . . Unless that's what he told her to say . . ./ At her silence, Mrs Mulder spoke again. "I came to spend some time alone with Fox. I understand you are his Medical Power of Attorney." "Yes." "Does he have a living will?" "He used to, but after my coma . . . and then Alaska . . . In Alaska he was well below the requirements he'd designated and the doctors gave up, but I couldn't . . . I knew he'd get better. And he came back. After that he revoked the living will and told me I was to use my own judgement in future. I told him never to end up in that situation again." She smiled sadly at Mulder. "He trusts me." "He's in this coma because of you!" Mrs Mulder snapped. "Dying. You should tell the doctors to discontinue the ventilator." Scully was split between rage and shock. "What? Why?" The woman looked down at her son, tears glistening in her eyes. "I talked to the doctors. And I see him here, now. He's not going to get well. He's better off without you - you've killed him. And as his mother I refuse to let him linger on in this state when it isn't natural." "As his mother? You haven't done anything for years as his 'mother'! You've done nothing to show you care. I'm the one who's sat beside him when he's sick or hurt or recovering or so sad he can't even cry. Even if I'm not sleeping with him, I'm closer to him than you or anyone else. We're in each other's blood and hearts and we keep each other alive. So don't you dare come in here and tell me it is your right and decision over Fox Mulder's life. I've seen him when he didn't *have* a heartbeat! It took two tries to restart his heart that time, and I would have stuck with it if it had taken a hundred. Mulder is not dead until *I say* he is. Now either you agree, or you get out." "You're willing to put him through all that unnecessary suffering?" "Nothing compared to the lies you've told him and the facts you've hidden from him over all these years. You can try going to court to get the MPOA revoked, but I doubt you'll win," she challenged. "Because one thing I can do well is fight for Mulder. Did your ex-lover make you come here to do this? At the cemetery, how *did* you know my cancer was gone, Mrs Mulder?" Beaten, the woman hurried out the door. DAY EIGHTEEN: Scully went over all the information Skinner could find about the Jeremiahs and the strange Sorchan records and anything else he thought relevant. He had gone over them many times himself, but there might be something missed. Hours and hours and she couldn't come up with any new avenue to try. The manufactured viruses did not seem to be doing any good at all. They had been a flimsy avenue at best. Still no word from Albert Holsteen. Skinner was sending an agent to the reservation to find him. Scully put the files down and spoke to her partner. "I'll get rid of the tattoo, Mulder. Laser, easy. So when we do come together, it will be just us. No cancer snake or visual reminders. No misunderstandings or guilt. I'll hold you for as long as you want. As much as you want. I always wanted to. I'll soothe you to sleep every night - I have other Scully-soothe methods I'm quite willing to patent under our names." She grinned. "Though they may not make us very sleepy!" She even began considering having the ventilator removed. She herself had come back to the land of the living on no more than an oxygen cannula. And Mulder's words. And apparently alien intervention . . . But if the latter was true, where were they? No, she didn't dare remove the ventilator without them. It was not breathing 100% for him, but it was currently doing most of the work. Should she go to Mrs Mulder and demand she contact Cancerman, to get a healer? How much did she know about Scully's recovery and her own? If she knew of the healers, why wasn't she pleading with her ex-lover for her son's life instead of giving up? A nurse came in. Scully gave her a brief glance, saw it was one of the regulars, then turned back to her partner's still face. Then she felt . . . She looked up at the large, dark-haired woman who went around to stand at the other side of Mulder's bed. The nurse met her gaze and smiled. "Hello, Dana." Scully stood up. "You're one of them; I can sense it . . ." The nurse morphed into a smaller, plumper shape. "Nurse Owens." "It is good to see you again, Dana. You only remember me from your coma, but there were other times through the years." There was no denying what she had just witnessed. What she felt. And she certainly did not want to deny it. /There *are* aliens. Mulder - there are aliens! The Consortium must still be behind a lot, but Kritschgau lied./ A bubble of hope formed in the cavity where her heart had been. Scully knew this woman - this being - was not here to harm. "Please save him for me." Nurse Owens looked at Mulder hesitantly. "It is not that simple." "Why not? You've done it before! Please - what do you want? I'll give it to you!" "You do not understand. I came to check and explain. Just wait a moment." She rubbed her hands together, face concentrating, then placed one hand palm down on Mulder's forehead. After a pause, she removed it. Scully hopefully watched his face, but nothing stirred. "It is as we thought." Nurse Owens sighed. "I cannot bring him back. Let me explain. Mulder's spirit has given up; only his body is tethering him to life at this moment. When he was taken for the experiments, he withdrew in his mind to cope. He could not kill himself because he was afraid they would not cure you; and when they did cure you he was still afraid they would hurt you. He hoped the experiments would kill him, and in a way, they have. By taking himself so far into his mind, he could protect you and let Them use him for their experiments - but he has gone so far now that with the drugs and what they have done to him, he does not know he has been rescued. He does not know he is safe. He does not want to come back." "But how can that affect your healing him?" "The soul must want to come back for the body to heal. All the other times, he has wanted to come back, for you and for his sister. You wanted to come back when you were in your coma - I had been ordered to heal you gradually, but after Mulder spoke to you, you were so ready to come back to him, you absorbed more of my power than I intended and so your healing looked like a miracle. In a way it was; I had never seen such dedication. That is why your recovery was so rapid. Though I had to leave enough of the DNA and effects of the radiation to give you the cancer later on, so you and Mulder could be manipulated as required. It has happened other times too, with me and some of the others, when we heal Mulder or you. Your determination and strength takes us by surprise." Scully blinked. "So that's how Mulder could walk around so quickly after getting shot in the femoral artery. I expected him to have months of desk work, but he just . . . bounced back. And the scar wasn't half as bad as it could have been . . ." "Us again." "Hang on - you said the soul has to want to come back, to live. *I* didn't want to live two and a half weeks ago when one of you came to me as my father. So how . . .?" "We tricked you. We made you believe you were accepting death by absorbing the warmth, but really in doing so you were being healed. That was another time it was supposed to be gradual . . . And seeing as you seem more disposed to believe miracles, we came as your father's ghost." Nurse Owens studied her. "We restored your ability to have children too. Your partner insisted on it. You still had eggs, but they were infertile after the treatment. We corrected that. You never checked if you were barren after you woke from your coma." "I was too scared . . ." She swallowed and whispered. "I didn't want to face the fact that's what they took me for, even though I knew it wouldn't have been for anything else . . ." Her mind went back over what Mulder had told her about the fertility clinic. He'd been reluctant, however decided the information could be vital to help them both search for a cure, and he couldn't afford not to mention it to her if it would affect her treatment. The concept of cloning was hard for her to accept when he explained. He reshowed her the photo of all the eight year old Samanthas and the identical boys working on a farm. Said how science was cloning animals - why couldn't the government be lying about how far their experiments had progressed? And then he produced the vial with her now-dead ova. His hand and voice shaking. Scully stroked her partner's hand, wishing it would shake now. /But those Kurts - they are not really my sons. They were not using my DNA, just the egg as a carrier for their genetic material. Their DNA, whoever that poor boy was they used as the template, was already established, they didn't need mine. I hate whoever took me for doing it, but at least they didn't make a real baby from it. I couldn't cope if - / She refocussed. She didn't matter now. "Mrs Mulder's recovery?" "She did want to come back. You saw the photographs of her and Cancerman - as you say - at the Mulder summer house? Just after they were taken, he told her Samantha is alive and if she did as she was told, she would get to see her. Then Mrs Mulder collapsed in the house. But she held on because she wanted to see her daughter." "Did she get to?" "I do not think so. He has been 'stringing her out' as you say. Getting her to stay quiet when your partner comes seeking information. She did think he was dead - dead as a price for curing you. And when you rescued him Cancerman knew our opinion of his condition. He told her Mulder can't be healed by us like we saved her. She begged, but even if he could indulge her, now is the perfect time to have Mulder dead and ensure he will not be turned into a martyr, seeing as the ice-alien is a fake." "Then why are you here if they don't want him alive?" "Sometimes the ideals of my race conflict with those of the men who help us. We still believe you and Mulder are of more use alive," she said simply. "However it seems I can do nothing here." Dana was getting desperate. "There must be some way to help Mulder." "I can sense the spiritual world he is in, the one you were in. He is there in darkness. I cannot go there. You were there in daylight; you wanted to live." "No, wait - in his journals . . . New Mexico. He described a near death experience. He was floating in blackness, a sky of stars. He saw his father and Deep Throat. That was in darkness and so was the dream I had of him at the time." "Mulder had to go temporarily into another spiritual stage to talk to those two men. Just like you went into a different one when your father talked to you. Not the lake. In those other stages dark or light does not matter. The spirits which reside there are dead." "I'll go in again and convince him to live. If I can bring him back into his mind, or into the light, can you heal him?" "I should be able to; yes." Scully suddenly laughed. "So all those times I thought I was finding a great revolutionary medical way of saving him from a retro-virus or rapid aging, it was all you lot . . ." "No. Often you kept him and yourself alive until we could reach you. We are not positioned in every town or remote research station you go to. And often your methods would have worked perfectly on their own; they just would have taken a lot longer." "Why save us? Just what do we mean to your people - whatever? To Cancerman?" "The Government did not create Mulder, but they do try to manipulate him, to use his passion against him and for their advantage. He is the enemy, but an enemy they know and can try controlling. He is a convenient way of uncovering information, then it can be simply taken from him. He tests security at bases and UFO crash sites. The two times he was exposed to green blood - once hybrid human/alien, once pure alien - he survived. The first time he did not require our healing; the second, you kept him alive until we got there - that one was a gradual healing. But the government wanted to observe him to see if his body had created any antigens which could be potentially used against us aliens." Dana stared down at her partner, mind racing as the alien continued. "And with the black cancer, it was an opportunity to find out just what vaccine the Russians had invented. Mulder was a convenient lab rat. To them he could be a walking biological weapon. The Government might even have been keeping him alive to use against us, not for us. A faction of our own people are even working with them on this. That was why they were eager to finally have him completely in their power for thorough experiments. But from reading him, from touching him, I can sense his body chemistry is not a threat. So my race will let me heal him. And we do admire his strength and spirit, the dedication of both of you - we hold such characteristics in high regard. That is why sometimes we go against the plans of your Government for you and Mulder." Scully wanted to scream at her. How could she stay so calm when there was so much at stake? "I have to get through to him." "I do not know how you can." Owens concentrated over him again. "He is degenerating. You need to try this as soon as possible, otherwise it will be harder to get him back. All this equipment and machinery might block my chance of connection - it did not with his mother, but this is a more delicate case. Remove the ventilator and bring him back enough before he dies. Then I can take over." /How to reach him though? I need a bridge, enough of a connection to get back into the forest or to the lake. If only Albert would come! Wait . . .what about . . .?/ Scully heard a nervous voice talking to the armed agents outside the hospital room. "I'm Dr. Mark Pomerantz, Psychotherapist. Agent Scully phoned and asked me to come immediately." The door opened a few moments later, and the man she had not seen in two years entered the room, tucking an ID card back into his pocket. That horrible post-New Mexico time, but before Missy was killed. Scully got up and shook his hand. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Dr. Pomerantz. This means a lot to me." She watched the Doctor's gaze fall on Mulder. He seemed very curious. "I must admit, I'm still not sure exactly what you want me to do." "A variation on your regression hypnosis. I need to get back to a place I saw in a near-death experience, and which I've also been recently in . . . well, dreams . . . I guess you could call them. It is a spiritual state of existence." She described the lake from her coma and how the lake of Mulder's mind was different. She told him everything she thought would be useful. "I need to go to the dark star-lake again. I think if I'm put into a trance it will be enough of a bridge for me to find him. I need to try." She saw the bemused expression on his face. "Don't worry, Dr. This time I won't panic and run. But don't startle me into ending it once I'm in there. Now I just have to organise a few people and removal of some of this equipment, and we can begin." "Uh . . .shouldn't we have a test run first, to see if we can access that memory?" "Time is running out. If it doesn't work the first time, it won't work at all." She briefly wondered if Melissa was watching over this, smiling that her little sister was finally opening up. /Missy, if you can hear me, help me find him. Guide me through the darkness to him./ Breathing. Breathing for herself and Mulder. Her eyes were closed. The doctor's voice was washing over her. There was no hiss of the ventilator. It was gone. Mulder just had the heart monitor and an oxygen cannula now. His breathing was not strong. It could cease at any time. Nurse Owens was in the room. So were Skinner and Mrs Scully. Mrs Mulder had not wanted to be present. Breathing. Reaching out with her mind, searching for the lake as the voice told her. Time. How much time had passed? How much time had *not* passed? No sense of anything. //Seek the lake.// Was that Pomerantz or . . . Missy? She could not tell. The voice directed her when she was lost in a maze of darkness and depth of the unknown. Her mind focused and she knew the way, using her dreams and own ability, building the bridge between herself and Mulder. He was there. She could just sense him. Blackness to thick grey mist. Thick grey mist to thinning white mist. Mist to forest, forest to lake. Lake still in darkness, glittering with stars. She stood on the dock. Mulder was sitting in the rowboat. It was sinking. She went out onto the water. Her strength and determination kept her from being sucked down into it. She approached the boat. Mulder's eyes were closed, head slumped against his chest. His hands were neatly folded in his lap. The water was coming in over the sides of the boat. /Mulder? Mulder, can you hear me?/ Nothing. The water sucked at her insistently as she reached the boat. But she pushed back at it in her mind and kept herself buoyed. She stepped into the craft and sat down in front of him. She took his cold, unresisting hands and held them, sliding forward to take his face in his hands and hers, to raise his head. She pressed their foreheads together. /Mulder, I'm here to take you back home. You're safe, Mulder. I rescued you from the sanatorium. You're in Georgetown Hospital. Nurse Owens can heal you, but you have to come out into the light first. Can you hear me? Can you understand?/ No movement. No flicker of feeling or recognition. She tried to press into his mind, but found emptiness. Desperately she searched. Had he stopped breathing in the real world? There must be some tiny piece of him left . . . There. A tiny grain of Mulder. She sent her soul out to gather the grain, to cup it in her protection. /Come back with me, Mulder./ She could faintly sense him as she nursed the speck. Scully tried to make it unfold and grow, and for a second she felt it respond, but then resist. /Mulder, I know it's hard. I know there's pain and you're scared for me and you think it would solve everything to give up, but I can't let you do that. I love you and I need you. And you were right - there *are* aliens! I've seen them. *Please*, Mulder./ She wanted to convince him with her words, but there was no time. She thought she had a quicker way. /Now I'm going to share something with you - what I feel without you./ She opened the shuttered sections of her soul which she had rarely let him see, or rarely let herself wallow in. Her guilt, her sorrow, her agony, her loss, her devastation . . . All for him. Not over her cancer or her sister or her abduction or missed opportunities. The other things could not compare to this black hole in her psyche. She heard him groan, incredulous. /And Mulder, this is what I feel *for* you./ She let down an even stronger wall and poured all her love for her partner into that tiny grain. There was a gasp, and hesitation. Then the grain unfurled slightly. Slowly. /Yes, Mulder. Come back to me. I can't live without you. Otherwise I might as well still have the cancer. I love you. No one else could ever mean this much to me./ She kept filling him with her love, encouraging. /Yes. I'm here./ He was growing. Shakily, uncertainly. Reaching out for her love and opening up his own. The passion she felt from his journals was nothing compared to this. Their love radiated through them. Their foreheads were still pressing together, then their lips. Scully knew they were sitting in the boat, but her eyes were closed. She could sense the boat was still dangerous, going under. Keeping up the kiss, she rose, gently pulling him up. He came willingly. She broke the kiss. Holding him, her hands still entwined with his on his face, she led him over the side of the boat onto the water. His gaze was fixed on hers. Her eyes did not leave his as she walked backwards in the direction of the dock. There was life in those eyes; it was not star-shine. Was the world around them changing? It seemed to be getting brighter. She hoped so, but didn't dare look. All her attention and feelings were entirely focused. Another step and another and another - Suddenly something hit her hard against the back of her legs and she fell, pulling Mulder with her. They landed on the dock. With a start, Scully woke up. Her head lifted slightly, then halted. Her face had been half-pressed against a pillow. Hospital issue. The other half of her face was warm from being pressed against Mulder's face. Their skin was still almost touching and she could feel where the oxygen cannula had left an impression. "Mulder?" She raised her head. Was she in time? His eyes were still closed. No response. The heart monitor was still beeping. Faintly. But he barely seemed to be breathing. "Mulder?" She could sense Nurse Owens coming around the other side of the bed, and wondered if she had brought Mulder back far enough for the alien to heal him. In a way she had wished - hoped - she could bring him back all by herself. Through her love and his. Before Nurse Owens could reach out with her hand, Mulder took a large breath. Nurse Owens halted. The heart beeps grew stronger. Scully leaned down closely, vaguely hearing a few gasps from the others in the room. "Mulder?" His eyes opened. They did not have far to search, and though sleepy, they glowed the second they found her. He smiled up and tried to speak. He couldn't, but it didn't matter. Her answering smile would have melted a glacier. "My life, my universe, my everything," she whispered, nearly choking on tears of joy. She touched his cheek, spreading her fingers out, and he managed to move his head slightly to press up against her hand. "Forty-two . . .back at you . . ." he managed with a croak, grinning madly. "That is such a guy thing to say," she scolded gently, stroking his forehead, hair, lips. Her world was restored with the sight of those hazel eyes. He managed to kiss her fingertips. He swallowed, trying to draw moisture into his mouth. "Then how . . .about . . .I love you?" Scully bent down the few inches more to kiss him. She knew she should be getting him some water, asking Owens if he was healed enough, dealing with the other people in the room, but she did not care. She did not care who saw her kiss him, or about anything else but her need. The kiss on the lake had been wonderfully spiritual. This kiss did have that too, but was wonderfully physical as well. Even though Mulder was tired, no one could have told that from his input. She let his tongue into her mouth and responded in kind. When they parted lips, but not hold, he needed to take a good inhale on the cannula. For a second his shortness of breath scared her, then she realised he'd just become overexcited at kissing her. Scully blushed. "Sorry, Mulder. Should've had an oxygen mask on standby . . . "Scully, may you always make me short of breath . . ." They were both back. More complete than ever. Knowing exactly what they felt for each other. A hand came down and lay over Mulder's forehead. Nurse Owens. Mulder stared up at her in surprise, then his eyes closed as the healer concentrated. She removed her hand. She smiled at Scully. "He needs to sleep now. I just gave him more strength, but you did all the hard work. The both of you. I think this one could really be called a miracle. I have never felt such a bond between two people before." "Thank you." Dana looked over at Mrs Scully, Skinner and Dr. Pomerantz, who were cautiously approaching the bed with expressions of varying degrees of amazement. Scully spoke to Skinner. "Sir, could you go have Mulder's doctor paged, please? I think he'll want to check him out." She smiled widely at them all. "But he's fine. He's really fine." Maggie ran a hand through the sleeping Mulder's hair. "Thank you, God." She smiled. "I've heard about faith healers, but . . ." She looked up to talk to Nurse Owens, but she had slipped from the room when Skinner left. Scully noticed too, and smiled. It was best that her mother thought the alien was some sort of faith healer for her own safety. Maggie hugged her. "And you're fine now too, aren't you, dear?" Scully could only nod, holding her partner's hand. She looked out the window and saw it was night-time. There were stars in the sky. They were back in their proper place. So was she. Now she could appreciate it. After all that had happened, at last she was alive again. DAY NINETEEN: Mid-afternoon Dana was exhausted, but determined to sit with him, even over Maggie and Skinner's offers. She wanted to be able to just watch *him*, the simple joy of him asleep and alive, and breathing in and out on his own, free of monitoring equipment. Maggie brought in magazines for her, but they lay virtually untouched. Skinner had plenty to do organising analysis of the sanatorium documents - which were still resisting decryption. But they were hard evidence, so his team was keeping at it. Albert Holsteen and his family had been away on holiday when they were tracked down, and Albert sent his blessings. Scully was almost asleep upright when Mulder's eyes opened. "Hey . . ." She could not remember even their victory in Alaska being this sweet. "Hey, back." She touched his face. "How do you feel?" "I'm fine." He grinned when he realised what he said. "No, I really mean it." He stretched under the sheets with a blissful expression. "Amazing what the love of a good woman can do." /So he does remember the lake. He knows it wasn't a dream./ He reached for her hands. "Scully . . .Dana . . . You are cured, aren't you? The cancer is gone?" "Yes. Yes, it is completely gone, thanks to you." His face went from pure joy to worry in a second. "But the Consortium . . .I broke the deal. What will they do to you now?" She delayed the answer by giving him some water to sip. "Whatever they do is not to you or to me, it is to *us*. I have you back. Let them try their worst. Look, Mulder - we can't live in fear of what they will do. They may do nothing. Nurse Owens told Skinner she'd make sure we were left in peace for a while. We'll keep an eye out, but I for one am going to not worry - I'm going to enjoy having you back. Using my second chance instead of going back to normal, which was denying what I felt for you." "Scully . . . Are you sure you want to stay with me. After all they've done to us? After all *I've* done to us?" "You know how I feel for you and you still ask? I'm not going to shut this away behind a wall again, Mulder. What about you?" He stroked her cheek. "I'm not exactly a responsible boyfriend. Though I think . . .I *know* . . .that I'm going to love being able to show you how much I love you. When can I get out of here? And how long since the night the clone shot itself?" "Nineteen days." She could feel every individual one as if they were ten years each. But one look at him lightened the burden. "That long? That means there would have been . . .was it a good funeral service?" His cheeky grin faded when she didn't match it. "I'm sorry - I'm too curious for the good of those around me. But you must admit, it's not often a person gets to ask." He did have a point. She nodded, unable to stop watching him, appreciating and remembering and glorying in every little detail of his face and body. "I'll show you the poems that were read out. The one I read . . . Skinner gave a nice eulogy, what I heard of it at least. Oh - I'd better do something about that grave next to yours I've got the paperwork on -" It came out before she realised. "What?" "Nothing - I, um, wanted to be buried with you or as close to you as I could, because I didn't know if your mom would let me." He just stared at her. "And you'll have to get a lot of your stuff back from the Gunmen and I sent most your clothes to the charity shops . . . I stayed at your apartment for days packing it up - and . . .and I found your journals. The disk box. I'm sorry, Mulder, but they were all I thought I had left of you and I thought you'd killed yourself because of me and I had to read them and know before I joined you -" The faster she spoke, the quicker her tears fell. He threw the sheets aside and swung his legs out so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled her to him, making soothing noises. "It's okay. Shhhhh. I understand. I'm not angry. There was so much in there I wanted to tell you - and some things I wish you'd never seen . . .but it's okay, Dana." "I'm sorry - I'm so sorry that we fought in the warehouse. Every word I said has haunted me -" "It's okay. We were both scared and too much had happened too fast." They held for a long time before she gently stepped out of his arms. "The doctors ran tests and you are fine. You just need rest, which you can get at home. Yours or mine. Probably mine because there isn't much of yours left. The doctor said you can go home when you are ready. I got Mom to get you some clothes." "I'm ready! Wait - your mom had to go through my boxers? That might skew the lovable image she has of me." "I'd already given most of your clothes away; she had to go buy what we didn't have. You weren't a match for anything my brothers left at Mom's. Underwear-wise, I gave her strict instructions for a set of cotton boxers in ordinary colours, and she came back with a set of silk 'Star Wars' ones, an empty purse and a big grin! I can't let that woman go anywhere . . ." "Um, how did she know the size?" He looked very intrigued. "Mulder, I've stripped you often enough when you're sick or injured to know - um, I mean, when I was packing them up, I couldn't help noticing the label." She gave him a Don't Push Me glare, remembering how embarrassing it had been asking her mother to run the errand, and hastily changed the subject. "Now, I'll get the doctor -" But with supernatural timing, just then there was a knock on the door and the doctor entered. "Ah, he's awake." Dr Leon's association with the agents went way back. He shook his head at his patient, very amused. "We've had to get an entire filing cabinet just to house your medical file, Agent Mulder. Now let's make sure you're fine and ship you out so you can come back like a homing pigeon." "Oh Leon, you wound me." The doctor shrugged fatalistically. "If you love someone, set them free. If they return, they are yours. If they don't then they never were. You just keep coming back to me . . ." He dramatically thumped his heart with the medical charts and sighed mournfully. He soon gave Mulder the all clear. Scully noticed Dr Leon notice them holding hands. His mouth quirked up. She knew he was surprised at such visible display of affection between them at this stage, when Mulder was safe. And with someone else present. "I'll send Debbie in with the discharge papers. Unless of course the two of you want to redecorate the room and begin paying rent. A cosy little love nest . . ." He hurried out the door as Mulder and Scully tried to simultaneously throw a pillow. The paperwork was taken care of. As the nurse left with the forms, Scully stood and grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair, putting it on as she spoke. "Now I am going to call a taxi and get the transportation orderly. No arguments. Get dressed." He didn't reply and she was relieved to have won. Then she saw he was staring at her with an odd yet familiar expression. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?" "No. Uh, no . . . It's okay." He looked puzzled. "Right, then I'll be back in a few minutes. I'll draw the curtains if you want." She went to pull the screening material around as he sat up. Then she realised where she had seen that look at the same time she noticed her leather-encased arm. The look everyone had the first time they saw her in Mulder's jacket. She thought of the garment as her own now, and hadn't considered . . . just automatically reached for it. Bright red, she turned to face him. "Um . . ." She gestured at the jacket. "I, um, started wearing this a few days after the will was read. It made me feel close to you. Ah, you can have it back now, you must want to wear it -" She was babbling and pulling at it. "Don't!" he responded, standing up now. He reached out for her and tucked the jacket back around her and admired her in it. Then he drew her against him, murmuring in her ear. "Looks much sexier on you than me." "I think, Mulder, *I* will look very sexy on you." Both their grins grew very broad. "Scully, there's so much I want to ask you, to tell you-" "Not now; let's just get out of here. There will be time to talk later." "Take me home, red." "Not until you put on the Stormtrooper boxers. And a bit more!" Mulder was dressed when the transportation orderly came in trundling a wheelchair. "Hi guys." "Hi, Mike." Scully smiled. Mulder gave him a "Hi," and the wheelchair a pout. The pout nearly caused Scully's knees to go liquid on her. God, she had missed that expression. He was back. The jocular blonde grinned at them. "Soooo, do you want me to duck out and get a coffee while you two argue about the wheelchair, or has Mulder finally worked out it's regulation?" "I don't need it." Mulder sounded like a four year old, and by his expression, he was quite aware of the fact, but determined to act out their normal discharge scene. "Come on," Mike coaxed. "I made sure I got Speedy for you - your favourite. You can put a glow-in-thee--dark UFO sticker on the frame if you want." "Mmmmm, I don't know . . ." Scully was enjoying the banter, but she wanted to take Mulder home. "Remember when we had this argument after my coma? What did you tell me then?" "Either you got in the wheelchair or I would carry you." "And what happened?" "Well, I was really hoping you'd be stubborn and I could carry you, but you saw sense and got in the chair. Your mother was laughing. And I'll be laughing in a minute because I can't wait to see you try to carry me!" "I carried you back to life, Mulder. Don't think I couldn't do this too. Now get that Stormtroopered behind into the chair." Mike chuckled. "Sounds like there's a story in that sentence." Mulder obeyed, having put up enough of an argument to satisfy all involved. As they moved out the door, Mulder reached for her hand and Scully hesitated. She knew they were about to encounter a lot of people who would notice. People who knew them or were strangers. Anyone spying on them would see. They would be out in the world again. For all she did feel for him and was willing to show him, for all that had happened, could she let herself show it so boldly *out there*? His hand wrapped around hers before he noticed the lack of response, and her uncertainty. She saw a whirlpool of emotions on his face, then a look that seemed to say "Oh." He squeezed her hand then let go. His hands went to rest on his knees and he started taking great interest in passing signs. /No. I can't box this up again. I don't want to. But it is a big step./ She took his hand and held it firmly. "I'd sit in your lap, Mulder, but I'm sure there's a regulation against it." "I could look the other way," Mike said helpfully. "Yeah, and wheel us right into a wall!" Mulder pointed out, grinning, but his eyes were not on Mike, and he wouldn't have noticed if the orderly had done so. "A bang for your buck. Or the taxpayers." They didn't let go their hold right through the hospital. Or in the taxi. It felt perfect. Scully couldn't get enough of looking at him now. She wondered when this needy feeling would fade. Perhaps it hadn't really sunk in that she was cured and that he was really back for good. Mulder was looking everywhere - he was finally out in the hustle and bustle again. Free. But his gaze kept returning to her, and his eyes were dark magnets. He let out a big sign of contentment when they entered Scully's apartment. They stood staring at each other for a few minutes, smiling gently. "You're tired," he said quietly. "You must be too." "No, actually, I'm more hungry than tired." She pulled a face at the thought of food. She was so sleepy. "Hey," he said gently, "How about you get ready for bed and I'll come and tuck you in, then I'll channel surf and eat while you get some rest?" "Okay, that sounds great." It didn't really. There was something wrong with the plan, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Scully changed into her pyjamas. Mulder came in and true to his word, he tucked her in. He looked so sweet as he knelt down beside the bed and stroked her hair, kissing her forehead, then her lips briefly. "Go to sleep, Dana. I'll be here until you do, then I'll just be in the next room." She nodded and closed her eyes as he kept stroking her hair and murmuring words that did not need to be comprehended. Lulling her into peaceful slumber - Her eyes popped open and she half-sat up, her hand going to her neck. Mulder leapt back, nearly ending up sitting on the floor. "What is it? What's wrong?" She gave a shaky laugh. "Sorry. My cross - I just remembered. Ah, it's in the jewel box on the dresser." She pointed. "Can you get it for me, please?" "Oh . . ." He appeared relieved as he obeyed, but as he came back with the necklace dangling in his long fingers, he was puzzled. "You *always* wear this, especially when . . . when you had the cancer. Why weren't you now?" "When I led the raid at the sanatorium, I was in riot gear, all jewellery had to be removed beforehand. Then we found you there and I went with you straight to the hospital and I've been there ever since. I forgot to ask Mom to get it for me." The lies slid easily off her lips. /Dana! Habit *is* hard to break./ "Oh. Right." He nodded. "Here, you hold your hair out of the way and I'll put it back on." The cool links settled once again across her skin, this time joined by his soft fingers. She whispered, "I so much wanted you to do this when I got out of the coma and you came to see me - when you gave it back to me." He was astonished and suddenly near tears. He avoided her gaze as she turned. "I know you wanted to," she pressed. "I read it. You wanted to hold me, but you came and went in a second. And you were the one I most wanted to see." "I did want to hold you, to stay, but I was so close to breaking down, I just had to . . . and your Mom and Melissa were there . . . I had to get out before I lost it, big time . . ." His voice was barely audible. She fingered the cross. "I never wear this when you die," she blurted out. "What?" She knew his truths from his journals; it was time she reciprocated. "I stopped wearing it after I lost you in New Mexico, and the same after I got the autopsy results this time." "Why?" "Without you there was no faith. If you were dead, my faith had betrayed me." He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He held her instead. Scully realised the other missing part of the plan. "Mulder, would you come and lie down and hold me? I want to be in your arms, in bed." She felt scared to be so needy, but she wanted it so much and from his expression she was giving him a great gift. Superwoman could take a long hike. Hopefully an eternal one. "Even though it means ruining that great job I did of tucking you in, I'd be honoured." They woke up around midnight, both needing food and bathroom breaks. Afterwards Scully went out into the sitting room to close the curtains, but stopped and stood, gazing out. "Is someone out there?" Mulder's voice was low and urgent. "No. Well, I can't see any spies. But someone, something, is out there. Up there." She pointed to the stars and smiled at him. Mulder came up and put his arms around her waist. "You really think that now? I wasn't sure if I'd hallucinated that bit. Or whether you'd come up with a logical theory about it all." "I, Dana Katherine Scully, now solemnly believe in alien life forms." "I always found you sexy, Scully, but do you have any idea how much more sexier that announcement has made you?" "I don't know. I'll have to gather the facts and come to a logical conclusion." The kiss he gave her as evidence turned logic inside out, as well as every nerve her body possessed. They went back to bed, but apart from more kissing and holding, did not go any further. Both wanted to, but they had just found each other again and there was so much to go over first. For now, there was sleep in each other's arms. DAY TWENTY: Morning Scully drifted near to consciousness. She felt *so* good, so complete. They had made love. And "love" was the only way she could describe it. Then why was a horrible bereft feeling creeping over her? She couldn't feel him spooned against her. She woke up with an awful jolt and turned over, hands seeking desperately. Mulder was not in the bed. Had it been a dream? Had she not found him at all? Or had the final consummation proven too much for him to face this morning? Had it been all he was after? She couldn't breathe. "*Mulder?!*" It was a desperate wail. The bathroom door was flung open. "Dana - what's wrong?" She reached out for him desperately, scrambling over the mattress even though he was hurrying to her side. Her hug nearly pulled him into her very bones. He rocked her, his voice frantic, "Dana, I'm here, it's okay! Did you have a nightmare? Shhh, love; it's okay." She woke up properly and was suddenly able to separate reality from her dream. They had only taken that final step in her imagination. It didn't stop her pouring it out. "I - I dreamed we made love, and, and I woke up and you'd left me and I needed you there and you'd left me . . ." "I was just in the bathroom. I'm not leaving you." And now, she could hear that a tap was still running. Humiliation shot through her. What had she done? What had she just revealed of herself? She may have wished Superwoman would go away, but it wasn't easy to just kick out the habit of years. She gently pushed away from his embrace. "I'm sorry. I just got a bit carried away. I'm sorry." He went to reach for her again, then stopped at her defensive body language. She spoke to the bedspread. "You'd better turn off the tap." He remained sitting close to her. Watching her closely. "The tap, Mulder. It's wastage. The bill'll go through the roof." "I don't care about the damn tap -" She went to get out of the other side of bed to do it herself. He shot forward and blocked her, gently taking her arm. "Dana, forget the tap. Forget being practical for a moment. You just expressed a very deep need. Don't be ashamed of that. It doesn't have to sound logical or sensible." She shook her head, but Mulder continued. "I didn't want to get out of bed, believe me. I wanted to stay holding you, but unfortunately nature has its own needs. I'm sorry." "But now . . . now if we do . . . get together and if the morning after you do change your mind and realise it's a mistake, then you won't say so because of my . . . display. . . You'll feel you won't dare leave me because I'm so dependent -" God, she was a stammering mess. "The morning after, the only thing I would be frantic about would be *you* regretting it." His fingers moved up and down her arm. "Dana, the lake showed what we feel for each other. We are dependent on each other, as much as we've tried to kid ourselves. But it's not just because we need each other, it's because we want each other. Not just physically. We've sustained each other for four years spiritually. We want to be together and your display of those feelings doesn't make you weak. Not to yourself or to me. It is you being honest." She gave a brief ironic smile. "Not Superwoman? But I'm scared. I was scared when I realised that after all the ambition I had to get my med degree and become an agent and do well in the boy's club and solve the cases, that all I wanted, really wanted, was to wake up in your arms." "After all those lofty goals, bit of a letdown, huh?" He grinned. His eyes showed how touched he was by the relevation. "No. You are everything, forty-two." "God, you turn me on when you go all sci fi babe on me." He sobered. "When were you going to tell me that your tumour had metastasized? You knew the night we went to the Smithsonian . . . I saw the date on the tape. Were you going to tell me, or was I going to find out at the funeral?" "I was so worried that if I did tell you, you'd go off and kill yourself, either by your own hand or trying to get answers that weren't there . . . And I was right. I didn't blame you for my cancer - I thought you knew - but I knew you'd still blame yourself." She shook her head. "We've left too much unsaid through assumption. Let's make these unspoken understandings *spoken*! First of all: I don't blame you. I stayed in my job because I loved you and I enjoyed the work. I fought the cancer to stay with *you*, not anyone else." He swallowed, looking like a man granted reprieve from death. "Why did you keep up those walls when you were ill? Couldn't you see how much I wanted to help, to hold you?" "I wanted it so much . . . but I was so scared because I knew that if I let myself accept your affection, your comfort, it could, it would lead . . . I'd blurt out how much you meant to me and you'd have to respond, but out of pity and we'd be kidding each other and I didn't want it to be like that. I didn't want my cancer distorting our feelings. I wanted to be able to see them clearly, and I couldn't, it was all so tangled and I felt so vulnerable, so it was easier to keep the walls up. I didn't know what it was doing to the both of us . . ." "I love you, Dana. I loved you before the cancer and I loved you through it. Even when Superwoman was in residence." "Mulder, go turn off that damn tap and then get back here immediately so I can hold you and try out the Scully- soothe method." It did work wonders too. They drifted off, his head against her chest, safe in her embrace. SEVERAL WEEKS AFTER MULDER'S DISCHARGE: There had been no sign of Cancerman or any related trouble, or the plethora of nightmares for either of them, only a few, and even then, quickly soothed and forgotten. Mulder was staying at Scully's. In fact, he had pretty much permanently moved in. They enjoyed their break, though went into the office a few days in the last week to begin easing themselves back into the X-Files and look at the still baffling Sorchan records. They reentered the basement as believers. Scully had pointed to the wall. "Can we get His and Hers 'I Want To Believe' posters?" And Scully had appointments during that time, to check that her health really was fine, and to remove the tattoo by laser treatments. "You don't have to," Mulder said about the latter, but there was a darkness in his eyes he couldn't hide about that period of their lives. He had not seen the tattoo in these weeks, but the memory of the image from the photos was vivid. "No. I hate seeing it myself. I'm not proud about that time. I don't want it as a reminder. Let's celebrate this change - the cancer is gone, so let's get rid of the cancer snake." He got a bittersweet look, one he wore when she referred to anything which was clearly from his journals. They spent the nights entwined in each other's arms, but had not taken the final step until last night. First they had wanted to make sure of what they were doing. Scully told him how she wished she had journals of her own to show him - how she had regretted destroying the one she started when she first found out she had cancer. But she could still share her thoughts and feelings with him - and did. She told him. Hours and hours of sharing. Explaining. Clarifying. How she had wanted to phone him the night the ice alien vanished. What she'd had to say at the FBI meeting after his "death". Her confusion about Eddie Van Blundt. How she had not slept with Ed. Her anger about the "soul- mate". How long she had stood outside the office door after that brief hug at the end of the Roche case, wondering if she should go back in. How she wanted Mulder to kiss her on the lips in the hospital hallway when he held her so tenderly. How close they came that day after so much pain, and how awful it was when things went downhill again. How she was very much looking forward to being called "Mom". Dana showed Mulder the Sunflower poem. They danced to "Jupiter", visited Melissa's grave together, had a picnic at a real lake in sunshine, bought a huge bunch of sunflowers to decorate the sitting room, and did many other things. They visited Maggie a lot, and Scully was so happy to see her mother with a complexion that was not just made up of varying shades of white. As for Mrs Mulder, that relationship was still up in the air. Mulder had rang her for a few brief conversations, with no real idea of how he or his mother would react to each other. They acted like polite but distant relations at first, but slowly it seemed there might be willingness on each side to build a new bridge between them. It would take a while though. Now Mulder and Scully were laying in bed, complete. Snake and misunderstandings gone. Star Wars boxers and an empty foil packet on the floor. Dana was aware when Mulder woke up. "Hey pretty lady," he whispered into her hair. She raised her head to look into his eyes. She smiled radiantly at him, showing there were no regrets. "Hey beautiful lady," he immediately amended, eyes glowing, as he bent down into a kiss. "What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking how to put this down in my new journal. How to sum up in words how I feel." "Come up with anything?" "The Youth and the Virgin have finally found their sweet golden clime together." "That's beautiful. You won't like mine." "Why not, dare I ask?" "Too typically male. The spy and the twelve year old are at last in from the cold." She laughed and snuggled against him. "Definitely in from the cold. No more dark lakes, Mulder. No more guilt." "You can call me Fox if you want." She grinned. "I think that's very appropriate." "And . . ." He suddenly seemed shy. "If you want - could I call you Mrs Mulder?" "Fox?" she gasped. "Yes, you would be Mrs Fox Mulder. Well, to me at least - I guess you'd have to keep the Dana Scully, M.D., bit professionally. If you want to marry me. Would you marry me, Dana?" Her reply removed the need for words for quite a while. Eventually they came back to reality. "If we do marry, the FBI could come down on us," Scully couldn't help pointing out. "We're already skirting the line by living together." "Yeah . . . Skinner might come up with something though or we'll think of something. He'd stand by us. Perhaps for now, if we just stay unofficially engaged while we consider our options and sort it all out. No ring. Well, I can buy one, but no wearing it to work. If that's okay," he added hastily. She wanted to make him sweat on it a bit, but decided she'd already done enough of that. "Yes, but I'd like to tell Mom." "Of course. Otherwise she won't buy me the Star Trek boxer set for my birthday. What?" he asked innocently as she laughed. "We'd better invite half of Georgetown Hospital to the wedding - especially Mike, because if you're true to form, he'll have to wheel you up the aisle." "You're the one who'll put me in the wheelchair, woman!" "Well at least that'd be something refreshingly normal on your medical records!" God, the laughter was great to hear. They held in silence for a long time. "Mulder?" "Mmmm?" "We will find Sam. One day. I promise." His arms tightened around her. "Thank you. But at the moment I'm just glad that we've finally, *finally* found each other." THE END. Author's Quote: When I was getting close to finishing the first draft of this, I got a little carried away when excitedly informing my brother of the fact via e-mail: "I've only got two more parts of Mulder to resurrect!" I found it intriguing exploring Mulder's thoughts - even if he wasn't present in body through most of the story. He permeated Scully's life so much I wanted to go through her grief process (because we were robbed in "The Blessing Way") and reveal how he saw the dark months they had gone through, together but separate. Chris, please make Season Five a bit more cheerful! And now for a while I'm going back to shorter pieces . . . Thank you all and goodnight!