TITLE: "The Potato Harvest" BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: A, V, MSR RATING: PG-13 SUMMARY: Filling in the time after Mulder bursts in on Eddie and Dana in "Small Potatoes", and resolving the impact of the agents' little trip to the jail a month later... Harvest time! TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set during and after "Small Potatoes", refers to: "Tunguska", "Terma", "Never Again", "Momento Mori", "Squeeze", "Duane Barry", "Ascension", "End Game". I did alter a scripted line for dramatic purposes. If CC and Co can contradict entire sections of XF history whenever they feel like it, I figure I can get away with one line... Thanks to Debbie Goldstein, Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Dr Crockett for all the assistance with this story. Any mistakes are my own. DEDICATION: To Annieb the Irrepressible - thanks for all the ep info, weather updates, e-mails full of fun, and friendship across the waters ever since my first postings. DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. The X-Files: "The Potato Harvest" by Ten - written Nov/Dec '97, posted April 1998 The exact same thought screamed through Scully and Mulder's heads: /This *cannot* be happening!/ But there they were, both standing on trembling legs, with her sofa between them and a contrite Eddie Van Blundht on it. Twin looks of astonishment on their faces. Betrayal surging through them. Mulder's eyes darted around: from his partner's flushed face to the empty wine bottle, the glasses, the fire, the CD playing the romantic music, then to Eddie. He took a deep breath. "Scully, where are your handcuffs?" "My...?" All she could think of was what she had almost done. When Mulder burst in, he - Eddie - was almost in her lap. She had fallen for the trap. How much of it could she blame on the wine? How had Eddie mastered Mulder's features so quickly that he could give her looks which made her toes curl in delight? God, she had wanted that kiss, as startled as she'd been. Mulder moved around next to her, staring down at Eddie, who hadn't done anything but sigh. Mulder didn't look at Scully as he talked. "He took my cuffs and my badge and phone and gun. Get your cuffs and we'll call the police." Had he interrupted them from starting to kiss, or... He noticed his leather jacket thrown casually over the armchair and sucked in breath. This, this...*loser* wore his jacket - and his favourite jeans! Focusing on that violation seemed more manageable at the moment than what he'd just walked in on. Oh God - the bastard had been through his clothes, in his apartment... Mulder didn't have much sense of how much time had elapsed since Van Blundht locked him up - it seemed like forever, but the only thing he was focused on when released from the boiler room was getting to Scully. Knowing that was the monkey man's plan too. His body would not stop trembling and his head ached and he wanted to sit down, but there was no way in hell he was going to collapse onto that sofa, thank you very much. He glared at Eddie while Scully fumbled to find her handcuffs. She was so rattled, she was having trouble remembering where they were. "Well, Mr Van Blundht with a 'h'," Mulder said sarcastically, "you didn't happen to bring along my handcuffs, did you?" He didn't want to touch his jacket to check. He wanted to burn it. As much as he hated fire, he wanted to burn it and the sofa and his memory. "Uh, no," Eddie said apologetically. "I thought if the night took a turn down *that* lane, we'd use hers." Mulder's jaw set so hard it almost burst out his skin. "Found them," Scully said hastily, and Eddie held out his hands for her to apply the cuffs. "Only thrill I'll get tonight." He sighed. He addressed Scully, "I was just trying to give you what you wanted." Her face was already flaming from the situation and wine, but it struck motherlode crimson easily. Eddie turned to her partner. "Don't be so sore, Mulder. You burst in on your white charger just in time to save her virtue. We didn't even get to kiss." Mulder very much wanted to believe that. "Scully, call the police." He began reading Van Blundht his rights. The squad car was on its way. Scully was desperately trying to think of what to say to the officers. How would they react to her saying Eddie was impersonating her partner...? Both Mulder and Scully remained standing, fidgeting awkwardly, which seemed to annoy Eddie. "Sit down, will you?" Dana faced him. "How long were you...were you Mulder for?" Mulder winced. "Didn't you know? Didn't you know at all?" he pleaded. Mortified, she went to the window to check for the police. Or a dragon. Or anything. "I'd just phoned to tell you to come to the hospital, and he jumped me and knocked me out, and I woke up locked in...locked in the boiler room." "Oh God - you - him, in the corridor!" She was horrified. "He said he'd been attacked, and he called off the case... We came back to D.C. tod-" "He called *off* the case? And you didn't think there was anything unusual about that? Something uncharacteristic?" Mulder was incredulous. "He looked like you..." she said helplessly. "I never thought he'd try being *you*..." "Since when do I give up on a case when the suspect is still at large?" "You don't," she whispered, nearly in tears. "You don't." She swiped at her eyes, noticing Eddie was observing them with alarm and a bit of sorrow. "Um, I'd better put out the fire..." Needing to kill something, Mulder settled for going over to the CD player and turning it off with a forceful poke. His head was still aching and a ramble of thoughts were beating on it like drumsticks. /He couldn't have got her pregnant - not after what I found out at the clinic.../ That didn't make him feel any better. /Why did she let him so close? What did he do to convince her? She actually wanted *me* to kiss her? Or *him* as me? Is it because of the cancer? Because she's scared she's running out of time? Didn't she know it wasn't me? Was it the wine? Who broke that out - her or him? I just want to crawl away somewhere and die./ Scully's mind was racing back through the whole time since she walked down the corridor at Tablers Community Hospital to find her partner holding an icepack to his neck and whining "I'm sorry" to the irate doctor and security guard. She flashed to the image of Mulder through her apartment peephole earlier tonight, giving her a big cheesy grin. *That* should have told her something was up. But she was so glad to see him, it just overrode her surprise. That made twice now she'd been accosted by a fake Mulder. She couldn't help but think that if this imposter had just wanted to smash her through a glass table, things would not be so awkward. The police arrived. They had no problems arresting Van Blundht as an accused rapist - especially when told his fingerprints would be in the sex offenders database, and Scully offered the details in the case report (written by the offender himself - Scully realised. She winced and decided she'd better redo it herself. And fix the spelling mistakes...) Mulder just stared at her. Van Blundht *wrote* up the report!? But trying to explain to the officers about their captive's little talent was not so easy. They had to explain, otherwise he could easily morph and escape. Add to that the fact that the offender had been caught *in* Agent Scully's apartment, with evidence of wine consumption in the room, and it was really an uphill battle to convince the police of Eddie's capabilities. "We need to get the wine analysed," Scully said, pointing to what remained in her glass. "He could have tried to drug me with Rohypnol. But he does have this morphing ability." The police took the drug idea seriously, but not the rest. Mulder was being very quiet, so Scully was doing the bulk of the explaining and arguing. She finally reached past the wine bottle and produced the files of the hard scientific data from tests on the monkey men. She said she could get the scientists who helped her with the findings to confirm what the reports said. Officer Traigon looked over the reports without comprehension. "I think that would be a good idea. Tell them to meet us at the station house and to bring their identification along." "We're riding with him to the station." "You'd better go to the hospital, Agent Scully. Rohypnol combined with alcohol may be life-threatening -" Mulder turned away sharply at those last few words, pain on his face. "I know; I'm a doctor. I'll go after we've talked with the scientists and finished my statement. For now, we're riding with Van Blundht," she repeated. "One of you is quite welcome to. Won't be room for both. Perhaps it should be you, Agent Scully. Especially since you seemed to be getting along so well with the suspect." Dana glared at him. Perhaps they should have cleaned up the evidence before getting the police, but there was wine on her breath and Eddie could tattle and she wanted to write this whole thing off as because of the wine anyway. She didn't think it was drugged though, even though he did have opportunities to slip some in. That wasn't the way this man operated. She tried to think of the symptoms. She didn't have memory loss, but she was definitely confused. Well, perhaps she'd better make sure - it could all just be from the wine or ttthe situation or the cancer. She was mellow from the wine - but before her cancer was diagnosed she was in the habit of having a few glasses on weekends, so she did have some tolerance. She wasn't going to slide under the table. She wasn't on any medication at the moment apart from pain meds when needed. She wasn't due for another course of radiotherapy - she'd had her limit - just more scans. The physical aftermath of the last session was long gone. /Shouldn't really have been drinking though.../ She nearly laughed. The wine wouldn't kill off any more brain cells than the radiation already had... /But when he handed me the bottle, I thought: "One glass won't hurt", then it was disappearing and I thought "What the hell!" - I didn't want the night to stop, I wanted us to keep talking, I didn't want to jolt the mood./ How loose would she *willingly* have let her inhibitions go if the real Mulder hadn't interrupted? Eddie had brought the wine to make his job easier, because with most of the other victims he was impersonating their husbands. The ground was already ploughed, so to speak. He could step in easily and sow it. She had still wondered how the women did not realise that it wasn't their husbands. She didn't wonder any more. Was Mulder her Luke Skywalker? He turned up on her doorstep with so many bizarre cases, so a bottle of wine was both refreshingly normal and odd. "As I told you, Officer, he came to my apartment disguised as my partner and we had a social drink while discussing what I thought was a closed case. We were off duty." Mention of wine, yes. No way was she going to mention the near-kiss. "He imprisoned my partner - he's wearing his clothes at the moment, and you've seen that he's carrying Mulder's I.D. Mulder came before he could try anything, but he was obviously going to try to rape me as he has with the other women." "Seduce!" Eddie called out indignantly as he was shoved out the door. "Yeah, whatever. Save it for the statement down at the station. Come on everyone." Mulder and Scully automatically fell into step together, both trying to keep Eddie in sight and shuffling over so Scully could lock the door after the last officers came through. As they stepped outside the apartment building, they happened to overhear a policeman commenting to his colleague, "This one's always calling us up about intruders in her house. A mutant out to eat her liver - she chained him to her bath. Kinky. Then some nutcase smashed in through her window and dragged her off to find a UFO. Must say the one this time had a much more subtle approach." Mulder lunged forward but Scully stepped in front of him. "Don't. It's okay. Just let it go." She got into the squad car that contained Van Blundht, throwing a glance back towards Mulder as she did so. He was just drifting towards another car, gazing off blankly into the night. The sooner they got to the station and sorted everything out, the sooner they could - /The sooner we can *what*, Dana? Talk? Talk about what Mulder witnessed you doing *with himself*, no less? Talking is the last thing you want to do... Run away to Icy Cape alone is what you want to do. Kiss the real Mulder is what.../ She groaned inwardly. /This is just what I was afraid of. Getting closer *has* ruined our partnership. Where the hell can we go from here?/ her own voice mocked her. She gave her statement and the police found Eddie's fingerprints matched in the database with those of the suspect accused of impregnating five women. The officer manning the computer whistled and threw a glance at her, as if silently asking if he could make it six. The fingerprints on Mulder's I.D. in his jacket matched Eddie's. Skinner was contacted and apprised of Van Blundht's little escapade into the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The scientists came and confirmed Scully's assessment of his contortional abilities and the police accepted it grudgingly. They would be vigilant. And now they knew he'd assaulted a boy in blue... "Sorry for all the runaround, Agent Scully. But you gotta admit it sounded weird." "I know. By the way, where's Agent Mulder?" "I got Jacen to take him to the hospital." "Why? What was wrong?" "I noticed dried blood on the back of his collar - and he seemed to be in a state of shock. Thought he'd better get checked out." Scully swallowed. She hadn't noticed the blood. But he had said Van Blundht attacked him. If he managed to lock Mulder up in the bowels of the hospital he must have knocked him out to do so. She hadn't thought of making sure he was okay. She'd been too wrapped up in embarrassment. "Am I finished here now? I have to get a taxi and go to him." "Go ahead. Get yourself checked out at the same time." Scully knew the police would want her to relodge her statement again - tomorrow or the next day when they could be sure she wasn't affected by any sort of drug while giving it, so it wouldn't be thrown out in court. But the database had given them more than enough to hold Eddie on, and they had sent the wine to the labs to be tested. It was a busy night in the ER. Mulder sat with the officer who'd escorted him and managed to tolerate her chatter by tuning it out. Sergeant Meg Jacen was clearly taken with him. /Take a number behind the monkey man. And Scully./ At the moment he couldn't care less about being a "damn good looking man". He was no longer in shock about Dana and Eddie. Bitterness had stepped into the breach instead. Finally it was his turn to be examined. A cheerfully relentless doctor in his forties greeted him. "So you're Fox Mulder - I'm Doctor Platt. I've heard a lot about you - Doctor Dynes said I was bound to run into you sooner or later. What a track record!" "Glad I can impress," Mulder muttered. Everyone was just fascinated with him now, were they? "So, what is it this time?" the doctor asked excitedly, almost rubbing his hands together. "Retrovirus - guess it can't be because you're still standing - or utility knife to the body from a serial killer - ?" "Whack to the back of the head by a serial baby-maker." "Oh." His face fell. "Ah well, it's a start. If Doctor Dynes can earn enough to go on a long overseas vacation, and is confident that within the next decade he'll be able to put two kids through college and retire off you and the FBI insurance carrier, then I'll be patient." He laughed. "Well, *you're* the patient, but you know what I mean." The doctor examined him, checking his wound and the dilation of his pupils. Blood had dried over the injury. "How long ago were you hit?" "Um, it's Friday, isn't it?" "Well, it's now early Saturday morning. The time when there's more coffee in the veins than blood for us who need to be up so late." "I got hit Thursday afternoon sometime." "Its been over twenty-four hours and no sign of serious damage. You are concussed though and have mild dehydration." He finished attending to the wound and put a bandage over the site. "We could admit you to be on the safe side, but frankly, we're pressed for beds. The best thing you can do is go home and rest; have Agent Scully keep an eye on you. By the way, where is Agent Scully? I thought she'd be here glaring over my shoulder and checking my medical credentials." "She's at the police station." "Ah, pity. I was looking forward to meeting the other half of this duo. I had some questions to ask her about a few of your previous hospitalisations. Some of her treatment plans for you were bizarre to say the least. But they worked. Like she knew exactly what your body would respond to." /And Eddie worked out quicker than me what her body responds to.../ He was halfway out the door when he became aware that Dr. Platt was speaking again. "Agent Mulder?" "Sorry?" "She got Dr. Dynes to make a note on your file that you are not to be given morphine, but I can't read his handwriting about the reason. Do you know why? Are you allergic? For future reference, seeing he'll be in Hawaii for a while and you'll be bound to need more extensive care sometime soon." He was almost gleeful. Mulder struggled to think while Dr. Bloodthirsty said he could get a nurse to check previous charts. He did know the reason, but at the moment couldn't remember it - the last few days had strung his brain out too much. He just knew there was some unpleasant reaction to the morphine, but not severe enough to require him to wear a Medic Alert bracelet. He shrugged. "You'll have to ask Scully. She knows me better than anyone." The moment the words were out of his mouth their impact hit him and suddenly his whole stomach seemed to want out of his mouth too. He gagged, shoved the door fully open and bolted, desperate to lose the meagre rations Eddie had kindly left him in the boiler room alcove. Unknowingly he nearly sent the door slamming into Dana's face as she stood in the hall waiting for him. She watched as he raced into the mens' room, his words ringing in her ears. She pressed her hand over her mouth. She wanted nothing more than to race after him, but she was in shock herself. She had a headful of wine and exhaustion and illness. And deep, deep guilt. What had she done to their partnership? Feeling like she could never face him again, Scully fled out of the hospital. Two hours later she pulled herself together enough to phone the hospital instead of going to his apartment - with his obvious nausea, the staff would have wanted her partner admitted for sure. Her headache was gone thanks to her pain med prescription, but she still needed a long sleep. An impossibility until she knew Mulder was all right. Just like earlier - she had gone straight to look for him instead of getting a blood sample taken. Checking with the hospital confirmed that he'd refused to be admitted for observation, despite the potential seriousness of him vomiting. Just in case they couldn't find out about the morphine ban from Mulder's previous charts, and to stave off a call from them when daylight came, Scully took the opportunity to inform the nurse that it made him nauseous. It never used to before Alaska. Perhaps it had something to do with the antigens from the retrovirus... And the note on her partner's chart was "No morphine *unless* prescribed in conjunction with an anti-emetic drug" to suppress the nausea. He was enough of a pain when hospitalised, without added burdens. She took a taxi to his apartment building. /I should've got a blood sample taken to see if Van Blundht tried to drug me, but they've got the wine to analyse, and I don't think he did./ Number forty-two was empty. Scully looked around at the furniture, the possessions. What had Eddie touched? She tried Mulder's cellular, only to have the mobile phone answer her from his entranceway table, next to his gun. She hung up and stared at the phone. Eddie had not brought it along with him. Mustn't have wanted anything to spoil the big moment. And she'd gone along with it! If only it had been the real Mulder. But now she had to *find* the real Mulder. Her cellular rang. Scully was so startled, she dropped it. Finally she answered. "Mulder?" she asked hopefully. "Hi," he replied quietly. "Thank God - where are you?" "I'm at home." "Nice try, Mulder, but I'm at your place. Where are you?" He gave a tired sigh. "I'm in a motel room. I just couldn't stay at my place." "Well, I'll met you at my apartment," she offered without thinking. "You can sleep on the so-" She sunk her teeth into her tongue. /Idiot!/ There was a very heavy silence. "Thanks for the offer, but no. I'm going to get some sleep, then I'll see if Van Blundht disturbed anything in the office." He said goodbye and hung up before she could ask if he was all right or tell him to get his concussed behind back to the hospital right now or to apologise about abandoning him. Now he was in a motel room somewhere - she didn't even know where - she couldn't reach him, and he didn't feel comfortable in the places that used to be his only refuges from the world. Van Blundht had permeated and destroyed them. That day she tried to get some sleep, but spent a lot of time lying on the sofa imagining the real Mulder slowly coming towards her, as she stared into the remains of the fire. Mulder tossed and turned in the motel bed. The wound on the back of his neck made finding a comfortable position hard. But it and his concussion headache weren't as bad as his visions. His mind would not let up replaying the sight of his own lips and body so tantalisingly close to Dana's. Hell - even when he burst into the room, her head had automatically turned at the noise, but her face was dreamy, caught up in the magic of the moment. A moment he should have been part of. They *had* looked damn good together. To add insult to injury, he didn't have anything in his pockets. No money, no keys, no I.D. ... The policewoman dropping him off at his apartment realised that at the same time he did. He could have woken up the building supervisor, but the task of facing his home at the moment was suddenly overwhelming. Jacen offered to let him sleep at *her* place, or for them to go back to the station house and liberate his possessions from being evidence, but he just borrowed some money off her, enough to rent a motel room, and asked if they could drop his things off at the motel desk - to be put in the safe until he collected them. Sleep did come. And nightmares. Awful haunting images which hadn't bothered him for weeks. For the last month Scully's medical check ups had been coming back with no changes for the worse, and as a team they were functioning much better than before and during and right after Scully's solo case while he was away Elvis- worshipping, so the night terrors had actually eased up on him lately. Now this ordeal was playing merry hell with his subconscious, whispering bizarre coincidences and connections to that time and another which he'd hoped was blocked from his mind... He woke up sweating and sobbing and clutching at his face. The room was too claustrophobic. He needed out. Mulder had to dress in the same clothes he'd worn for days, then went to collect his things from the desk. He paid his bill and went to the office. Since it was the weekend he didn't think his rumpled appearance would be noticed and reprimanded. And so what if it was? He needed to check his domain. Perhaps this lot of familiar surroundings wouldn't be as bad as his apartment. There were heel marks in his desk blotter. Mulder prayed very very hard that his chair tipped the bastard off onto the floor in revenge. You had to know how to sit just right in it. For something to do, he phoned Officer Traigon and got him to fax over a copy of Scully's statement. Upon reading it, he realised that Eddie must have only been in the office and his apartment for a few hours at the most. Manageable. Yes, his space had been violated, but it was not as unbearable a concept as Scully being violated. He would cope with the intrusions into his territories. But what was he going to do? What would he do the next time he saw Scully? He sat for a long time, deep in thought. He was feeling so many emotions at the moment. Resentment, shock, amazement, anger, hope. Hope that she really did want to kiss him, and not just because of the wine and cancer and monkey boy suddenly making the move. There were so many questions to ask Scully. How had Van Blundht fooled her for so long? Was Mulder so one dimensional? He remembered his foolish little game with her about who she would want to be if she had a choice. She'd picked herself. Interesting, but he'd been hoping for an insight into her by the choice she made. That had given him nothing to go on. In frustration he dismissed it as 'boring', and in doing so, dismissed her. And started talking about how if you look like someone it goes a long way towards people accepting you as that person... Oh boy, he'd really invited Eddie to just step right into his shoes... So now he would make it up to her. He would not take her for granted, he would not bring up the scene he'd stumbled into again. They would keep going. She had cancer, and although he *would* save her - somehow - he didn't want to ruin her 'remaining' time by acting resentful and making her feel embarrassed or awkward. What was the point? He would act as if everything was fine. Something she excelled in... Time to take a leaf from her book. So when a clearly uncertain Dana caught up with him, he radiated ease and jumped over any awkward questions by complimenting her suggestion of the muscle relaxant to solve the morph problem. He closed the case and asked her opinion on a new one he wanted to pursue. Since the 'incident' Mulder didn't come over as much as he used to. Probably didn't want to revisit the scene of the crime. She worried about him over four long weeks, wondering if she should say something. Underneath his relaxed manner she detected he was pale and quiet and didn't seem to be getting enough sleep. She kept noticing red marks on his face, like scratches. When she asked about them, he dismissed them by saying there was a tear in the leather of his couch arm and he kept grating against it in his sleep. He seemed uncomfortable about the scrutiny. Was he seeing a woman? Was she robbing him of rest and clawing his face as she clutched him in their passion? Robbing his partner of the only man she loved? Had Mulder seen his life as Eddie must have seen it, and decided it needed more? God, this hurt. But he was attentive to her, supportive. Especially during her next scans, where her tongue wouldn't let her give him anything more meaningful than "I'm fine". When he did speak it was cheerfully and without any resentment. Or without demanding more information on that night or her health. He didn't try to get out of his share of the paperwork. He might be indignant that Van Blundht had managed to write up a passable report. The morpher must have studied the files Mulder brought along in his luggage. Eddie was by nature adaptable to the situations he put himself in. And Scully realised that at the time he cleverly avoided her asking him something which could expose him - because he was working so industriously on the report Thursday evening and on the journey home, she had given him peace and space to work. Perhaps she did have a clone in the office after all. Eddie Van Blundht had killed a part of her partner without even pointing a gun at him. Shattered a piece of their partnership. Life had gone on. Tests showed the wine was not drugged. Skinner had not been amused with Mulder's post-boiler room actions. Upon release, instead of contacting Scully or the FBI or the police, Mulder gunned for D.C. " - wasting time, putting your partner in..." Skinner searched for an appropriate word, " - danger. You did not call for back up either." Scully countered by saying that Mulder was in shock from his injury and confinement, and the only thing on his mind was reaching her. That argument was enough to save him from a brief suspension. Just. Then out of the blue, or out of Cumberland Reformatory, came a phone call. Eddie wanted to see them both. When they got to the facility, Eddie altered his request. He only wanted to talk to Mulder. And what a conversation it was. Mulder listened to Eddie's dismissal of the existence of Fox William Mulder. /You don't know me!/ he wanted to rage. /Yes, my life is a bit Spartan, but that's the price I had to pay for my quest. You don't know what I'm trying to uncover. The sister I ache to find. How can I have a life amongst all that? I can't drag a wife and kids in. Bad enough that Scully's caught up in it all. I've taken her life too. All the cases. The cancer. And what did she say in her statement - it was Friday night and she was spending it at home, working./ He was wearily resolute. /So I'm a loser by choice in my social life. I always accepted that. To find Sam and the Truth I knew that my career, life and relationships came second. But I have never given up or become a loser in my quest./ Then a little voice whispered in his mind: /What if I never find Samantha? Am I prepared to give up my life and Dana's so totally when we might never find the Truth?/ Scully listened from outside the visiting room. What was she going to say to Mulder? Within about thirty-six hours Eddie had done more with the possibilities of Mulder's life than Mulder ever had. No! Mulder saved people, he worked hard, he sacrificed so much of himself for others and for his sister. All victims. Including himself. Was she just thinking along such lines because she wanted the romantic possibilities opened up? Yes, at the very least, he should allow himself more of an existence. She remembered all the couples at the Ob-Gyn's office. They all thought she and Mulder were a married couple. She liked that. Would Mulder do anything about Van Blundht's "Treat yourself" advice, or would he go through the rest of his life with 'loser' ringing in his ears? Mulder came out and they walked off uncomfortably. "I don't imagine you need to be told this, Mulder, but you're not a loser." "Yeah, but I'm no Ed either, am I?" They walked out, his words nagging at her. At the car she quietly said, "I'll drive." He really looked tired, a fact confirmed when he shrugged and tossed the keys over the roof, heading for the passenger seat. He feel asleep soon after. Which at least saved them from having to make conversation. A while later, Scully suddenly became aware of the change in Mulder's breathing. It was quick and loud, and he let out a strangled moan. "Mulder? Mulder, wake up!" As quickly and safely as she could, Dana pulled off the road. Mulder's face contorted and twitched, and, even as his eyes opened, he was gasping and bringing his hands up to grab at his face. To claw at his own flesh. "Mulder!" She desperately grabbed both his hand in hers. "Mulder! It's only a dream, you're safe. I'm here." "No. No - I can feel them. They're under my skin! Get them out, Scully! Get them out, please..." He sobbed. But the only things defining their presence on his face were red marks. Not moving black squiggles. "Mulder, shhhh." She gave his hands a squeeze then let go to cup his face. "You were dreaming about the black cancer?" He slumped back against the seat and nodded, blinking back tears. "Yes..." "We ran tests, remember? We ran lots and lots of tests, Mulder. You don't have the black cancer. And when you called out in your sleep just now, I couldn't see anything moving under your skin. It was only a nightmare." She stroked his face. A whimper escaped despite him trying to hold it back. He nodded, though clearly not convinced. He spent the rest of the journey boneless against the seat, gazing out the window. Her attempts at conversation went unnoticed, and she decided to cut him some slack and solitude. But just for the moment. By the time they got back to D.C., it was too late to go back to the office. Scully pulled up at Mulder's apartment building and he got out, collecting his briefcase and files with a brief thank you. He didn't notice that she turned the engine off and followed him into the building. He took the stairs in an attempt to burn off some of the fright and hopefully exhaust himself. Scully took the elevator and managed to arrive at his doorway at the same time as he came out of the stairwell. Sweating, he stared at her. "We need to talk," she said. "Oh." He let her in. Damn, he didn't want to face her. "I need a shower," he hedged. "Go have one; I'll wait. And put something on those marks." It would only be a delay. It would have to do for him to regroup his wits. He came back out and found her waiting patiently in the armchair. He sat on the couch. "You've been dreaming about the black cancer for how long?" He shrugged. "Occasionally. What's this about?" "You've been scratching your face in your sleep for the last four weeks, trying to fight those black worms. *Four weeks*. Did Eddie say something which set you off on it? Or did he worsen nightmares you were having already, but didn't tell me about?" He jumped on the defensive. "Do you tell me about *your* nightmares?" /Or your nosebleeds? Blood is easier to disguise than scratches./ "No," she admitted. "But we need to talk more. And your nightmare is as good a place as any to start." There was a long, intense staring match. Mulder's gaze was defiant and determined. Scully's was determined and caring. He began to speak quietly. "The boiler room - he locked me in a little room in the boiler room. It reminded me of the gulag in Russia. Only - and this is the hysterical bit, Scully - in Russia my cell was bigger. Can you believe that?!" He gave her a manic grin. Alarmed, she came over to squat beside him and touch his arm while he continued. "At least in Russia there was a window and a hole for a toilet. Though a can of Perk and a sandwich and an apple were better than a bug in my gruel. I was locked in there for ages and no one would hear me -" "You're safe now, Mulder." She wondered which cell he was talking about. "And I thought of him - what he was trying. But I thought, no - Scully'll see right through that. We don't... We never..." As she reached for him he burst into tears and fell forwards onto his knees on the floor, into her arms. She rocked him as he suddenly began babbling about the tail of Eddie senior. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I broke the tail - I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. Everything I touch..." /So *that's* what happened./ "It's okay. We're going to be okay," she repeated over and over until his grip relaxed and he lay quietly against her. They rested against the sofa. After a long time he stirred and sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry." "Mulder, you have nothing to be sorry for." He snorted. "My life. Or lack thereof. And its effect on you." "We really need to talk. The effect that you've had on me isn't as adverse as you seem to think. Why else would I have wanted you - or who I thought was you - to kiss me?" "Because he treated you properly - he let you talk and he did a better job of being me!" "I wanted a kiss - but it wasn't just because of that night. The force of all those other days and nights with the real you was behind it. Yes, we need to talk more, but we do know each other. Circumstances lately - which I do not blame you for - have made us drift a bit, even though we are close. And Eddie was right. He was about to give me what I wanted from you. It's okay if you don't feel the same way." /But I know you do./ She was giving him a way out if he needed breathing space. She was unconsciously rubbing the back of her neck in a way which Mulder had come to learn meant she needed a drink. "I'll get us some coffee." /Hey, I meant mental breathing space, not physical./ She could not stop this now. She had to get him out of his self-imprisoned cell. She followed him into the kitchen, defeating his hope for temporary retreat to absorb what he'd learned. "You said you were no Ed. Who did you mean by that? Eddie Van Blundht...or Ed Jerse?" Mulder flinched at his slip. "Eddie in all his incarnations. Ed. Any Edward that will come into your life. Any man." He said this to the mugs he was taking from the cupboard. "You aren't Ed. None of them - no-one - could compare to you. I realised that a long time ago. That's why nothing ended up happening between him and me. I don't want a Luke with a lightsaber!" He stopped preparing the coffee, thunking down a spoon and rounding on her. "Why would you choose to be yourself after all the horrible things I've put you through?" And she realised why he dismissed her picking herself in their little game over a month ago. "Because I have you. So our lives are very compact. But my life has you in it. That's what matters. I wouldn't change a day, remember? There's no one else I'd rather pick china patterns with..." "Really?" If he had Dana, how could he think of himself as a loser socially? Or at all? "Even if the plates do have flying saucers on them." "Hey, I can be conservative. The only flying saucers will be if you throw crockery at me if I make you mad." He smiled. "I want to know everything about you, Scully. Your mind, your body, your soul. I guess there isn't much of me to learn about. You already know how selfish I am and how I'm on this mission." "So you deliver a tailess mutant to my feet and pull his pants down to show me. It's not flowers, but it isn't dull. And there's lots to learn about," she corrected him. "You just keep unfolding like a flower. I intend to make it my life's work to study you." "And you are thorough in your research..." "Lots of after hours and weekend work..." Dana informed him, coming closer and closer as he stood against the kitchen bench. She put one arm around his waist, the other on his chest and looked up at him. Overwhelmed, he encircled her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead. "Lower." With a smile he kissed the bridge of her nose and waited. "Lower," she ordered. "Or there *will* be flying crockery." "How much lower, Dana?" "I'll tell you when to stop..." Sheer wonder nearly landed him on his rear. Just like at Tablers Community Hospital when Scully actually said: "I think you're right, Mulder." What were the odds on that? How long had he waited for this moment? Who cared!? He didn't have to wait any longer. Dana watched Mulder's face come closer. This time she had no stunned confusion and uncertainty tempering her desire. This was better. This was so right. The intensity and anticipation was palpable. They kissed. And kept kissing. For all they had ever imagined and hoped it to be, they quickly realised their vivid fantasies for once fell short, surpassed in light speed by the actual physical contact of two soulmates in love. When Mulder gently lifted his mouth from hers decades later, he studied her carefully and realised the contact had the same effect on her. Definitely not losers. He slowly moved back towards her lips even though he mentioned on the way, "You haven't stopped saying lower, Dana..." "I kind of like this level at the moment..." "Fine by me..." More kissing. Wonderful kissing. Now he didn't think he'd be able to spell FBI if asked... /Thanks, Eddie. In the jail, I think you were actually trying to help us. I'll send you a card./ "But I'm willing to see what depths you can sink to..." Scully amended the next time they pulled back a millimetre. "Treat yourself. Not everything you touch breaks, Mulder. I think you'll find I'm quite malleable." "We'll send Eddie the polaroids to prove it." The kissing got longer and more intense and their hands were roving over each other's waists, backs, cheeks, jaws, hair... They pressed against the kitchen bench. Crash! They broke apart and stared at the stack of plates they'd knocked into the sink. Scully examined the victims as best she could with one arm still wrapped around her partner. "Um, one is definitely broken. I think that one's just chipped." Mulder shrugged at the losses and thanked God it wasn't Dana's Wedgwood. "Looks like we really will have to pick out china patterns," she pointed out. Mulder gazed into her eyes and saw just how serious she was. A warmth spread over him. She was already in his arms, it was only a small step to picturing her in his arms in bed, or sleepily stretching as he carried in breakfast using their new china. He recalled the tenderness he felt as he gazed down at the babies in the hospital. He and Scully would get to share that. He vowed it. She would get to reach out for him, not only cancer- free but with a belly rounded with their child. A conception made without deception. He mentally trashed the phone sex lines. No need to kiss them goodbye. He had not bothered with them for a while anyway. Now he knew why. "Mulder?" "Yeah, we will pick out our china. But do you really want to spend the evening shopping?" His thumb stroked circles in the palm of her hand. "Well, I would love to get a new sofa..." she teased, before jumping to clasp her hands around the back of his neck, pulling his head down for her to claim his mouth for a brief, fierce kiss. "You *do* have a bed back there somewhere, don't you?" she asked hopefully, letting go to give a tug at his jeans. He laughed. "You just want to check me for a monkey tail scar." "I've got something else in mind..." the lovely Agent Scully said to her damn good looking man. "And if it breaks off, I'll be furious!" "I can be very creative with the old lightsabre, you know." Both could tell there would be more fireworks tonight than from all the Star Wars battles rolled together. It was true. The love they made that night could *not* be classified as small potatoes. THE END