The Birthday Gift (1/1)
Margaret Farr
the_shirt@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
category:SA
spoilers: Memento Mori, Emily
Keywords:  Mulder/Scully UST
Summary:  Mulder gives Scully a gift which leads them both to question their 
actions and feelings for each other, and leads to a healing in their 
relationship.

Hi.  This is my first attempt at fanfic.  The characters in this story all
belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting.  I'm not
making any profit off this, just trying to give Mulder and Scully a life.
This story is PG.  It takes place in the season 5 universe on Scully's
birthday, but contains no references to events after "Emily".  Right now 
this story will stand alone, but I'm hoping to make it a part of a longer
series.  Enjoy, and please give feedback!!!    


   He sits at his desk, reading a folder.  I love to watch him as he sits,
his hazel eyes intensely studying the papers in his hands.  He looks so easy
in his skin, totally relaxed, completely in control of his domain.  Our 
domain, as I have come to think of it.  Together we inhabit this basement 
office; together we study files upon files, looking for different answers 
but together searching for the truth.  We are a team.  No, we are so much 
more than that; we are a completion of each other.  I am his balance, as he
is mine.  This is the way it has always been between us; that is, until 
lately.
   I shift my attention back to the papers laid out on my desk.  They are 
carefully ordered, standing out in stark contrast against the pristine 
surface of my desk.  Like everything else about me, they are methodically 
placed and logically ordered.  They emphasize my rational demeanor, my 
struggle for logical activity and strictly reasoned work methods.  They are 
a mask; they hide the jumble of emotions coursing  through my mind.  I sit
calmly at my desk, absently flicking an imaginary speck of dust off the 
surface, and wonder how my life came to be so out of control.  I feel that I 
can no longer hold on to my familiar touchstones; I can no longer define 
myself through my present situation. My relationship with Mulder, my source 
of strength and support, is slipping away and I cannot stop it.   
   I wonder how I allowed things to fall apart so quickly.  I realize, 
despite my jumble of emotions, that I am mostly to blame.  After my battle 
with cancer, I made a decision to seize life, to stop allowing myself to feel
 victimized by actions over which I had no control.  During the first few 
exhilarating weeks after my recovery, I found myself experiencing an emotion I 
had not felt in months, maybe years--joy, the joy that stems from the power of 
knowing that my life was in my hands, mine and Mulder's.  I felt that I
was truly living again, not simply going through the motions.  I even felt 
ready to risk the most dangerous move of all--taking my relationship with 
Mulder beyond friendship.  After all, we had been working together for five 
years; in that time I've contemplated more than once becoming involved with 
him outside the office.  We have both been attracted to each other since 
that first fateful meeting in this basement office--when he assumed (and 
rightly so) that I had been sent to spy on him.  Since that day, our 
partnership has grown into a much deeper, closer  friendship, but the 
attraction remained nonetheless.  In those weeks following remission, I 
allowed myself to admit that my relationship with Mulder had become the 
focus of my life, and that the closeness I felt with him was something I 
couldn't, and wouldn't want, to replicate with anyone else.  
   But now, ever since Emily, I have found myself drawing away from him.  
I have gone down a path he cannot understand, and he cannot follow.  I have 
lost a part of myself, one that I cannot find again.  I lost the daughter I 
never knew I had, and in doing so, I knew that I would never have another 
child.  He can, he can have as many children as he wants, and for this 
reason I resent him.  I know he thinks I hold him to blame for everything 
that has happened to me, but I don't.  He doesn't understand that I followed
 him willingly; that I allowed my life to be put in danger because I 
believed in him; I believed in us.  I believed that what we were doing was 
right.  I could justify everything; the abduction, the cancer, because I 
knew that it all meant that we have been coming closer and closer to what 
we both want--coming closer to finding the truth.  And I do believe that 
the truth will save him; it will free him from the demons that torment his 
sleep and haunt his waking hours.  But I cannot believe any longer that the 
truth will save me too; I feel now that I have already been lost.  If I 
were to die tomorrow, or live another fifty years, it would not make any 
difference.  I will never leave anything behind on this earth, no living 
reminder that Dana Scully existed.  Nothing, except Fox Mulder.  And even 
that is slowly slipping away.  
   He feels my eyes on him, and he looks up at me.  He smiles briefly, 
thoughtfully.  I know he wants to ask me why I am looking at him so intently,
but he won't.  He doesn't know how to bridge this distance between us, and 
I don't know how to throw him a rope and let him cross.  I return the smile, 
and look back down at the papers in front of me.  I continue to fill out 
the paperwork that Skinner is waiting for, all the while contemplating my 
next move.  Where do I go from here?  How can I escape this pressure that 
has settled itself so heavily on my heart?  I cannot find the answers, so I 
retreat further into my work.   
   I finish the field work and take it upstairs to Skinner's office.  I drop 
the folder on his desk, and without realizing what I want to say, I begin to 
speak.  "Sir, I need a few days off."  
   Skinner looks up at me in surprise.  This is not like me, I know; I have 
never willingly taken time off from work.  "May I ask why, Agent Scully?" 
he asks.
   "Sir, Monday is my birthday, and I would like a few days for myself.  We 
have nothing pending in the X-Files, and this is the last of the paperwork 
from the last case.  I need a few days to collect my thoughts.  I'll be back 
on Wednesday."
   Skinner studies me for a minute, then nods.  "I'll expect to see you and 
Agent Mulder on Wednesday in my office, 10:00."  With that, I am dismissed.  
   I leave the office, walk down to the elevator, and rest my head against 
the wall.  I push the button, waiting for the car that will take me back 
downstairs.  I don't know why I just asked for time off; I didn't even know 
I needed it.  But now I am glad I did it; I cannot continue to sit at that
desk facing Mulder without figuring out for myself why I am still there.  
In some small way I do feel better now; I feel that once again I am taking 
control.  
   As I walk back into the office, Mulder looks up at me with a grin.  "So, 
Scully, got any big plans this weekend?"  He is trying to draw me out with 
teasing, and I love him for it.  I know in his way he is trying to rebuild 
our relationship, and for that I am grateful.  There is a part of me that 
believes that I can survive this as long as Mulder does not give up.  That 
is what keeps me holding on.  
   "Nothing more exciting than locking myself in my apartment for four days. 
 I'm taking Monday and Tuesday off."  He looks up at me with surprise, much 
like Skinner.  His response, though, is different.  "Are you okay, Scully?" 
he asks me, a note of worry creeping into his voice.  And even though he 
already knows the answer, I tell him, "I'm fine, I just need a little time 
to myself."  He studies my face, looking for answers, then nods uncertainly. 
 "Call me if you need me.  Anytime, day or night."  he says.  I return his 
nod, pick up my attach, and coat, and walk out of the office.  I know he 
will stay in the office for hours, despite the fact that it is rapidly 
approaching 6pm.  He will continue to study those files until he finds what 
he is looking for, and even then he will not be able to let them go.  His 
focus, his determination is what I respect most about him, but it is also 
what frightens me most.  Lately I have seen that determination focused 
toward me, as if he is trying to gain access to my mind and find out what 
secrets I have been keeping from him.  I don't want him to search through 
my thoughts, because I know that whatever he finds in there he will turn 
against himself.  "It's not about you!" I want to scream at him, but I 
don't.  I don't want him to see how I am hurting, because this time I don't 
know if he can heal my wounds.  
                
She left about an hour ago.  I continue to sit at my desk, my hands joined in
prayer position, touching my lips lightly.  I don't know what I am praying
for.  I studied her while she wasn't watching today, knowing she was doing 
the same to me.  I don't know what to make of this; why we have been reduced
to stealing surreptitious glances at each other.  It's not something I
haven't been doing for years; since 1992 I have studied her when I thought 
she wasn't watching, wondering what keeps her here with me when she could be
anywhere else with anyone else.  I have come to accept that she finds 
something she needs here with me, and for that I am grateful.  I know I could
not do this without her.  Whatever force keeps her here also keeps me alive, 
keeps me sane.  Just the touch of her hand, a glimpse of her fiery hair, 
keeps me grounded.  She is my greatest joy.

   I have wanted to tell her this for years, but the timing is never right.
I don't know if it will ever be right to tell her how I truly feel, that I 
love her with a depth that frightens me.  I don't know how she would react to
that, which scares me most of all.  In the silences between us, when she is
at her desk and I am at mine, or when we are driving through rural areas, I 
can believe that I feel the spark between us traveling through the air, 
bouncing off of her and coming back to me.  I can believe that she returns my 
feelings when she makes a joke or raises her eyebrows at one of my more 
"inappropriate" comments.  She lets me be myself around her, and that alone 
speaks volumes.  With others I have to carefully gauge my reactions and 
opinions, careful not to say anything that would sound too off the wall (dare 
I say it?  Spooky!), but with Scully I can share my opinions and know that 
she will listen to them, weigh them in her mind, and credit or discredit them
without prejudice.    Even now, when she has shut me out of her life, I know 
she will continue to do this for me; she will continue to let me reach for 
explanations without trying to rein me in.  

   The problem, though, is that I cannot find an explanation for what she is 
going through now.  I am positive it has to do with Emily, the child she 
lost, but I don't know what it is that has hurt her so badly that she can't 
share it with me.  And it hurts me deeper that this is a pain that I don't 
know how to share with her; I have been able to see Scully as a mother, first 
abstractly in a small town in Pennsylvania, and then painfully real with 
Emily.  I cannot, however, see myself as a father.  I can't see myself as 
anything that far down the road--if ever.  I've always believed that if it 
ever came up, it would be with Scully; I can't imagine ever sharing something 
so personal, so important, with anyone else. I know now, however, that she 
doesn't believe that it will ever happen--not with me or anyone.  There is 
something, however, that I never told her, that I have been afraid to tell
her.  The experiments from her abduction have destroyed her ovaries, which
means she will never conceive a child naturally.  She knows that, and I can 
see it tearing her up.  She doesn't know, however, that I have found some of 
the ova extracted from her body, and that I have given it to a fertility lab 
for preservation.  She doesn't know that these ova have not been destroyed or 
altered by the same people who created Emily.  She doesn't know that she can 
still have normal, healthy babies because I have been afraid to tell her, 
afraid to give her a reason to leave the FBI, to leave me.
                                
   It rains all day Saturday.  I have been curled up on my sofa for hours,
one lamp lit and scented candles burning.  I have been calling old friends 
and acquaintances for hours, trying to remember what my life was like before 
I went to work in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building.  I talked to 
my college friends, hearing about their jobs and families, and found myself 
hating them as well.  I realized somewhere around two o'clock that I have 
come too far to turn back now, so I said goodbye to my godson's mother and
hung up the phone.  I have sat, watching the room grow steadily darker, for 
two hours now.  I get up and walk over to the window, feeling that my 
surroundings are somehow surreal, as if nothing in this apartment belongs to 
me.  Nothing outside belongs to me either.  It all looks unfamiliar, as if I 
were dropped into this place by mistake.  Nothing looks familiar, except the 
blue Ford Crown Victoria that has just pulled up across the street.  I see in 
the driver's seat the one thing I was afraid to face during my 
soul-searching, but the one sight I have never needed so badly.  Fox Mulder 
sits in the car, and I can see his indecision from here.  I can see him 
tapping the steering wheel with his thumbs, anxiously debating whether or not 
to come up.  He turns toward the window and sees me standing here watching 
him.  He breaks into a sheepish grin.  I return the smile, then wave him 
towards my apartment.  
   Ten seconds later  he is knocking on the door.  I let him in, then brush a 
few of the raindrops off his face.  He looks at me, an unreadable expression 
on his face.  I pull my hand back, surprised at my own forwardness.  We are 
used to touching each other, a hand on my elbow, a reassuring caress on his 
arm, but this touch was different.  For both of us.  I turn away from the 
door and lead him into the living room.  I assume my position on the sofa, 
curled up against the armrest.  He sits at the opposite end and studies his 
hands.  
   "So, Mulder, couldn't even live a day without me, could you?"  I tease.  
He chuckles, his eyes not leaving his hands.  I know he wants to say 
something, but he is searching for the right words.  I allow him the time to 
organize his thoughts.
   He looks up at me finally.  "I know you wanted some time alone, but I just 
needed to come over here for a few minutes.  I wanted to give you your 
birthday present today.  I thought you could use it."  
   Now it is my turn to look surprised.  "I thought you only celebrated in 
dog years."  I say, secretly thrilled that he remembered my birthday.  He 
laughs again, then, his voice rich with meaning, murmurs, "You're not a dog, 
Scully."
   With that, he pulls a small giftwrapped package out of his coat pocket.  I 
know from its shape that it must be a CD, and this knowledge worries me 
somewhat.  "Mulder," I say, "if this is the cutting edge in technology from 
you and Frohike, I want you to take it back.  I certainly don't want to know 
if he's developed some kind of surveillance equipment that can fit on a CD." 
 He laughs at this, and his eyes begin to shine with childish excitement.  I 
can tell that this disc, whatever it is, means a lot to him.  I carefully
open the wrapping paper, and pull the jewel box out.  It is Jackson Browne,
an artist I have always liked but never listened to in depth.  I can tell, 
though, that he must have.  I smile at him and say thank you.  
   "Trying to buy you a gift should be an X-File, Scully.  I didn't know what 
to get you, so I finally resorted to the oldest trick in the book.  I bought 
you something I liked." 
   Not knowing what to say, I tear the cellophane wrapping off the CD.  I 
step off the couch and move toward the CD player in the corner, but he grabs 
my wrist to stop me.  He gets off the couch and looks down into my eyes.  "I 
want you to wait until after I leave, and after you open the card, to listen 
to it.  I didn't want to stay long, but I did want to give this to you while 
you still had plenty of time to think about it."  With that, he presses the 
card into my free hand, leans down, and brushes a kiss across my forehead. 
   He releases my wrist and walks out of the apartment, leaving me standing 
in the living room, shocked at what has just happened between us.  I feel 
that we have just crossed a new level of intimacy, which given our present 
situation, is both frightening and exhilarating.  
   I place the CD on top of the player and slide the card out of the 
envelope.  I have to laugh when I see the graphic on the front; it is a 
Hallmark card with little grey aliens on the front.  "Only Mulder..." I 
whisper with a grin.  The inscription, written in Mulder's strong
handwriting, fills up the inside of the card and crosses over to the back.  I 
am surprised that Mulder has so much to say to me.  I sit down on the couch 
and begin to read.


Dana,

   I don't know what to say really.  Happy birthday, I guess.  I didn't
know what to get you to celebrate another year of your life, because to me
any such gift would be insignificant.  Just the fact that you are here to
celebrate is enough for me, and I hope will be enough for you.  As I was
trying to decide what to buy you I was listening to this new CD I bought
and I heard a song that I had never heard before.  It reminded me of
us--the way things have been lately, and after listening to it I realized that 
anything I could say to you would pale in comparison to those words.  So I 
bought you the CD.  Listen to track 12 and think of me.  
   Have a wonderful birthday.  Remember--any way you want to
celebrate, I'll be there.  
                                Mulder
        
Even without listening to the CD, I am already in tears.  I had not stopped 
to think that a few short months ago nobody had any reason to believe that I 
would be here to celebrate my 34th birthday.  I realize I have been selfish. 
I have been too busy closing myself off to allow those I love to share in the 
joy of my life.  I have forgotten for myself how beautiful this life is.  How 
lucky I am to have my family.  How lucky I am that I love my job.  How lucky 
I am that I did have Emily, even if for a short time.  How lucky I am
to have Mulder.  Wiping the tears from my face, I cross over to the player, 
pop in the CD, and skip to number 12.  "Sky Blue and Black" the case calls 
the song.  I sit on the floor, staring into the candles, and concentrate on 
the words.  

"If you ever need holding, call my name, I'll be there
 If you ever need holding and no holding back, I'll see you through"

"Where the touch of a lover ends and the soul of a friend begins
 There's a need to be separate and a need to be one in a struggle neither 
  wins
 Where you gave me the world I was in and a place I could make a stand
 And I could never see how you doubted me when I let go of your hand"

"And I'd have fought the world for you if I thought that you wanted me to
 Or put aside what was true or untrue if  I'd known that's what you needed
 What you needed me to do"

"You're the color of the sky reflected in each store-front window pane
 You're the whispering and the sighing of my tires in the rain
 You're the hidden cost and the thing that's lost in everything I do
 Yeah, and I'll never stop looking for you in the sunlight and the shadows
 And the faces on the avenue....that's the way love is."

   As I sit, tears streaming down my face, I realize that this is what I have 
put him through these past few months.  I have allowed him to think that I 
will leave him, just like Samantha, and be lost to him forever.  Once again, 
I am crushed with guilt because I realize that he has again been punishing 
himself for things that he cannot control.  This song is his way of reaching 
out to me, telling me that he will do anything to keep me with him.  Even if 
it means giving up everything we have worked so hard to accomplish.  My hand 
flies up to cover my mouth at this realization.  I knew that Mulder felt
more for me than friendship, but I had not allowed myself to believe that his 
feelings would be so deep--so deep as to mirror mine.  I have loved him for 
years, but I always kept my distance by telling myself that he was so 
consumed by his drive for the truth that he could not give even a little of 
himself to loving me.  This belief has been both my curse and my salvation.  
By allowing myself to believe that his feelings were mainly platonic, I
could tell myself that our working relationship would not be affected by my 
emotions.  No matter how much it hurt, I was able to keep an emotional 
barrier between the two of us. 
   Now, however, I realize that this barrier was of my own construction, and 
that he has been telling me for years, in ways I would not listen, that he 
was more than willing to break down the barrier.  And today, when our 
relationship was so threatened by my withdrawal that it might have been lost 
forever, he has decided to shout it to me loud and clear.  For a moment I am 
at a loss.  I don't know how to handle these revelations.  I push myself off
the floor, blow out the candles, grab my coat and keys, and am in the car 
before I even realize what I am doing.  

                        
   I open the door to my cramped apartment, throw my coat on the rack, and 
plop down on the old, beaten-up couch that serves as my bed.  Without 
thinking, I reach over to the CD player and skip through the songs.  Track 
12.  I push play and close my eyes, leaning my head back against the couch. 
I wonder what she thought of my gift.  I know I could not have been more 
obvious if I had spray-painted "Scully, don't leave me" on the side of the 
Hoover building, but I couldn't help myself.  I discovered that I couldn't 
wait for the day when she decided that she'd had enough and just didn't 
come back.  I thought that this vacation might have been the beginning of 
the end for us; that she would spend four days by herself and realize how 
peaceful it was without me to argue with or endanger her life.  As selfish 
as it sounds, I can't bear to let her go that easily.  I know I should; I 
owe her more than this partnership, this search for a truth that I am not 
even sure exists anymore.  More than anything, I owe her my honesty--about 
the woman who might have been Samantha, and about the small vial holding 
her chance to have children.  In giving her that CD for her birthday I have 
been selfish--I have given her a part of me and withheld a part of herself. 
    Now it seems that I am the one who must do some soul-searching.  I know 
in my heart that she deserves to know the truth, and I know that she must 
be free to make whatever choices she wants from this discovery.  I promise 
myself that I will tell her.  Soon.  I just need to give myself a few days 
to get used to the idea that she may hate me for what I've done.  That by 
telling her the truth I will probably lose her.  I cling to one hope--since 
I haven't manage to drive her away yet, maybe she will decide to stay.  
Maybe she will be angry, but not angry enough not to listen to my side.  
Maybe she will weigh my reasons and opinions, judge them to be wrong, but 
forgive me as she has done so many times in the past.  Yeah, right, and 
maybe Skinner will knock on my door and tell me that he considers me the 
son he's never had and that he's *real* proud of the work I'm doing.   
   Almost as an answer to my reverie, there is a knock on the door.  At 
first I am startled, wondering if Skinner has started drinking, but then I 
realize who is knocking on my door.  I have heard that knock more times 
than I could count.  She is not more than 15 minutes behind me, so I know 
she must have heard the song and come straight over.  I brace myself, cross 
over to the door, and open it.  
   She stands before me, her eyes red and brimming with tears.  I already 
hate myself for making her cry, and I don't even know what exactly has made 
her react this way.  I reach out, put my arm around her, and guide her into 
my apartment.  Mimicking her earlier actions, I wipe a few errant raindrops 
(or tears) off her cheeks.  She looks up into my face, and I am captivated 
by the emotions I see swirling through the crystalline blue eyes.  At this 
moment I cannot think of words, so I do what seems most natural--I draw
her into my arms and hold her.  She clutches me as if she is afraid she 
will fall off the earth if she lets go.  I can feel her heart pounding 
against my chest--or is that mine?  Right now it seems I cannot tell where 
I end and she begins.  I run my fingers lightly through her hair, trying to 
offer whatever comfort I can.  I don't want this moment ever to end.
   She pulls away from me after a few minutes.  She has regained some of 
her composure; not enough, thankfully, to restore the wall she usually 
keeps between us.  She regards me carefully, searching my face for a clue. 
A clue to what, I don't know, but at this moment I know she can see every 
emotion I have displayed in my own eyes.  Seemingly satisfied, she grasps 
my hand and leads me into my living room.  She sits down on the couch and 
pulls me down next to her.  She lets go of my hand and places her own on 
her knees, lightly rubbing the denim covering her legs.  It is while she is 
collecting her thoughts that I realize that she doesn't know why she has 
come here; she is following her instincts rather than her logic, and it is 
damn tough for her. I want to reach out to her, but I know that it would 
scare her.  Instead, I settle back into the old leather of the couch and 
wait for her to begin speaking.
   Now that I am here, I have no idea what to say to him.  Somehow I feel that 
words would be inadequate.  That the simple act of holding him, as I did in the 
doorway, said more than I could ever hope to express.  I know that in the car 
over here I made a decision to be honest with him, and with myself, but now I am 
not sure I can do it.  I know that I should just start talking, and let the 
words take over where my mind is failing, but I am afraid I will say something 
wrong or stupid.  Right now it is of utmost importance for me to get this 
absolutely right.  
   "Mulder," I begin, "you don't ever have to go looking for me.  I'm right 
here."  The easiest way to do this, I realize, is to relate what I want to say 
back to the song.  That is where this all began, so it might as well end in the 
words.  "I know I've been distant lately, and I don't know how to put into words 
what I've been feeling.  But I promise you this--I am not going to leave you.  I 
couldn't, not even if I wanted to."
   He looks hurt at this.  "Do you want to?" he asks, trying to mask the tremor 
in his voice.  I meet his eyes, and see all the pain from losing Samantha 
swirling amidst the hazel.  And I know that if I said I wanted to leave, the 
pain he felt at losing me would completely eclipse his childhood injury.  I 
don't take pride in this knowledge; instead, I find some measure of comfort in 
it.  I can finally see, right in front of me, that
my suffering and his are, as with everything else about us, perfectly matched.  
And in this moment I know that the nights I have lain awake, hurting because of 
this rift between us, he has also been staring up at the ceiling wondering what 
to do next.  I reach out and gently stroke his face.  
"No," I whisper, "I don't want to leave you.  Not ever."  He wants
to reach out and hold me; I can see him straining to keep himself in check.  He 
knows that before we find any more comfort, we must first figure out what has 
been keeping us apart. 
   I pull myself off the couch, take a deep breath, and begin to speak.  
"After I went into remission, I thought about what was important to me.  What I 
wanted out of life.  And some of the answers came as a shock to me.  I realized 
that I had been living simply to die, preparing to say goodbye to everyone I 
loved.  I forgot how to live for myself.  And I discovered that I wanted to 
remember how to do that.  For a few weeks, I felt really and truly alive again, 
and I felt ready to take my life in both my hands and run with it."  I pause to 
take a deep breath.  "And then Emily happened."  
   Mulder drops his head, unsure how to react to this.  I know that Emily is the 
most sensitive spot in our relationship--he does not know how to handle my 
feelings about her. Now I must try to show him.  "I had been putting off coming 
to terms with the fact that I couldn't have children, focusing instead on the 
fact that I was simply alive.  But when Emily was taken away, I realized that my 
last chance to have a child of my own had been taken away too.  And I felt 
angrier than I had ever felt in my life.  God help me, Mulder, some of that 
anger was directed towards you."
   At this admission, his head nods slowly.  He refuses to look up and meet my 
eyes.  Since he won't look at me, I cross back over to the couch and kneel in 
front of him.  I take his face between my hands and stroke his cheeks gently.  
His eyes are tortured, filling slowly with tears.  I know that no matter what I 
have just said, he is hearing his own voice blaming him for what happened.  
Somehow I feel that if I can maintain this physical connection, I can make him 
hear my words over the roar in his head.  "It wasn't you specifically I was 
blaming, Mulder.  It was the fact that you can still have children.  That you're 
still whole, and I'm not.  I felt the same bitterness towards you that I felt 
toward every happy family I saw walking down the street.  I wasn't proud of it, 
but I couldn't stop it.  In order to stop the hurting, I had to shut off all my 
feelings.  I had to withdraw completely in order to function.  To just make it 
to work in the mornings."  
His hand reaches up to cover one of mine, his fingers lightly caressing my own.  
I shiver involuntarily at his touch, but I focus on my words instead of the 
emotions his gentle caress is inspiring deep within me.  I can see in his eyes 
that he is listening to me, really listening to me, and I smile gratefully.  
   "All day today I've been trying to come to terms with this.  I've been trying 
to get myself back to a point where I wasn't horrified at the person I'd become.  
Where I could look at myself in the mirror and see a person instead of a robot 
in front of me.  I tried so hard to reach out, to talk to all the people I've 
left behind with our work-"  He tries to jerk his head out of my hands when I 
say this, but I forcefully turn his head back toward
my own.  "Let me finish!"  I bark, raising an eyebrow at him, and I see a small 
grin playing at the corners of his mouth.  I know he is powerless against this 
tone of voice, and he will listen to me or face the dreadful consequences.  My 
voice drops to nearly a whisper as I continue.  "While I was trying to talk to 
people I haven't seen or heard from in years, I
realized something.  None of them know me like you do.  None of them have gone 
through the pits of hell with me, or for me, like you have.  And nobody can ever 
save me like you have.  Mulder, even before you came to my apartment this 
afternoon, I was praying that you would reach out to me.  I wasn't sure if I had 
the strength to do it.  I wasn't sure I could continue to sit in that room by 
myself and feel completely lost.  And when I saw you sitting in your car, I 
realized that my prayer had been answered."
   "I had to come.  I had to see for myself that you were okay." he chokes out, 
and I feel tears spring to my eyes.  Sometimes I resent the fact that he is 
always checking up on me, but today I am more grateful than I can say.  He bows 
his head so that his forehead touches mine.  I struggle to keep my emotions in 
check, determined to finish what I have begun.  
   "Mulder, when you gave me that CD and I listened to that song, I realized
something.  I've been unfair to you.  I've been holding myself back, separating 
myself from you because I thought I couldn't handle the attachment.  After 
Emily, I didn't think I could bear to lose anything else I cared about, and you 
are what I care about most.  I had to protect myself, and the only way I could 
do that was by cutting you out.  But that hurt,
Mulder.  It hurt worse than losing my father, losing Melissa, or even losing 
Emily. I couldn't stop what happened to them, but I could stop what was 
happening to us.  I just wasn't sure if I could handle it.  I knew they'd keep 
trying to take you away from me, and if I lost you, I don't think I could 
survive-"
   He grabs me, pulling me into his lap and cutting off my speech.  I know that 
what I have just said echoes his own thoughts; he would be as lost without me as 
I without him.  He has suffered through this before, when I was abducted, and 
the mere mention of it usually evokes a physical response from him; almost an 
attempt to pull me inside him so that he can keep me safe.  I have fought this 
reaction in the past; it made me unsure of my own strength and self-reliance.  
Now, however, I allow him to encircle me in his arms; I
admit to myself that I want him to pull me inside, where I know I will be safe, 
sheltered and loved.  I sit quietly in his lap for a few minutes, feeling the 
rising and falling of his chest against my side as his fingers lightly stroke my 
arms.  His chin rests atop my head; I can feel his warm breath brushing against 
my hair.  I am surprised at how easy it is to
allow Mulder to hold me this way; I have allowed him to touch me more in the 
past two hours than in five years of partnership.  His caresses are loving, 
intimate, but not sexual; I can feel him stroking my soul more than my body.  It 
amazes me.
   He sighs, and loosens his grip on me.  He is ready for me to continue.  I 
realize I should get up, put some distance between us, but I am reluctant to 
leave the shelter of his body.  I have allowed myself so little comfort lately; 
right now I am going to be selfish and take advantage of it while I can.  My 
head resting on his chest, I resume my train of thought.  
   "It was never my intention to drive you away, Mulder.  It was never my 
intention to hurt you.  I was trying to protect us both, but it didn't work.  I 
just made both of us miserable."  I lift my head and lean back to look into his 
eyes.  My hand reaches up almost involuntarily to stroke his face.  "I don't 
want to lose you now.  I can't lose you too."
   He takes my hand and kisses it gently.  He tucks my head back against his 
chest, and begins to stroke my hair.  We sit like this, listening to each other 
breathe, taking comfort in our closeness, as rain streams down his apartment 
windows.  
                        
   Now that I am here, I have no idea what to say to him.  Somehow I feel that 
words would be inadequate.  That the simple act of holding him, as I did in the 
doorway, said more than I could ever hope to express.  I know that in the car 
over here I made a decision to be honest with him, and with myself, but now I am 
not sure I can do it.  I know that I should just start talking, and let the 
words take over where my mind is failing, but I am afraid I will say something 
wrong or stupid.  Right now it is of utmost importance for me to get this 
absolutely right.  
   "Mulder," I begin, "you don't ever have to go looking for me.  I'm right 
here."  The easiest way to do this, I realize, is to relate what I want to say 
back to the song.  That is where this all began, so it might as well end in the 
words.  "I know I've been distant lately, and I don't know how to put into words 
what I've been feeling.  But I promise you this--I am not going to leave you.  I 
couldn't, not even if I wanted to."
   He looks hurt at this.  "Do you want to?" he asks, trying to mask the tremor 
in his voice.  I meet his eyes, and see all the pain from losing Samantha 
swirling amidst the hazel.  And I know that if I said I wanted to leave, the 
pain he felt at losing me would completely eclipse his childhood injury.  I 
don't take pride in this knowledge; instead, I find some measure of comfort in 
it.  I can finally see, right in front of me, that
my suffering and his are, as with everything else about us, perfectly matched.  
And in this moment I know that the nights I have lain awake, hurting because of 
this rift between us, he has also been staring up at the ceiling wondering what 
to do next.  I reach out and gently stroke his face.  
"No," I whisper, "I don't want to leave you.  Not ever."  He wants
to reach out and hold me; I can see him straining to keep himself in check.  He 
knows that before we find any more comfort, we must first figure out what has 
been keeping us apart. 
   I pull myself off the couch, take a deep breath, and begin to speak.  
"After I went into remission, I thought about what was important to me.  What I 
wanted out of life.  And some of the answers came as a shock to me.  I realized 
that I had been living simply to die, preparing to say goodbye to everyone I 
loved.  I forgot how to live for myself.  And I discovered that I wanted to 
remember how to do that.  For a few weeks, I felt really and truly alive again, 
and I felt ready to take my life in both my hands and run with it."  I pause to 
take a deep breath.  "And then Emily happened."  
   Mulder drops his head, unsure how to react to this.  I know that Emily is the 
most sensitive spot in our relationship--he does not know how to handle my 
feelings about her. Now I must try to show him.  "I had been putting off coming 
to terms with the fact that I couldn't have children, focusing instead on the 
fact that I was simply alive.  But when Emily was taken away, I realized that my 
last chance to have a child of my own had been taken away too.  And I felt 
angrier than I had ever felt in my life.  God help me, Mulder, some of that 
anger was directed towards you."
   At this admission, his head nods slowly.  He refuses to look up and meet my 
eyes.  Since he won't look at me, I cross back over to the couch and kneel in 
front of him.  I take his face between my hands and stroke his cheeks gently.  
His eyes are tortured, filling slowly with tears.  I know that no matter what I 
have just said, he is hearing his own voice blaming him for what happened.  
Somehow I feel that if I can maintain this physical connection, I can make him 
hear my words over the roar in his head.  "It wasn't you specifically I was 
blaming, Mulder.  It was the fact that you can still have children.  That you're 
still whole, and I'm not.  I felt the same bitterness towards you that I felt 
toward every happy family I saw walking down the street.  I wasn't proud of it, 
but I couldn't stop it.  In order to stop the hurting, I had to shut off all my 
feelings.  I had to withdraw completely in order to function.  To just make it 
to work in the mornings."  
His hand reaches up to cover one of mine, his fingers lightly caressing my own.  
I shiver involuntarily at his touch, but I focus on my words instead of the 
emotions his gentle caress is inspiring deep within me.  I can see in his eyes 
that he is listening to me, really listening to me, and I smile gratefully.  
   "All day today I've been trying to come to terms with this.  I've been trying 
to get myself back to a point where I wasn't horrified at the person I'd become.  
Where I could look at myself in the mirror and see a person instead of a robot 
in front of me.  I tried so hard to reach out, to talk to all the people I've 
left behind with our work-"  He tries to jerk his head out of my hands when I 
say this, but I forcefully turn his head back toward
my own.  "Let me finish!"  I bark, raising an eyebrow at him, and I see a small 
grin playing at the corners of his mouth.  I know he is powerless against this 
tone of voice, and he will listen to me or face the dreadful consequences.  My 
voice drops to nearly a whisper as I continue.  "While I was trying to talk to 
people I haven't seen or heard from in years, I
realized something.  None of them know me like you do.  None of them have gone 
through the pits of hell with me, or for me, like you have.  And nobody can ever 
save me like you have.  Mulder, even before you came to my apartment this 
afternoon, I was praying that you would reach out to me.  I wasn't sure if I had 
the strength to do it.  I wasn't sure I could continue to sit in that room by 
myself and feel completely lost.  And when I saw you sitting in your car, I 
realized that my prayer had been answered."
   "I had to come.  I had to see for myself that you were okay." he chokes out, 
and I feel tears spring to my eyes.  Sometimes I resent the fact that he is 
always checking up on me, but today I am more grateful than I can say.  He bows 
his head so that his forehead touches mine.  I struggle to keep my emotions in 
check, determined to finish what I have begun.  
   "Mulder, when you gave me that CD and I listened to that song, I realized
something.  I've been unfair to you.  I've been holding myself back, separating 
myself from you because I thought I couldn't handle the attachment.  After 
Emily, I didn't think I could bear to lose anything else I cared about, and you 
are what I care about most.  I had to protect myself, and the only way I could 
do that was by cutting you out.  But that hurt,
Mulder.  It hurt worse than losing my father, losing Melissa, or even losing 
Emily. I couldn't stop what happened to them, but I could stop what was 
happening to us.  I just wasn't sure if I could handle it.  I knew they'd keep 
trying to take you away from me, and if I lost you, I don't think I could 
survive-"
   He grabs me, pulling me into his lap and cutting off my speech.  I know that 
what I have just said echoes his own thoughts; he would be as lost without me as 
I without him.  He has suffered through this before, when I was abducted, and 
the mere mention of it usually evokes a physical response from him; almost an 
attempt to pull me inside him so that he can keep me safe.  I have fought this 
reaction in the past; it made me unsure of my own strength and self-reliance.  
Now, however, I allow him to encircle me in his arms; I
admit to myself that I want him to pull me inside, where I know I will be safe, 
sheltered and loved.  I sit quietly in his lap for a few minutes, feeling the 
rising and falling of his chest against my side as his fingers lightly stroke my 
arms.  His chin rests atop my head; I can feel his warm breath brushing against 
my hair.  I am surprised at how easy it is to
allow Mulder to hold me this way; I have allowed him to touch me more in the 
past two hours than in five years of partnership.  His caresses are loving, 
intimate, but not sexual; I can feel him stroking my soul more than my body.  It 
amazes me.
   He sighs, and loosens his grip on me.  He is ready for me to continue.  I 
realize I should get up, put some distance between us, but I am reluctant to 
leave the shelter of his body.  I have allowed myself so little comfort lately; 
right now I am going to be selfish and take advantage of it while I can.  My 
head resting on his chest, I resume my train of thought.  
   "It was never my intention to drive you away, Mulder.  It was never my 
intention to hurt you.  I was trying to protect us both, but it didn't work.  I 
just made both of us miserable."  I lift my head and lean back to look into his 
eyes.  My hand reaches up almost involuntarily to stroke his face.  "I don't 
want to lose you now.  I can't lose you too."
   He takes my hand and kisses it gently.  He tucks my head back against his 
chest, and begins to stroke my hair.  We sit like this, listening to each other 
breathe, taking comfort in our closeness, as rain streams down his apartment 
windows.  
                        
   I am afraid she has fallen asleep.  I have been holding her in my lap, 
running my fingers through her hair, for close to an hour now.  My legs are 
beginning to hurt.  As much as this bothers me, I know that if she is asleep, I 
will not dare to move her.  Not after everything she's been through.  I have to 
admit to myself that holding her like this is as much for me as for her; I have 
such a sense of peace from the simple act of feeling her chest rise and fall 
next to mine.  I can feel her energy seeping through her skin into mine, making 
me feel truly alive for the first time in months.  
   A sharp crack of thunder shatters the silence.  Her body jerks in response.  
The storm has been gathering intensity as we have been sitting here, but neither 
of us have noticed.  Her face turns toward the window, eyes aglow with the power 
of the storm.  She disentangles herself from my limbs, pulls me off the couch, 
and leads me over to the window.  She stands with her back to me.  Not wanting 
to lose the physical connection, I envelop her in my arms from behind.  She sags 
slightly against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine.  I never noticed 
how her tiny frame matched mine before.   Every time I have held her before, I 
have been afraid to apply too much pressure because I was afraid she would 
break.  Now I know that she will not; instead, her body becomes flexible, almost 
liquid.  Her back curves into my stomach and chest, and her head nestles under 
my chin.  I have never seen Scully this relaxed before.  She is utterly at 
peace.  It is a gift she is sharing with me; this rare glimpse of Scully at 
ease.  I feel doubly blessed because I know that no matter how infrequently I 
see this side of her, I am one of only two people who ever see it at all.  And I 
can't be jealous of her mother.  
   I realize in this moment that I am in love with her.  A part of me has known 
this for years, ever since she refused to let me give up the first time the X-
Files were shut down.  I am in love with her strength, her passion, her 
determination, and her intelligence.  When I look at this petite beauty in my 
arms, I am amazed that I ever found women like Phoebe Green attractive.  Scully 
is lovely, no doubt, but she became beautiful to me when I discovered her soul.  
Phoebe's body language either contained fire or ice, it never offered the 
rainbow of emotions and thoughts that Scully's mere twitch of an eyebrow can 
convey.  I know her mannerisms, I know her habits, and more often than not, I 
know her thoughts.  We have a connection that I could never hope to duplicate.  
This is what love means to me; knowing and trusting someone above and beyond all 
others, even beyond yourself.  I know she knows me better than I know myself, 
and I find that thought strangely comforting.  
Now is the time to tell her what I know, what I have done, but I am reluctant to 
break the silence.  I know that what I will tell her will definitely make her 
furious, and it may break her heart.  She places absolute trust in me, and I 
have betrayed that trust.  Now is the time to come clean.
   "Scully," I whisper, "there's some things I need to tell you."
   "Not now," she murmurs.  "Whatever it is, it can wait."
   I almost listen to her, but I know that if I don't tell her now, if I allow 
us to rebuild the walls that have just come tumbling down, then I will never 
tell her.  I take a deep breath and begin.
   "Scully, some things happened while you were fighting cancer.  Some things I 
never told you.  And you're probably going to hate me after hearing them."
She turns in my arms, and stares up at me.  Her eyebrow begins to twitch.  She's 
thinking that she could never hate me, but she doesn't want to interrupt.  She 
lets me continue, but doesn't move out of my arms.  I tighten my grip.  I think 
this will be easier for me if I can keep holding her.  
"When you were in the hospital the first time and I found the Kurt clones, I 
found something else I never told you about.  They had drawers labeled with the 
names of all the women who had been abducted.  I found the drawer with your name 
on it, and it had..."  I take a deep breath.  This is harder than I thought.  
"Scully, it had frozen ova.  Your ova."
   Her eyes widen in shock.  Of all the things she expected to hear, this was 
definitely not it.  "That's probably how Emily was created.  They had a bank to 
draw from, and God knows how many eggs they had extracted from these women."
   She begins to sway in my arms.  I lead her back to the couch and sit her 
down.  I kneel in front of her, still holding her hands.  "While I was there I 
took one of the tubes.  I gave it to a fertility clinic and had them analyze the 
ova.  They determined that the eggs were still viable and had not been altered 
in any way.  They've kept them frozen for you."
   She begins to shake her head.  "Why didn't you tell me?"  she whispers.  I 
can hear the raw emotion in her voice.  I'm not sure how to interpret it.  Her 
head drops, and she whispers again, "Why didn't you tell me?"
   "I wasn't sure if I should.  I didn't find out they were viable until weeks 
after all this happened.  And then it seemed like a deliberate act of cruelty to 
tell you.  Scully, you were dying.  I didn't want to add to the pain you were 
already feeling by telling you what other atrocities they had committed against 
you.  I thought I was doing the right thing."
   "Then why didn't you tell me after I went into remission?"  she asks, not 
bothering to hide the anger in her voice.  She has every right to be angry.  I 
should have told her.  And now that I have to explain myself, my reasons for 
keeping silent seem incredibly stupid.  Still, I owe her the truth.
   "I didn't tell you because..." I begin, my voice faltering.  "Because I was 
afraid you would leave me.  Our work had already taken so much away from you.  I 
thought that if I told you, you would want to fight for this chance to have 
children.  You would want to leave me and make a new, normal life for yourself.  
I couldn't bear that thought."
   She snorts.  I've never heard her make that sound before.  Somehow, coming 
from Scully, it sounds very ladylike.  "Did you really think I could just walk 
away?  After everything we've been through?  Mulder, I thought you knew me 
better than that."
   "I thought I did too, but lately you've been so distant....It just seemed 
like you've been looking for an excuse to leave.  I know I'm a selfish bastard 
for keeping all this from you, but the thought of just handing you a good reason 
to walk away forever was more than I could do.  I kicked myself every day for 
lying to you, but I had to do it.  I didn't think I could go on without you here 
beside me."
   She has been glaring venomously at me, but at my last comment her face 
softens.  She's not going to argue with me because deep down she knows I'm 
right.  I can't go on without her.  I would probably get myself killed without 
her to watch my back, and she knows it.  "Scully, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry."  I 
realize that she is still holding my hands,
and I lower my head so that my forehead rests against her thumbs.  The apartment 
is still for a minute while she absorbs everything I have just told her.  I hear 
her whispering, and I look up to see what she is saying.  
   "I can have children."  Her face is filled with wonder.  For a moment I think 
she has forgotten that I am in the room, but then she looks deep into my eyes.  
"I can have children," she repeats, then breaks into the most beautiful smile I 
have ever seen.  Her eyes well up with tears again, but this time they are tears 
of joy.  Her entire body seems lit from
within, shining with the purest bliss I have ever seen.  She looks like an 
angel.  I kiss her hand, thrilled that I am able to share this moment with her.  
Earlier this year, I got my dearest wish--Scully's cancer went into remission.  
I watch in awe as Scully is granted hers.  She pulls me to her, holding on for 
dear life as she cries once again on my shoulder.  I am amazed that she still 
has tears to shed.  She hates to cry.  
   She pulls away as the tears abate.  She stands and begin to pace around my 
living room.  She's beginning to worry me.  Now that she's gotten over the 
initial shock, I know she's going to want to deal with my actions.  It's not a 
pleasant thought.  
   She looks up at me suddenly.  "You need to get out."  
   "Scully, it's my apartment."  I point out, confused.
   "Go get us some dinner or something.  Just leave me alone for a while.  We're 
going to deal with this tonight, but not now.  I need time to think."  
   She walks back to the window.  I silently grab my coat and keys, and head out 
the door.  I hate to leave her alone, but I'm relieved that she didn't just walk 
out.  
He's been gone for about 20 minutes.  I know I should be furious with him, and I 
am furious, but I wish he'd hurry back.  I hate being in his apartment without 
him; it reminds me of all the times he ran off half-cocked, leaving me to search 
his apartment, wondering where he was.  I stand by the window and trace an "X" 
on the glass pane.  I love my job, I love my work, but sometimes I wish I could 
just let it all go.  I wish we could both let it
go and just live normal lives.  Together.       
   It seems so ridiculous that Mulder thinks I would be able to leave him.  I 
don't think I could ever get away from him, even if I tried.  I can feel his 
presence even when he is nowhere near me.  I can almost hear his thoughts when 
we are in the same room.  I know his mood swings and his behavior patterns.  I 
know his daily routine.  And I know that he loves me more than he has ever loved 
anyone before, even Samantha.  Not in the romantic sense--it goes so much deeper 
than that.  For both of us.  As much as I talk about getting a life, I know that 
nobody would ever be able to replace Mulder in my heart.  I can't imagine 
trusting anybody as much as I trust him.  Recognizing this, it becomes 
impossible for me to stay angry with him--to do so would be to stay angry with a 
part of myself.  I'm trying to let go of all that, to let go of the emotional 
baggage that threatens to drag me under the surface.  As much as I want to save 
myself, I know that he is the only person
that can truly keep me afloat.
   Of course, this doesn't excuse his actions.  What am I going to do about 
that?  I need to know that I can trust him to tell me everything, regardless of 
how much it hurts either one of us.  Maybe I'm being unfair; I know I keep 
things from him when I think it will hurt too much to hear them.  We are so much 
alike in that respect.  Still, I need to deal with this.  I grab a sheet of 
paper and a pen from his desk and begin writing.  
   He walks in the door with a bag of Chinese takeout as I finish.  He sets the 
bag down on the coffee table and approaches me warily.  I hand him the paper and 
the pen wordlessly, sit down on the couch, and begin digging through the bag.  
He begins reading aloud as I open containers.
   "I, Fox William Mulder, will not ditch my partner.  I will tell her all 
information pertaining to a case, especially if the case involves her.  I will 
not try to shelter her feelings.  I will not be afraid that she will leave me 
because of my actions, no matter how senseless they may be.  I will not leave 
her due to her actions, no matter how many times she shuts me out or tells me 
she's fine.  I will trust her above all others, with my life."  He pauses, bends 
down on the desk, and signs his name with a flourish.  He sits next to me on the 
couch and hands me the paper.  I fold it wordlessly and place it on the coffee 
table.  I hand him a container and a pair of chopsticks.  We eat in silence.  
   After we finish, he turns to me. "Scully, I'm sorry--" he begins, but I cut 
him off.  "It's over, Mulder.  You did what you thought was right.  I can't 
pretend to agree with you, but I can understand why you did what you did.  If 
you ever do it again, though, I will hunt you down and shoot you again."  He 
smiles, and holds out his arms to me.  I willingly
fall into his embrace.  Suddenly I am exhausted.  So much has happened today; so 
much more than I ever thought possible.  I feel that once again we are in 
synchrony with each other.  He pushes play on the stereo, snaps off the lamp, 
and stretches out on the couch, with me curled up against his side.  I know we 
may have to pay the price for allowing this much intimacy, both emotional and 
physical, but it feels so right that I cannot bring myself to pull away and go 
home.  Instead, I close my eyes and let his heartbeat and steady
breathing lull me to sleep.