Scully got back last night.  I called her, but she wasn't in the
mood to talk.  She was very short with me, not that that's anything
new.  Seems to be a trend she started on her 'vacation'.  Well, I
suppose that her time off didn't exactly go as planned.  I ought to
have some sympathy.

	But this morning, I can't.  Because I'm in altogether too
good a mood.  Scully's back and that automatically makes for a
good day, plus if what I have planned works out the way I want it
to, then maybe she won't need my sympathy anymore.

	As I get out of my car, I see her striding smartly towards
the parking garage elevator.  This is a surprise; Scully hasn't arrived
early in recent memory.  I lengthen my strides and catch up with her
at the elevator.

	"G'morning, Sunshine,"  I greet her playfully, trying to coax
a smile of some sort.  

	An overly optimistic goal, I see.  "Morning, Mulder."  she
returns flatly.  

	The elevator doors open before us, and I am spared what
could have been an awkward silence.  We step in the car and ride it
smoothly to the bottom; silent, but tensionless.  Arriving in the
bullpen, we walk over to the other elevator that will take us to the
basement.  I find my strides increasing in length in anticipation of
arriving at the office, but slow down when Scully makes no attempt
to keep up.

	We arrive at the basement office, and I fumble with my
keys, all the while watching Scully out of the corner of my eye.  As
I expect, her eye is caught by the shine of new metal on the door. 
She looks up and sees the plaque I had commissioned, one that is
exactly like mine except it reads:

	SPECIAL AGENT
	DANA SCULLY, MD

	I watch for a reaction as I slip the key into the lock, but am
again disappointed.  She has put on her favorite porcelain doll mask
this morning.  Maybe it will slip when she sees what's inside.

	The door swings open and I allow her to enter first.  We
hang up our coats, and as Scully turns away I once again watch her
closely.

	I think I see her eyes get a little wider as she takes in the
new desk in front of her.  Then her back gets even stiffer if at all
possible, and she walks behind it and sits down as if she'd had that
desk for a million years.

	By now I am concerned.  While these are things that she
certainly earned a long time ago, it is patently unlike Scully to
simply ignore these changes.  I chew on my lip as I take my seat
behind my own desk.  I regard her extremely carefully; now I
*really* don't want to be caught watching her.  

	She boots up her computer and opens her briefcase, the first
things Scully always does when she arrives in the office.  Then she
gets up for a cup of coffee.  She does take the care to place the
mug on a coaster when she sets it down on her new desk.

	The desk isn't anything particularly special; standard
Bureau-issue, as everything must be around here.  However, it's
neat and practical, though not the largest one I could have found.  I
have two reasons for that; first, I don't have room to put a big desk
in the office, and second, Scully would be swallowed whole by a
large piece of furniture.  

	It did manage to take a sizable piece from our annual
budget, and the paperwork will haunt me for a month.  However,
the trouble seems minimal.  It's certainly not as much as Scully
deserves.  

	Well, I can't sit all day and wait for some kind of reaction
from Scully.  I get up and walk over to my main filing cabinet,
pulling it open.  Of course, the files are a haphazard mess.  I know
where each and every file is, at least I think I do, but no one else
would.  Somewhat disgusted at my disorganization, and full of
nervous energy, I start pulling out files.  

	"Mulder, what are you doing?"  Scully asks as I stack my
desk high.  

	"Organizing my files,"  I reply absently as I flip through a
folder that has caught my eye.  

	"Excuse me?"  Scully's tone is skeptical.

	"I just thought it would make things a lot easier to find. 
Even *I'm* starting to lose track of them all.  Hey, look at this,
Scully.  It's the Icy Cape file.  Remember that?"

	"How could I forget?"  Scully mutters dryly.  

	I turn to face her.  "This was one of our first cases.  And
one of the first times you saved my life."  I shake my head in
amazement.  How far we have come in five years.  The fact that I
lived to see these five years is no small miracle.

	"The first of many,"  Scully responds, sounding peeved.

	"You're right, you know,"  I hold her gaze, ignoring her
'Believe me, Mulder, I know' look.  "If it wasn't for you I wouldn't
have survived Icy Cape.  To say nothing of all these other cases. 
Have I ever told you how thankful I am for that?"  

	I have caught her by surprise, and for the first time I see a
crack in her composure.  Her blue eyes bore into mine, brightening
suspiciously.  Her jaw sets, looking as if she is making a determined
effort to not say anything.  

	For a split second I weigh my options, and decide that now
is the time to make my move.  Walking towards her desk, I stand
close to her and lean against its edge.  Try as she might, she can't
ignore me if I'm in her space.  "I am, Scully.  These five years have
been the best ones of my life.  You've stood by me and rescued me
and challenged me, and I don't think I've thanked you once.  Or told
you how wonderful it's been having you in my life.  I think I need to
start now."  

	Scully's eyes snap.  "Why do you think that?"

	I am surprised.  "Because I should have been doing it a long
time ago.  Because you deserve it and because I owe you
everything."

	She stands suddenly, turning away briefly before whipping
around to face me once more, her blue eyes flashing fire.  "Why? 
What have I done that no one else could do?"

	Loved me.  The words are on the tip of my tongue, but she
continues, cutting off any speech.  

	Her voice is a cry of frustration.  "Mulder, I've done nothing
but cause you and my family grief and pain in the last year.  I
haven't done anything to help you.  You uncovered government
secrets, you even found Samantha, and you did it all without my
help!  Why am I still here?  I'm not accomplishing anything!"  

	"Scully.  You ground me, you're the string that keeps me in
touch with the ground.  Without you, I would have never been able
to do those things, because I wouldn't have had the knowledge and
aptitude to do them."  I am totally unprepared for this.  I thought
she didn't care; I didn't realize she's been having doubts about her
own abilities.  Needless doubts, in my opinion, but obviously not in
hers.  

	She isn't listening.  "I haven't done anything.  What is with
this desk, Mulder?  With the nameplate?  A year ago I thought I
deserved them.  But since that time I've done nothing to back up
my own assumption.  What are you trying to say with them,
Mulder?  You aren't that subtle.  Are you trying to bribe me into
staying?"

	I pause.  "Yes."  Maybe not the term I would have used, but
that was the idea.

	"Why, Mulder, why?"  Her emotions are catching up to her,
and her voice catches.  Her eyes are bright with tears, tears of
frustration that are finally overwhelming the walls she has
constructed.  

	I reach forward and seize her hands in mine, holding on
firmly when she tries to pull away.  "Because I can't let you leave,
Scully.  For your sake or mine."

	"Let me go, Mulder."  Her voice is dangerous.

	Memories flash through my mind: a dark diner, a long-lost
sister, a similar plea for release.  When I let go of Samantha's hand
that night, I also let go of my quest.  That wasn't going to happen
with Scully.

	"No."  I return, hanging on as she pulls again.  "You can't
run from this, or you'll spend the rest of your life running.  It's hard. 
It's damn hard.  But I've been with it for twenty-four years, Scully,
because I know that I can't escape from it.  If I run, it'll chase me. 
I'm better off if I face my demons."  I stare down into her eyes,
towering over her.  She's slowly losing control of her emotions.  I
hate doing this, using my strength to take away her independence,
but I know it is necessary.  "You need to face yours.  Your
abduction, the cancer, Emily -- all those things should never have
happened to you.  Never.  You've come out of it alive and right
now it's pretty tempting to just say screw it and run.  But you can't
ignore the pain of those injustices, Scully."  Her face begins to
crumple, and I feel tears stinging my own eyes.  Tears of regret.  "I
can't tell you how sorry I am that these things ever happened to
you.  They happened because of me and what I got you involved in
-- and it's wrong.  But they *did* happen, so now we've got to face
the consequences.  And we've got to do it together, Scully, or it's
just not going to work."

	She breaks, the walls cracking and the tears overflowing.  I
pull her close to me, holding her against me as I attempt to offer
some comfort.  She doesn't resist, and I clasp her tightly to me,
feeling every sob and breath reverberating through her body.  This
is good -- these are some deep frustrations and hurts that are being
healed here.  However, just because it's good doesn't mean it's not
painful.

	Her sobs slowly subside, and I feel her relaxing against my
body.  This unaccustomed closeness is not without effect, but I
have had long practice in taming my body and I'm not about to let it
subdue me now.  Scully sniffles and I would hand her a Kleenex if it
weren't for the fact that I just can't let her go.  

	"I just don't feel like I belong anymore,"  I can hardly
recognize the small, tearful voice as Scully's.  I look down at the
top of her head, shocked.  

	"Scully, you'll always belong.  I depend more on you now
than I ever did.  Why would you think anything else?"  I query
gently.  The only response I get is the shaking of her head.  

	But I'm not about to let the subject drop.  I shift my weight
and loosen my grip on her slightly.  "Scully, we've got a lot to talk
about.  But I don't think that this is the place.  Do you mind if we
take it to your apartment where we can really see what we're up
against?"

	She pulls away, and I can see in her face that she's about to
say 'no'.  Scully hates to face her demons.  Then she looks up with
red-rimmed eyes and meets my gaze.  "Let's go."  

	Did I mention that my partner never fails to amaze me?  

End Chapter Six

FAITH IN TRUTH
Chapter Seven
Julie John


	I allow Scully to precede me into her apartment.  While it
was my suggestion that we come here, this is her territory, and I
want her to reestablish some security.  Many of her walls have been
breached tonight, and she knows that more are going to fall.  

	She sits down on the sofa after having turned on only the
foyer light.  Security in darkness.  I sit beside her, careful to
maintain enough space for her comfort, but not enough that I feel
distant.  The same position she had adopted for me, I realize, when
we came here in the aftermath of the Bowman case.  We have
maintained a pensive silence ever since we left the Bureau in my
car.  I allow her to continue it, giving both of us an opportunity to
get our bearings in this discussion.

	I have decided to let her to carry the conversation, because
it has become obvious to me that I'm not entirely up to speed on
what's been happening inside her head.  Like that's anything new. 
But I need to be sure of exactly what I'm saying.  This is too
important to make assumptions on.

	"I'm lost, Mulder."  Scully's words cut through the silence. 
I turn my gaze to her and wait, thankful for her directness but still
in the dark.  

	"I don't know what I'm doing here anymore.  Why we're
doing this at all.  I mean, what do we have left to accomplish?  You
found Samantha, Mulder.  And I'm well now.  So what else is there
that keeps us doing this?  Why do we continue to risk our lives?"

	These are questions I'm prepared for.  Questions I had
asked myself not long ago.

	"Scully,"  I reach forward and take her hand, causing her to
turn and meet my gaze.  In the dim light I can see tears shining in
her eyes.  "The only reason is because the truth is still out there,
and until we find it, others are going to suffer."

	She sighs and turns away again.  "Is that going to make any
difference, Mulder?  Is the little bit that you and I can do going to
have the slightest effect in the long run?"  Her voice is gentle and
weary; her anger and frustration is not directed at me.  She has
drawn my hand into her lap and is stroking it absently, her attention
focused on some point on the wall.

	"It will to the people that we help,"  I reply softly.  "Scully,
I've been struggling with these same questions myself, ever since
you were released from the hospital.  But when you dragged me
down to Florida I learned more than any stupid seminar could have
taught me."  I succeed in drawing the smallest of smiles from
Scully.

	"Down there I realized that even now, without Samantha to
save or you to save, we *do* make a difference.  Just think of that
woman whose husband was taken.  If we hadn't come along he
probably never would have been found."

	I see Scully nod, almost reluctantly, in agreement.  "I
realized on that trip that there still *is* a purpose in the work we
do.  Even if the goal doesn't seem quite so cosmic, quite so noble,
we can still make a difference.  And just because you're better and I
know that Samantha's okay doesn't mean that we can let those
bastards get away with what they've done.  They took your time,
your health, your immortality and your daughter."  She stiffens, and
I can almost sense her walls rising up again.  Despite how open
she's been with me, she's kept her emotions about Emily very close
to her, not sharing them with anyone.  I've always been careful
about mentioning Emily, not wanting to bring any more stress on
Scully, who has been through so much lately.  Now, however, it is a
pivotal point and one that needs to be addressed.

	"They can't get away with that, Scully.  We can't let them. 
And we can't stop at this until we can conquer them."  I'm speaking
by sheer will now; I don't believe half the stuff I'm saying.  I've
reasoned it within myself, and for the most part reconciled myself to
the truth of my words.  However, I haven't quite gotten the faith to
believe it.

	She turns to look at me.  "How do you do it, Mulder? 
What keeps you going?"  she asks simply.

	I shrug.  "Sometimes it's anger, sometimes it's regret,
oftentimes it's guilt."  I state honestly.  "There was always my
quest, but right now, it's sheer will that's driving me."  

	Scully ponders these things for a while.  I am silent, but
burning to know whether my emotional reasons for continuing will
help her at all.  

	Finally she speaks.  "Mulder, what drives me is my faith. 
There are three main things that I place my trust in, Mulder.  And
I've lost faith in two of those now.  What faith remains allows me to
hang on for the moment, but it's not enough to keep me going.  Not
indefinitely."

	I consider her words.  I, of all people, know how important
faith is to our work.  My faith that Samantha was alive is what
carried me through the FBI -- hell, through my entire life.  My faith
in justice is another major motivation, and my faith in the truth is
now my most cherished.  Not just a faith in the undefined Truth of
my years of searching, but of the truth that I face in everyday life. 
The truth that people need me, and that I need people -- especially
Scully.  I know I would not survive if I was ever separated from
her.

	"What was it you had faith in, Scully?  What made you lose
it?"

	She bites her lower lip and gazes down at our hands.  This
is a decidedly personal turn to the conversation, almost intimate in a
sense, and intimidating beyond a doubt.  Scully's not used to baring
her soul to me, and her inner struggle is evident.  This causes a
pang of regret to go through me; that we haven't shared enough
with each other to feel totally comfortable in a situation like this.

	"I had faith in science, Mulder,"  she finally says, "And I had
faith in God.  Now I have faith in neither."

	"Why?"  

	"Because of... because of Emily."  Her voice begins to
waver, but then she almost physically pulls herself together.  She
takes a deep breath and straightens her back, and when she speaks
again her voice is calm and controlled.  "Because of the
impossibility of it and the cruelty of it."

	I don't need to ask for elaborations on these points, but
Scully continues nevertheless.

	"There's no way that little girl could have been mine,
Mulder.  The dates are all wrong.  Emily was born during the time I
was missing!  There's no way a full-term fetus could have been
produced in less than three months."  An idea occurs to me
regarding missing time and the passage of time in space being
different from that on earth, but I deem it wise to keep my mouth
shut.

	"There was no evidence whatsoever that my body had
been... *used* that way, in *any* way -- they left no evidence
except the branched DNA in my bloodstream.  How could I have
produced a daughter?  It's impossible.  But the tests don't lie,
Mulder.  I was a perfect genetic match for her mother, and that isn't
some coincidence.  It doesn't make sense; science has betrayed me.

	"And God.  I know evil exists in this world, that it's a fact of
life and innocent people suffer sometimes.  But how many?  I've
seen entirely too many bad things happen to good people.  Starting
with you."  This pronouncement startles me, but once again she
continues before I can say anything.  "I always wondered how so
many bad things could happen to one person.  Ultimately I arrived
at the conclusion that it was because these experiences would bring
you to where you are now, and place you in a position to help more
people than you would have otherwise.  

	"It was a comforting idea, but as time went on and I still
saw you receive blow after blow from the hand of life, I wasn't so
sure anymore.  Combine that with all the other experiences we've
had, then Emily was just the last straw.  What did she ever do to
harm anyone?  To deserve what she got?  And it didn't serve a
higher purpose, such as working to shape her into the adult she
needed to be.  She never had the chance.  Her whole life brought
nothing but grief to all who knew her, though that wasn't her fault
at all.  I just can't believe that God would work that way."

	Despite the anguish in her voice, I knew she was wrong
here; Emily had brought more than grief to those she had come in
contact with.  Certainly, that was the lasting emotion, but I had
seen the quiet joy that was radiated from Scully during her short
time with her daughter.  It was overshadowed by anxiety, but it was
nonetheless there.  It killed me to see her becoming so attached to a
little girl that I knew was destined to die, but even in my
recognition of this, I myself was not immune to Emily's appeal. 
Despite my best efforts to stay detached, the shy little strawberry-
blond burrowed her way into my heart.  At her funeral I was more
grief-stricken than anyone with the exception of Scully, from what I
could tell.  Despite my anger at Scully being subjected to this
tremendous loss, in retrospect I wouldn't have protected her from it
if I had the chance.   I don't think Scully would have, either.  She
needed, for once in her life, to be a mother.  To know that a part of
her was alive and needed her.  I wouldn't deny her that opportunity,
especially since we now know that any future chance at
motherhood is effectively impossible.  I don't think God would,
either.

	"Scully,"  I begin.  I'm going to have to tread lightly here. 
"You believe that when God placed us on this earth, He gave us
our own free will.  Obviously, or else the world wouldn't be so
screwed up.  But by giving us that freedom, He limited His own
involvement.  So I don't know that it's fair to blame the injustice of
Emily on God.  Injustice is caused by men wanting to be like God.  

	"You also believe that God has a purpose for everything and
that all will turn out for good in the end.  Dana, maybe Emily was
brought into your life so that you could know, at least for a short
time, what it is like to be a mother."  

	My voice is as compassionate as I can make it, yet my
words send her over the edge.  Struggle though she might, she
cannot hold back a sob.  My hand is about to be crushed by hers as
she attempts to withhold the tears.  She lifts her head to look at me,
face anguished.  

	"Mulder, why?  It's so unfair..." her voice breaks on her cry
of injustice, and the tears overwhelm her.  I cannot stand to see
Scully like this; it will kill me as surely as any bullet.  Suddenly the
inches between us is too much, and I pull her close to me.  She
turns to me, and I pull her even closer, onto my lap.  She wraps her
arms around my neck and sobs into my shoulder.

	I hold her tightly, feeling her body; small and strong, warm
and vibrant.  My right arm wraps around her slim waist, while the
other hand slides through the flame-colored waves of her hair.  I
whisper soothing things in her ear as the shuddering of her body
continues.

	Despite my words to her, my soul rails against a God I'm
not even sure exists.  How could He let so many terrible things
happen to one good person?  Is it because of me?  But to believe
Scully, I am a similar victim to human corruption.  As someone
who has spent their entire life looking for the answers, to not have
any here is incredibly frustrating.  

	As I am ranting inwardly, I realize that Scully is speaking
aloud.  Through her sobs and the muffling of my shoulder I can
clearly hear her say, "I wanted it so badly..."  My heart wrenches;
although I can claim no comprehension of maternal instinct or
biological clocks, I can understand the tremendous loss that Scully
has suffered.  "I wanted your child so badly..."

	My hand stopped in mid-stroke, my fingers tangling in her
hair.  Did I hear her correctly?  I glance down at her, but she takes
no notice of me -- perhaps she isn't even aware that she said it
aloud.  A rush of emotions course through my body; feelings that I
know I cannot deal with right now.  I shove them ruthlessly aside. 
I'll think about them later.  Undoubtedly they'll confront me as soon
as I leave Scully's apartment.

	I free my hand from Scully's hair and use it to lift her head
from my shoulder.  I hold her face and kiss her forehead, then her
cheek and then her nose.  As her sobs subside I am placing light
kisses all over her face, soothing her as well as myself.  Then I feel
a small hand on my face, steadying me as her lips brush a single kiss
along the line of my jaw.  I can't suppress a slight shiver at this
unexpected gesture, and Scully places her head once again on my
shoulder.

	"You okay?"  I ask, voice rough.

	"Yeah,"  she responds, sniffling.  "Kindof."

	A sad smile curls my mouth, and I hug her once again, a
thanks for telling me the truth.  

	"Thanks, Mulder,"  I hear her say quietly.  She pushes
herself up to meet my eyes.  "I needed to hear that."

	I nod, unsure.  Was it enough?  Hopefully I at least helped
her out some, but was it enough to convince her to stay?  What else
did she need to hear?

	Scully scoots off my lap onto the sofa, her hand lingering on
my shoulder in apology.  I understand; she needs to regain her
sense of self after having let all the emotions loose; to sit back and
decide what she learned.  I only hope it's what she needed.

	"I'm still not sure, Mulder,"  she states.  "My faith -- both in
God and in science -- has been tested daily ever since I met you.  In
many ways this made it stronger, but I knew, deep inside, that one
day something would come along big enough to put a crack in that
faith.  I was afraid of it.  San Diego -- San Diego was that
something.  And it dealt me a double blow.  Now that it's happened,
I don't want it to happen again."  She gives me a sad smile.  "I
know you don't want me to leave, Mulder.  I don't want to leave
you, either.  But I need to consider what's best for both of us.  I'm
not going to be of any use to you if I'm an emotional wreck with no
scientific ground.  You've made a good case for God,"  another
smile,  "but I still need my science.  God affects only me.  Science
affects us both."

	I can handle this, I think.  "Scully, don't think I'm
patronizing you by quoting you back at yourself.  But you told me
that nothing happens in contradiction of science -- just in
contradiction to what we know of it.  I can't offer an explanation
for Emily -- or for the millions of other things out there that have
seemingly gone against the laws of science.  I can guess -- maybe
somewhere they *have* developed the ability to speed fetal
development.  Maybe it's still imperfect; that's why Emily was
anemic.  But I know that there has to be an explanation; one that
makes sense."  I shrug.  "Maybe it hasn't been defined by
conventional science yet, but if they can do it then it *is* possible,
and it's our responsibility to find out.  We are investigators. 
Especially with the X-Files -- no matter what happens, how strange
it is, it's our job to find out what's going on and to stop it if
necessary."

	Scully sighs.  "I still don't feel like I'm the most capable
person for this anymore."

	"Scully, the only thing I can tell you is that *I* don't feel
that way.  And I'm your yardstick, am I not?  I couldn't solve nearly
as many cases without you.  So as long as we're still solving them,
that means you're doing your job."

	She shakes her head.  "Ever since Emily I've been no help to
you whatsoever.  If I'd had my way with the Bowman case, she
never would have been caught.  I was just a spectator in Michigan. 
And in Maine -- I was just along for the ride.  I don't think I really
helped the investigation very much."

	I open my mouth to contradict her, but she turns and meets
my eyes.  "Mulder, you're a brilliant agent.  You don't need anyone
to sit there and tell you what to do.  You need someone to reel you
in from your own flights of fancy -- and I can't do that if I'm out
there with you.  Someone else can, though."

	"Scully, that's not true.  Someone else *couldn't* reel me in
because I wouldn't pay any attention to them.  Because I wouldn't
respect them and their opinions the way I respect you."

	She breaks my intense gaze to stare down at her hands.  I
continue,  "Scully, you have earned that respect with brilliance and
courage.  By having respect for me, and by caring for me and
standing up for me.  No one else would be willing to do that for
me, and I wouldn't want anyone else to.  Scully, if you weren't
there, I wouldn't *want* to go on.  It's your quest, too.  I can't
make you pursue it.  But I'm willing to try, because I think it would
be in your best interest to do so."

	"How?"  Scully asks, voice bitter.  "How could it be
better?"

	"It's like I said at the office,"  I respond.  "your demons will
pursue you no matter where you run.  I learned that a long time
ago.  So my best advice is to not run -- face them instead.  Be on
the offensive.  That way maybe you can actually get rid of a few of
them."

	I can see the struggle on Scully's face, but I've said all that I
can say.  Now it's up to her.

	"Scully, why don't you sleep on this -- let it all sink in."  She
nods absently.  "Think about what I said, but let it be your own
decision."  I place my hand over hers briefly and stand, intending to
let myself out.  She surprises me when she rises, as well.  

	"Thank you, Mulder."  she says simply.  I nod, though I
don't think I should be receiving her thanks.  We walk silently to the
door.

	As I step out, one last question occurs to me.  "Scully,"  I
turn back.  "You said that you had faith in three things.  What was
the third?"

	She looks up, blue eyes bright and red-rimmed from crying,
but steady.  "The third thing I have faith in, Mulder, is you."

End Chapter Seven.

FAITH IN TRUTH
Chapter Eight
Julie John


	The emotions assault me as soon as Scully's apartment door
closes.  Somehow I am able to concentrate enough to drive home
safely, and I stumble into my apartment, collapsing on the couch as
the thoughts overwhelm me.  

	Overwhelm is a good word.  There are so many thoughts
coursing through my head that it is difficult to focus in on one.  I
grab the first coherent idea I come to.

	Scully wants my baby.

	Whoa.

	I slam on the mental brakes.  I shouldn't get any ideas
because we both know that it's impossible for Scully to have
children.  But this revelation definitely calls for some reflection.

	I had never thought of Scully as a mother until a bit over a
year ago, with the case in Home, Pennsylvania.  I had been honest
when I told her so, but I shouldn't have been so surprised.  After
giving it some thought, I had realized I wasn't as good a
psychologist as I thought.  Perhaps I had been blinded by her
complete professionalism, but Scully has always had a warm and
caring attitude towards those around her.  She's like her mother that
way.  An almost unconditional love.  I've been fortunate to be the
recipient of that love, and I suppose I never thought of it as
particularly maternal because I hope a son never thought about his
mother the way I think about Scully.  

	Our banter in Home was easy to ignore after the fact.  But
all too soon I was forced to confront the reality that Scully never
could become a mother.  Almost a year after that we were told that
she *was* -- to a severely anemic little girl whom Scully never
knew existed.  

	This brought an entirely new dimension to our relationship,
as Scully called on me to support her as she pursued adopting
Emily.  I didn't like it one bit, and for once I had the guts to let her
know that.  I was still incapable of refusing Scully anything,
especially something that obviously meant so much to her, but at
least I let her know what my thoughts were.  

	I didn't like it because I knew it meant the end of Scully's
and my professional relationship.  Scully would be foolish to
continue with such a dangerous job if she had someone who
depended on her.  I would be selfish to make her stay.  

	I also opposed her taking over responsibility of a special
needs child.  She was setting herself up for a tremendous
heartbreak, and I wasn't going to sit back and just let it happen.  

	My reasoning seems cold, but I had Scully's best interests at
heart.  She had no emotional attachment to Emily going into it; yes,
Emily was her biological daughter, but aside from that she was just
another little girl.  Objectively, Scully didn't have to go through that
pain.  However, I recognize that Scully did have to do it -- if it had
been my little girl then I would have done the same.  And a pain
courses through me even as I think of Scully with a daughter that is
not mine, as well.

	This is not an entirely new feeling.  It was something I had
given considerable thought to in San Diego.  If Scully adopted
Emily it would be the end of our professional relationship, but
possibly not out personal one.  I had never considered myself father
material, but I was willing to give it a try.  Anything for Scully.  

	Now Emily is dead and any hope Scully had of being a
mother is gone.  But that doesn't stop her from wanting a child. 
*My* child.  That was the biggest shock of all.  While my feelings
about Scully are quite clear to me and probably to her, I had never
allowed myself to consider that she might return them.  If I knew
that she did, it would force me to make some major decisions that I
wasn't sure I was ready for.

	Well, ready or not, here it comes.

	I still don't think Scully intended for me to hear that little
confession of hers.  And that poses another dilemma: should I act
on information I'm not supposed to have?

	Never stopped me before.

	I want Scully.  I admit that.  I want to love her and cherish
her and be loved by her in return.  I've wanted that for a long time. 
It's a constant battle for me to keep my mind on the work when
she's nearby, especially after our single kiss.  That kiss told me that
Scully didn't entirely object to the idea of us together.  It should
have encouraged me, but it didn't.

	I was afraid to pursue it because I didn't think Scully would
want to put up with me for as long as I would want to stay.  

	Scully is as loyal as they come; I understand that. 
Intellectually, there is nothing to make me believe that she wouldn't
be content in a relationship with me.  But there's a soul-deep
insecurity in me, planted in childhood and nurtured by a British
woman, that no one would want to stick around me for the rest of
their life.  The same Brit taught me the pain of becoming close to
someone and having them decide it was time to move on.  I am
more deeply attached to Scully than I have ever been to anyone;
our souls are entwined.  While I believe in my mind that that would
insure that Scully would never leave me, the same attachment
would guarantee my death should she ever decide to.  

	The only reason I'm not shaking in fear over Scully's present
dilemma is that I believe that even if she did leave the X-Files, it
wouldn't be the end for us personally.  Her revelation tonight
proved that.

	She wants my child.  

	That is a wondrous thing for me; to think that someone
would love me enough to want to bear and raise my children -- it's
like nothing I've ever experienced before.  It doesn't matter to me
that Scully can't do it; it's the fact that she desires it so that gives me
hope.  

	Children are a forever kind of commitment.

	Before I go plunging ahead in characteristically reckless
fashion, though, there are several things I need to consider. 
Number one, of course, is our jobs.  Especially since we're on such
shaky ground professionally right now.  Scully needs to arrive at a
conclusion about work before I can even consider pursuing a
personal relationship with her.  So many things ride on our job...

	First I must consider the worst-case scenario -- if Scully
leaves.  My work on the X-Files would be effectively useless
without her, especially since it's her quest that's driving me now.  I
don't want to leave, and I firmly believe that it would be the wrong
choice for Scully to make.  But it would open up many doors to us
personally.

	There would be no rules against us having a relationship.  

	We wouldn't have to worry about being used against each
other.  About each other's lives being taken from a sniper's bullet or
a slow illness brought on by our enemies.

	We wouldn't have to work the obscene and stressful hours
that often come with being FBI agents.  We're both highly educated
people, it wouldn't be difficult for us to find jobs.  We'd probably
get paid more, as well.

	We could live normal professional lives with normal hours
and live in a normal house or apartment and have a normal personal
relationship.

	I think about this for a minute.

	Boring.

	While there are times in my life when I crave normality, to
have it as a day-in, day-out way of life would be stifling.  I thrive on
the unusual.  The X-Files, while no longer my entire life, are a big
part of it still.  Should I leave them, my hunger for the paranormal
would undoubtedly lead me away from my normal job and home
and life -- I'd ditch Scully regularly just to satisfy that craving. 
That's not something I want to do.  I just want the X-Files, with all
their unpredictability and excitement.  I could do without the
danger element, but it's a fact of life.  The only consistency I need is
Scully.  

	The other option, my personal choice, is for Scully to stay
with the X-Files.  That, of course, produces its own problems on
the personal front.  Nothing new, but the same nagging conditions
and rules that existed before.  

	The thing that's likely to bother Scully the most is the fact
that it's against Bureau policy for male and female agents to
'consort in the same hotel room while on assignment'.  

	On second thought, that's not likely to bother her a bit. 
We've been doing it since our first case.

	Sleeping together, though, raises another problem.  It's in
direct violation of Bureau policy and would be exactly the
ammunition They needed to split us up.  

	That doesn't really fly with me, either, because they've got
plenty of other ammunition they could use at any given time.  Right
now I'm inclined to believe that the X-Files are meant to stay open,
or else they would've shut them down when I gave them ample
opportunity.  As far as the official Bureau goes, Skinner's not going
to tell on us.  He'd probably congratulate us.

	I don't think a personal relationship would affect the work
that much, either.  I think we're both capable of performing
professionally while having a close personal relationship.  We've
been doing that for years.

	Reflecting on these things, I can't help but chuckle.  What
the hell were we so afraid of?

	But I can't do anything about it until I know what Scully's
decision is.

***

	I glance up from the paperwork as Scully enters the office. 
"Good morning, Scully,"  I say, keeping my tone normal.  She's five
minutes early.

	"Morning, Mulder."  She gives me a small smile, which is
more than I am used to receiving, as she puts down her briefcase.  I
return my gaze to the papers on my desk as I listen to her computer
boot up and her coffee being poured.  I don't want to push her for
an answer.  It was my turn to push last night -- now it's my turn to
wait.

	And wait I do.  God's gotta have a weird sense of humor,
making time slow down on particularly anxious days.  I shuffle
papers, write reports, skim over files.  I am trying so hard to keep
Scully from feeling pressured; I only hope it works.

	"Mulder, do you think we could talk over lunch?"  Scully
says quietly, and I jump.  

	"Sure,"  I hear myself answer.  "Noon?"  I need to know an
exact time so I won't be living in more suspense.  It'd kill me.  

	"Okay.  That's fine."

	I glance at the clock.  10:30.  An hour and a half... I can live
through an hour and a half.

***

	When the clock reads 11:57, I decide enough is enough. 
No matter what the news is, I have to know.  

	I stand.  "Ready to go, Scully?"  

	She glances up, seemingly surprised.  Well, *she* hasn't had
to wait for her answer -- she knows it already.  "Sure."

	I shrug into my jacket and hold the door for her as we step
out.  We take my car -- I have to drive, to do something.  Even
with my mind remotely occupied, I drum my fingers against the
steering wheel restlessly.  I give my body the command to be still,
but it won't obey.  I keep on glancing over at Scully, who seems to
be ignoring my anxiety.  She seems calm, as always, but also
strangely at peace.  I take this as a good sign.

	Fortunately the restaurant, a sandwich-and-salad shop
whose food I actually like, is close by.  I pull into the full parking
lot, and get more of an opportunity to fidget while standing in line. 
Finally, after an eternity, we get our food and look around for a
table.  

	Aha, we're lucky -- a corner table is just being cleared off. 
Scully sees it, as well, and we grab it before any of the other federal
employees around decide that it would be a nice place to sit.  

	Scully bows her head and briefly blesses her food, and
somehow the gesture warms my heart.  It seems that she hasn't
given up on God quite yet.  Then she lifts her head and begins on
her salad.

	I lift my sandwich and take a bite, but I don't taste it. 
Enough of this.  It's time to talk.

	"Alright, Scully, tell me already,"  I say, letting my
frustration come through, though not without humor.  I put down
my sandwich and look her straight in the eyes.  I mean business.

	She returns my gaze.  "What, a girl can't eat her lunch
uninterrupted?"  

	"You said let's talk *over* lunch, Scully, not after it,"  I
remind her, and she smiles.

	"Okay, Mulder.  I'll talk."  Her face becomes serious; she
means business as well.  "I want you to know that I appreciate
everything you said last night.  It was about time we had that all out
in the open and talked about it.  I want you to know that I spent
some serious time last night reevaluating my priorities, and I have
arrived at some conclusions.  

	"Many things have happened to us, particularly in the last
year or so.  You know this.  And you also know that such life-
altering occurrences can't simply be ignored.

	"I know you appreciate that; if you didn't, our conversation
last night wouldn't have happened.  I want to thank you for that and
also for your willingness to let me make my own decision.

	"Mulder, what has been done to you and to me is
unforgivable.  But it's the price we pay for doing what we do.  It's
our decision whether or not to pay.  If it's worth the price."  Her
gaze is clear and sharp, her voice laced with certainty.  Whichever
she decided on, she's not changing her mind.

	"I think the price is obscenely high, and that in itself is a
crime -- but I don't want revenge."  

	My heart nearly stops.  This turn in the conversation was
*not* what I was expecting...

	"I want justice, Mulder.  I believe that what we are doing is
right, and worth the sacrifice, even if the price becomes ourselves. 
Our lives."

	I can't hold back the huge sigh of relief.  A smile creeps
across my face, a release to the tension inside me.  We've just made
a serious commitment, and now is not the right time for levity.  But
I just can't help it -- I'm glad to know I have her back.  I reach
across the table and cover her hand with mine.

	"I'm glad, Scully."  I tell her.  I've never spoken more honest
words in my life.  "You're right, the price is too much for them to
ask.  But not too much for us to give."

	She fixes me with a stern look, so reminiscent of the Scully
I knew just a few short weeks ago.  "Don't start thinking that we
need to go make ourselves martyrs to this cause, Mulder,"  she
warns me.  "We need to proceed exactly as we have before, if not
more carefully -- picking and choosing which information we
should pursue, which will be the most profitable."

	I nod, sobering.  "You're right.  Though I would never
honor that on my own.  That's part of why I need you, Scully.  I
regret the sacrifice you're having to make, but I'm grateful, because
without you my sacrifice would be worthless."

	"Mulder, don't sell yourself so short,"  she protests.  "You
need to have a little faith in yourself."

	I shake my head.  I have my own faith -- faith in truth.  My
truth is Scully.

***

	When I arrive back at my dark, lonely apartment this
evening, I am feeling more elated than when the Yankees won the
World Series.  I'm not losing my mind, I'm not losing my faith, I'm
not losing my job.  Because I'm not losing Scully.

	Some might say I am too dependent on her; they're right. 
I'm addicted to her, but it's not a bad addiction.  She brings out the
best in me.  Without her I am a paranoid loner; abrasive, offensive,
and obsessive.  With her I am an accomplished agent, more
professional, restrained, and politic -- though by far the FBI's ideal
for manners.  With her the X-Files solve rate tripled, and I learned
ten times as much as before.  Most importantly, she has done more
for my -- our -- personal crusade for justice than I could have ever
dreamed of doing alone.  All because she's willing to stick her neck
out for me and drag me back from things that would surely cost me
my position in the FBI or my life.  

	That was just to start with.  Before I knew it she was doing
the same things within what little personal life I had.  I suppose it
wasn't a hard transition, as my down time consists mostly of work-
related activities.  It didn't matter.  Scully went from an outsider to
being one of my main foundations.  I will collapse without her.

	It's such a relief to know I don't have to fear that.

	But more than a relief, it's a motivation.  

	I have a decision to make.  Whether or not it would be
profitable to pursue a more personal relationship with Scully while
still working on the X-Files.  

	Damn, I sound so clinical.  Didn't I just lay it all out to
myself last night?  I love Scully, and I know that she has deep
feelings for me.  We've already sacrificed too much to keep
ourselves from so much potential happiness.  It wouldn't be fair to
either of us to do so.  

	One thing I'm not concerned about is giving the Consortium
one more thing to hold over our heads.  They've long known that
we are each other's weakness, and they've exploited that many
times.  A furthering of our relationship isn't going to change that in
any way.  

	I am grateful to see Scully back to her usual stoic,
determined self.  She had a security today that has been lacking
recently; a security in her position and a peace about her
motivations.  Though we did not discuss it, her faith in both God
and science seem to be on the mend -- I'm sure that if she felt she
wasn't ready, she wouldn't have made a decision on the X-Files. 
That decision rode almost entirely on these crisises of faith, and
apparently I assisted her in regaining her beliefs.  Imagine that --
me, the agnostic and believer -- what an oxymoron -- helping my
skeptical partner to regain her belief in God and in science.  It
would be funny if it wasn't so right.

	There is no legitimate excuse for us not to pursue this.  We
have everything to gain from it.  Scully's the only one who could
lose something -- she still has her health, and her family.  I dread
the idea of putting Mrs. Scully in any sort of danger, but she's
already involved.  She would become no larger a target should I
become closer to her daughter.  

	I, on the other hand, have virtually nothing to lose.  My
mother is a seemingly obvious target, but I would have thought
they'd have used her long ago.  We aren't exactly on the best of
terms, so perhaps they don't feel she's worth expending.  As with
Mrs. Scully, she becomes no larger a target.  

	This whole debate makes little sense to me.  I never did see
the point in reiterating introspection.

	My decision is made.  Now what to do about it.

	One thing's for sure -- if I do this, I'm going to do it right.

End Chapter Eight

FAITH IN TRUTH
Chapter Nine
Julie John


	Mulder has truly been a blessing to me.

	He would be the first to disagree with that statement, but it's
absolutely true.  Despite all the trials and pain we have had to go
through over the past five years, I shudder to think of what I would
be like without him.

	He has taught me so much about myself; how to use
characteristics that had been dormant in my life.  How to be strong. 
How to be tolerant.  How to be patient.  How to be understanding.

	Love is patient, love is kind...

	How to love.  Mulder has taught me how to love selflessly,
with his endless compassion and empathy for others, and by his
self-sacrifice.  I know the love of parents, something which he
never has.  But he taught me an even greater love, one that has
nothing to do with blood, or even race or probably even species. 
He taught me, by example, how to love someone enough to
sacrifice your time, your life, your entire existence to them.

	And I love him for it.

	Lately it's been so hard to face so many things.  The stress
and emotional turmoil that came with my cancer was taxing, but
everything came out right in the end.  It left me with a new
perspective on my job, my life, my faith, and Mulder.  

	I liked the view.  A lot.  Especially when Mulder was in it.

	I was filled with a zeal for life, to make the most of the
second chance I had been given.  This meant pursuing the love that
Mulder and I shared.  I needed to fix what would have been my
biggest regret had I died.

	I also had a security and a peace within myself; two of my
warring beliefs, God and science, had finally become harmonious.  I
wasn't fighting against anything anymore.  I have Mulder to thank
for that little epiphany.  I have Mulder to thank for a lot of things.

	Then San Diego happened.  And my new world fell to
pieces.

	The very existence of Emily devastated my faith in science. 
It was the ultimate betrayal.  A little girl who, by birth, defied the
laws of science -- and she was my flesh and blood.  

	It is that fact which made me give up my faith in God.  I
know bad things happen; it's a fact of life.  But how much pain can
be brought upon one person?  I'm going to catch up with Mulder
soon.

	That sounds a bit funny.  But it's not meant to be.  I
honestly didn't -- still don't -- know how a loving God could inflict
so much pain upon one person.  

	<<My thoughts are higher than your thoughts, and My ways
higher than your ways, saith the Lord.>>

	I've never been able to tolerate that.  I've always had to
know *why* things happen.  For me it's never been enough to just
accept something and move on in life.  That's always been the
biggest conflict in my life -- could I accept on simple faith the
existence of God?  

	All through college I struggled with that question.  I was
brought up a Catholic, and as a girl I truly believed that God was
there, watching over me and guiding me in the path He wished me
to take.  But as I got older and learned of the world of science, I
found that they seemed to contradict one another.  How could I
accept the existence of a God that could not be scientifically
proven?

	Finally I decided to ignore it.  To practice the faith of
science, a force I could measure and predict.  I couldn't give up
God; my faith was too deeply ingrained for that.  So I just ignored
Him.

	Maybe that's why He brought me to Mulder.  To show me
that just because I couldn't prove something scientifically didn't
mean it couldn't happen.  

	Being with Mulder has certainly challenged my beliefs.  It's
exhilarating, exhausting, and emotionally draining.  Frustrating and
wonderful.  A true intellectual challenge -- he'll always be more
than my match in that respect.  His faith in all things -- except God
-- makes up for my lack of it.

	Despite all the challenges thrown my way over the first four
years of our partnership, I did not return to my Catholic beliefs.  By
the time I had begun to consider it, my reputation as a skeptic had
been too deeply ingrained.  What would happen to Mulder and I as
a team if I were to become a believer?

	And so I carried on.  All people operate on faith, but their
life is defined by what they have faith in.  My faith rested in my
science, though not so firmly as before.  It was not infallible.  So
when it faltered I turned to my second faith -- Mulder.  If science
couldn't answer my questions, Mulder could.

	Until I got cancer.  

	Then no one could answer my questions -- the why or how. 
No one except for God.  By then I had become so closed off to the
idea, and so secure in my joint faiths in science and my partner, that
returning to my faith just because my mother wanted me to would
seem false and utterly against my character.

	It took being on my deathbed for me to finally realize that I
was missing a vital part of my personal doctrine.  Science and
Mulder were not enough.  Only the God I had been denying for so
long would complete me.  Ironically enough, it was Mulder that
revealed this to me.  

	To accept God doesn't mean that I have to deny science. 
And accepting science doesn't have to deny God.  What I hadn't
realized was that my believing in God did not necessarily preempt
scientific reasoning and skepticism.  Just because the supernatural
exists doesn't mean it is the cause of all the strange things Mulder
and I see.

	That revelation was crucial to my recovery.  To this day we
still don't know precisely what healed me, but I do know this:
without my complete faith in God, science, and Mulder, I would
not have survived.

	The loss of my newfound faith due to Emily was devastating
for me, but I didn't know how else to respond.

	Now I send up a prayer of thanks for my partner, and I
know that God hears it.

	I find it ironic in the extreme that it was Mulder, my openly
agnostic partner, who once again helped me regain my faith in God. 
I know he doesn't believe what he told me, but what he said makes
sense to my logical mind.  And that is all I need, because in my
heart, I do not want to give up on God so quickly.  

	A knock sounds on my door, surprising me.  Mulder's early;
I had thought he would be out with the Gunmen all day.  I had
elected to stay home and sleep in this Saturday.

	"Come on in, Mulder,"  I call from the kitchen.  The door is
locked, but he has a key, of course.  

	Then the doorknob rattles and a soft voice calls,  "Dana, it's
Mom,"

	Now I'm doubly surprised, and a bit embarrassed.  I grab a
towel and quickly dry my hands before moving to the front door.  I
unlock it and it swings open to reveal, as promised, my mother.

	"Hi, Mom,"  I say, giving her a hug as she steps in.  "I didn't
know you were coming by."

	"Oh, I was visiting a friend nearby and decided to drop by. 
I hope I'm not disrupting any plans,"  Mom is the definition of
politeness, but then, she always has been.  Gentle tone, friendly
smile.  It's impossible to not love her.

	"No, you're not disrupting anything,"  I assure her.  "Mulder
should be over in a half hour or so for dinner, but I know he'd like
to see you."

	"Is there anything I can help you with in the kitchen?"  My
mother's true home.

	"Well, I do have to make the salad,"  I say, and she follows
me to the kitchen, falling into a light, easy conversation.

	My mother is a positive saint.  She's managed to overcome
more than almost anyone else I know.  Anyone except Mulder. 
And she's still retained her gentle, peaceful strength.

	She told me that I was the strong one.  I know where I got
that strength.

	Mom has been the rock that held our family together,
through Ahab's long absences, Melissa's teenage rebellion and my
grown-up one.  Always the calm in the storm, warm and caring and
strong.  Only twice have I known her to be anything less.

	First was with my cancer.  Then her strength was not
enough; therefore, she relied on mine.  I could not expect anything
else; I am her only surviving daughter, and I know that the threat of
losing me was devastating for her.

	The second time was in San Diego.  She didn't crack; didn't
get mad or upset or crushed or any of millions of other emotions
she could have felt.  It seemed that she was distant, somehow.  It
hurt, but I recognized that she had been through so much -- she had
a right to try and resist more sorrow.  I still missed her support,
however, as I fought for Emily.  This time, I needed her strength as
I fought for my own daughter.  Yet for some reason she held back;
didn't seem to accept Emily as my offspring.

	Perhaps it was for the best.  It kept her from losing yet
another member of her family.

	Since that time the distance between us has lessened;
probably because I have distanced myself from the memory of
Emily, as well.  Our relationship has healed as a result of mutual
unspoken forgiveness.  

	Now, she is her normal serene self, but I sense an edge of
suppressed excitement in her attitude.  I glance at her out of the
corner of my eye and catch a smile lingering on her face.

	"Mom, what is it?"  I ask sternly, but not without my own
smile.  I've been in such a good mood the last several days.

	She glances up at me from the salad bowl.  "What? 
Nothing, Dana.  It's just nice to spend time with you again."

	I give her a skeptical look but let it pass.  Good moods
aren't worth ruining because I want an answer to a question.

	"So how's Fox doing?"

	Aha.  "Momm..."  I say reproachfully.  

	Another innocent look.  "What?  It's a simple question,
Dana.  You see more of him than I do.  How's he doing?"

	I sigh, feeling that there is more to this question than she is
asking.  *Knowing* there is more.  "He's fine.  Better than fine,
actually -- he hasn't been in a hospital since I was last there.  That's
got to be a record."  

	Mom nods, seemingly satisfied.  "Good.  I've been worried
about him.  He's been through so much lately..."

	I almost laugh.  Don't forget about us, Mom, I want to
remind her.  I smile anyway, happy with the fact that I am amused
and not resentful of my mother's selflessness.

	I hear the front door opening, and turn to see Mulder letting
himself in.  Just what my mother needed to see.  I feel heat rising in
my face; this is one time I wouldn't have minded his knocking.  

	"Hi, Mulder,"  I call.

	"Hello, Fox,"  Mom echoes.  

	"Hi, Scully, hi, Mrs. Scully,"  he returns, approaching the
kitchen.  Mom quickly wipes her hands and turns to meet him,
pulling him into an embrace.  Mulder can never quite hide the
surprise when he receives love from others; a quality both
endearing and saddening.  Tonight, though, he returns her hug with
a smile.

	He then turns that incredible smile towards me.  "Smells
good, Scully.  What'cha cooking?"  His hand touches my waist
briefly before he moves to lift the lid from my crock pot.

	"It's Mom's pot roast,"  I respond, and see a grin curl his
lips.  

	"Wonderful.  Mrs. Scully, did I ever tell you your daughter
learned from the best?  Learned well, I might add,"  he says
conversationally.

	I chuckle as I begin to fix our drinks.  Mulder always finds a
way to compliment Mom's cooking, even it is food I myself
prepared.  If the way to a man's heart were truly through his
stomach, then he and half the male population would have moved in
with my mother years ago.  I must admit, though, that my cooking
doesn't exactly suffer by comparison.

	"Mrs. Scully, what are you doing down here, anyway? 
Dana didn't mention that you were coming by."

	"I was visiting a friend nearby,"  Mom replied.  "I hope I'm
not imposing on your and Dana's time together."  

	Oh, subtle, Mom, I nearly groan.  Mulder merely grins and
shakes his head.

	"No, no imposition, Mrs. Scully."  Then he turns to me. 
"Oh, Scully -- "

	I cut him off with a held-up hand.  "Mulder, this is way too
confusing.  I'm Dana tonight, okay?  And Mom is Mom.  No
'Scully' business, not for tonight."  I can't help but grin as he groans
dramatically.

	"But it'll be so hard, Scu-- Dana."

	I level a glare at him.  "Live with it.  And if you and Mom
could set the table, dinner's almost ready."

	"Yes, ma'am!"

	It doesn't take them long, and as I bring over the plates
laden with food, they are already seated.  Their dark heads are bent
together and Mom is whispering conspiratorially in Mulder's ear,
with the proverbial Cheshire Cat grin.  

	"Alright, you guys, what's going on?"  I ask in a stern voice
as I set the food in front of them.

	They give me simultaneous innocent looks.  "Nothing."

	I frown.  I don't like it when things are kept from me.  I
open my mouth to pursue this when Mulder stops me with his
smile.

	"Really, S- Dana, don't worry about it.  I promise you'll find
out soon enough."

	I give up.  No use getting frustrated or making them ruin
their surprise.  They are obviously in it together, I have deduced
that much.

	I say my customary blessing on the food and we begin to
eat.  Over dinner I observe my partner and my mother.  Mom has
always held Mulder as one of her own, something I know we all are
grateful for.  Mulder's self-esteem rises astronomically when he's
surrounded by her unconditional love, unless something terrible has
just happened to me and he's blaming himself for it.  She has placed
herself in the role of the mother he never had, and it has brought
tremendous healing to my partner.

	That relationship had faltered just a bit, I felt, when I was in
the hospital for the final time with my cancer.  Lines had been
drawn over my treatment, and while Mom was doing her very best
to remain objective and neutral, I could see she sided with Bill. 
Mom loves Mulder, but she doesn't understand how his mind works
at times.  She hasn't seen all the things that we have seen, so she
can't understand.  Mulder, who is such a good man, understood this
and did not resent it.  I think the person that was hurt most by this
line between my family and the man I loved was me.  Poor Mulder
had no support throughout that ordeal.  Mom and Bill had each
other, but Mulder had no one.  

	I can see that this, also, has been overcome.  There is no
tension whatsoever between my mother and my partner tonight. 
Taken away by the same grace that evaporated the strain between
my mother and I.  

	When we finish eating, Mulder and Mom quickly volunteer
to clean up the kitchen.  I laugh and let them at it; cooking is fun,
cleaning up isn't.  Regardless, I still clear the table, unanxious to
leave the warm, friendly atmosphere that pervades the kitchen.  

	Leftovers are stored, dishes washed and dried.  Then
Mulder decides to start playing with the bubbles created in the
soapy water, and I move quickly to stop him.  Not quickly enough. 
By the time I get the water to drain the counters are wet, I have
soap in my hair, and there is a wet handprint on the back of Mom's
shirt.  Mulder, however, was the worst off, the front of his shirt
drenched from the retaliation of my mother and I.  

	We laugh together, enjoying this small dose of silliness.  We
treat life far too seriously, I realize.  What's the point of living if you
can't have a little fun?

	"Well, you two, I need to head out before it gets too late," 
Mom announces when the noise dies down.  

	"Mom, it's only 7:30,"  I protest, but she shakes her head.  

	"Nope.  I've got things to do at home.  I'll leave you two
alone now."

	I roll my eyes but let it pass.  "Okay, Mom.  Thanks for
stopping by."  She reaches out and I step into her hug.

	"Call me, Dana."  

	"Sure."

	Then she turns to Mulder.  "Bye, Fox."  

	"Bye, Mrs. Scully."  To my surprise, Mulder is the one to
initiate this hug.  Mom returns it warmly and pecks him on the
cheek.  "You call me, too.  Understand?"

	He chuckles.  "No problem, Mrs. Scully."

	I shut the door as she leaves and turn back to Mulder, when
I realize his hands are still soapy.  He reaches out in a jesting
attempt to grab me, but I seize his hands and haul him into the
kitchen.

	Thrusting his hands underneath a stream of running water, I
look over my shoulder to give him a Look.  He just chuckles and
shifts his position so that one arm is on either side of me in a half
embrace.  

	His hands curl around mine, and I watch them under the
stream of cool water.  I've always loved his hands.  Lean, strong,
and gentle.  Beautiful, elegant hands.  His long fingers entwine with
mine, and he draws our hands toward me, completing his embrace. 
I lean into him and smile, feeling his warm breath on my ear.  

	Few times in life have I felt this contented.  Of course, there
have been few times in my life that I have been held by this man
whom I adore.  These times are getting more and more frequent,
but that doesn't mean I treasure them any less.

	The moment abruptly ends when I feel the wetness of
Mulder's shirt soaking through mine.  I straighten instinctively, and
Mulder's arms drop from my body.  I feel inexplicably disappointed.

	"I guess I should change my shirt,"  Mulder chuckles,
looking down at his wet front.  I nod as I shut off the still-running
tap water.

	"So should I, by now."

	Yet I am reluctant to move, despite the sticky wetness now
clinging to my back.  Mulder senses it as well, and we stand still,
remaining in each others' space, his hands resting lightly on my
waist.  I hold his gaze, and his eyes are dark, churning pools with
flecks of gold swimming in them.  Intense, but not without humor.  

	Finally, he is the one to turn away.  I follow him out of the
kitchen but then turn towards my bedroom to change my shirt. 
That quickly accomplished, I reenter the living room to see Mulder,
barechested, standing in front of the hall closet.

	He sees me before I have watched him long enough, turning
to me with a sheepish grin.  "There aren't any extra shirts in here,
Scully.  Do you think one of them might have found its way into
your drawer?"

	I smile and nod.  "I think one might have, Mulder.  Let me
get it."  I wouldn't have minded keeping him like this all night, but
he would feel self-conscious and there's a slight chill in the air.  

	I retrieve the said shirt, a navy mock turtleneck I had run
through my wash and never bothered to put away with the rest of
the Mulderwear.  As I exit the bedroom I toss it to Mulder, who
catches it with a grateful smile.  As he puts it on I enjoy the all-too-
short opportunity to watch the muscles of his chest and broad
swimmer's shoulders slide beneath his smooth skin.  

	He sits on the sofa, and I join him, not hesitating to curl up
against his side.  I love this.  I love *him*.  Mulder fills a part of my
life that no one else ever has or ever will.  Now my only desire is
for our relationship to go even deeper, to become the most
complete relationship possible between two people.  I am willing to
wait, if necessary, due to the nature of our work.  What we have
now is good enough.  But I don't want it to be put off indefinitely,
because one day our time together will end.  Now, as his arm slides
around my shoulders in our customary embrace, I reflect on how
things have changed.  How I've changed.  

	Three short months ago I would have never dreamed of
opening myself to Mulder like this, or of allowing myself this kind
of luxury in touching him so freely.  

	Three short months ago I was dying of cancer.

	When I was first diagnosed, the most pervading emotion I
felt, besides fear, was regret that Mulder and I were never closer. 
And not just in a physical sense; in a spiritual sense as well.  We
always knew what the other was thinking, but we were never
comfortable enough to admit it to each other.  We relied on our
own knowledge of each other to deduce what we were feeling;
almost never did we voice our emotions.  It is due to this that I felt
compelled to pick up my pen and open my heart to Mulder in the
form of a journal.  A last-ditch effort to set right that singular
regret.  

	When Mulder became so obsessed with a cure for me,
however, I let it go.  Some of his desperate hope leached into me,
and I became too caught up in living to be concerned about dying
regrets.  It put that new openness on hold, something which
brought its share of friction to our relationship but ultimately was
redeemed by the results.

	When I was healed, however, I made the conscious decision
that it was time to start opening up to Mulder.  Should I find myself
dying once more I certainly didn't want to have the same regrets.

	It wasn't easy for me.  Making myself emotionally
vulnerable goes against every feminist doctrine I had ever learned. 
Not just that; by nature I am a very private person who doesn't like
exposing her feelings and taking the chance on them getting
trampled.  

	But there is no one I trust more than Mulder.  I trust him
with my life, so it's only fair to trust him with my heart, I reasoned. 
It was easier said than done.  However, I steeled my courage and
did it.  I battled his innuendoes with my own, laced with truth.  I
didn't give him any more meaningless 'I'm fine's.  Both at home and
in the office I made an effort to communicate what I was feeling,
not just the clinical arguments for or against something.  

	It worked.  At first I don't think Mulder quite knew what to
make of it, but it brought us closer together on both a personal and
professional level.  Everything was right in my world.

	After Emily, I had to do some serious thinking.  With my
faith gone, I felt like I was floating about aimlessly, accomplishing
nothing.  I withdrew into myself, an automatic defense against a
world that has been too cruel.  I didn't realize how I was hurting
myself and my partner until Pusher came back to torment us.  

	In the aftermath of that case, I was forced out of my
cocoon.  Mulder needed me, and he was the one security I had left
in my life.  I was not going to neglect him in favor of nursing a
wound that was irrelevant to our present condition.

	I then found that it was incredibly easy to just ignore Emily,
just as I had God.  Just as I would again.  Mulder might ditch me,
but at least he always came back.  He would never betray me.  He
would die before he would hurt me.

	A pleasant alternative to a God who seemed bent on
punishment and a science that had betrayed me.

	As I became closer to Mulder, I found my interest in our
work flagging.  Without my convictions about a scientific
explanation for everything, I was doing Mulder no good.  I wasn't
interested in staying with a job that would mean more hurt to us
both.  You can beat your head against a brick wall for only so long;
until you die or until you come to your senses and stop.  I felt I was
coming to my senses.

	I wasn't going to ask Mulder to stop.  This is his life, his
entire existence, and I wouldn't be selfish enough to make him give
it up.  All I wanted was for me to stop deliberately putting myself in
the line of fire.  Lose the X-Files but keep Mulder.  So I began to
plan a slow breakaway.

	Oh, but I damned him when I came home from Maine and
saw my new nameplate and desk.  I had made up my mind; I didn't
want to stay, and I didn't want Mulder fighting with me about it.  

	I knew he wouldn't want me to leave work.  I just didn't
expect him to have such a good argument.

	I had forgotten about my rage.  I had been so beaten down
by everything They had done to me that I just gave up.  And I'm
ashamed of it now.  Dana Scully has never been a quitter, and she's
never let any bully take advantage of her.  They had no right to take
away the extremely personal things that they did: my time, my
immortality, my health, and my daughter.  These shouldn't have
happened, and Mulder helped me see past my own defeat to the
higher goal of bringing these men down.  And now, with the
restoration of my faith, I believe we can.

	I'm back with Mulder, butting my head against the wall. 
But this time, I believe that wall just may come tumbling down.

	I look up at him, this man who has saved me from others
and myself.  His strong profile is silhouetted against the dim kitchen
light, eyes dark and focused on some point on my wall.  I note the
smoothness of the skin on his forehead and around his eyes; all of
the stress lines are gone.  I had begun to notice them last year; fine
lines on his forehead, circles under his eyes.  He was aging before
my eyes; not just physically, but emotionally, and it frightened me. 
But with the remission of my cancer came the remission of age, and
I once again have my enthusiastic, energetic and beautiful partner.  

	He senses my gaze on him, and he looks down with eyes
that glitter green/gold in the soft light.  Of all his remarkable
features, it's his eyes that transfix me the most.  Hypnotic eyes that
change all the colors of the rainbow on the whim of his mood. 
Intense eyes that show a wisdom and determination beyond his
years.  Eyes that allow me to see the deepest emotions of his soul.

	Right now, I see only love.

	No words pass between us, and after a long moment I break
his enchanting gaze to rest my head on his shoulder, my hand
seeking and finding his heartbeat.  He shifts quietly, gathering me
closer to him, wrapping another lean, strong arm around my waist. 
He rests his face in my hair, and I feel his soft breath stirring the
strands.  

	"Scully."

	My name is as natural as breathing to him, and the sound of
it being uttered so softly and easily by his lips will always stun me
with its intimacy.  His breath caresses my ear and I shiver.

	"Scully, I love you,"

	Contentment suffuses me, washing over me like a wave.  I
shut my eyes and smile.  "I know."

	Then I straighten, sitting on my knees so that our gazes are
level.  His eyes are now soft gray pools, sober and peaceful.  I
frame his face with my hands, then lean in to bring my mouth to his.

	This kiss contains a quiet passion, more emotional than
physical.  Slow, thorough, and as full of love as I could manage. 
After a moment I gently break the kiss and meet his eyes.  

	"I love you, too."

	A hand reaches up to trace the line of my face.  "Will you
marry me?"

	I smile.

End.


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