From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 17 Apr 2002 13:23:44 -0000
Subject: Next Step (1/3) by lil_gusty
Source: direct

Reply To: lil_gusty@hotmail.com


Title: Next Step (1/3)
Classification: SRA - lots of A
Keywords: Scully/Other, MSR/UST, AU
Rating: R, for language and sex - and not just S/O, either!
Spoilers: every episode until "Je Souhaite," but the latest 
          one specifically is "Hollywood AD."
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they belong to  
            Mr. Chris Carter, lucky bastard.
Feedback: Pretty please to lil_gusty@hotmail.com
Distribution: anywhere, just let me know.
Notes: This is the forth part of my little heretofore unnamed 
       series.  You will need to read "The Longest Time," 
       "Practice," and "Signs From God" before reading this, and 
       they can be found at Ephemeral or Gossamer.
Thanks: at the end.

Summary: Scully makes some decision about her future.



<><><><><><>

"You know, we always had each other, baby.  I guess that wasn't 
enough."
                    ~ The Eagles

<><><><><><>

"So, have you talked to Ethan lately?"

The question that, to anyone else, would sound like passing 
interest about a cousin, maybe, plunged a knife into my heart.  
Who did she think she was kidding, anyway.  The look of quiet 
contempt, of disappointment that we should be having a 
conversation about this person in this context, was enough to 
make me regurgitate the meager amount of food I had happened to 
choke down during our stilted lunch together.

"Yes, mom, I have,"  I say sharply, giving her that look that 
says, "I'm not a child anymore."

Her face brightens and she smiles like my reunion with Ethan was 
all her idea.  "Well, when?  What did he say?"  She asks a moment 
later when I don't offer any details.

"I talked to him last week."

"And...?"

Oh, Mother, please.  "And, he says everything is fine."

She rolls her eyes and leans over the table to whisper her words.  
"Well, are you going to see him again?"

"Mom!"  I sit back in my seat and exhale in annoyance.  How dare 
she.

"I'm concerned, Dana.  He's a nice boy."

What, am I twenty again?  A nice boy?  What the hell is she 
talking about?

I nod, too afraid to say anything for fear that I'll yell at her, 
and take a sip of my diet coke.  If aliens were going to invade 
the planet, now would be a wonderful time to do so.

"He is.  Your father and I always loved him.  And you two were so 
happy together."

I can't take it anymore.  "No, Mom, actually we weren't.  He was 
overbearing and controlling and I...didn't want someone like 
that."

"He was just doing what was best for you - "

"What was best for me?  What does that mean?"

"It means that he didn't want you spending your life doing 
something that didn't make you happy."

"He didn't give a damn about my happiness."

"Dana," she takes that warning tone.  I cursed; oh horrors!

"He didn't.  He wanted to move to Atlanta and I was just supposed 
to follow him and be the dutiful fiancee."

"That's what a woman is supposed to do, Dana.  Follow her 
husband."

"This isn't the fifties, Mom, and I want a life outside my kids 
and husband."

She looks at me angrily; I've touched a nerve.  Before she and 
Ahab married, she taught elementary school and loved it.  It was 
truly her passion to guide young children.  But when she married, 
my father (not believing in birth control, of course) wanted 
children right away.  As soon as she learned she was pregnant 
with Bill, my father asked her to quit her job and she agreed 
immediately.  I'd always wondered if she was ever bitter about 
him taking away her independence and forcing her to be a 
housewife.  I guess not.

"And look where that's gotten you.  You're almost forty years old 
and still single.  That job of yours takes up more and more of 
your time; when are you supposed to have time to meet someone and 
settle down?  When are you going to move beyond this...phase?"

"Phase?"  I ask incredulously.  "You think this is just a phase?"

"I always told your father that this FBI thing was just a phase 
and that you would go back to medicine.  I always hoped Ethan 
would be there as well, and you and he could have a nice life 
together."

I stand up, ready to leave.  "This is NOT just a phase, Mom.  
This is a career!  A career that I love!"

She grabs my wrist and looks around embarrassingly at the other 
people in the restaurant who have taken to staring at us.  "Dana, 
sit down."

I do; I don't know why.  "I thought you understood how important 
this was to me,"  I whisper.

"I know how important it is to Fox, and how important he is to 
you, yes."

"That's not...Mom, that's..." I pause and take a deep breath.  
"Mulder is not the reason that I've stayed at the Bureau."

"Then what is the reason?"

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.  What do I say, that I'm 
afraid that I won't have a life at all without my job?  That I 
have to stay on the X-Files and see justice served to all the men 
who have hurt me and my family?

I say nothing and my mother takes my hand, holding it gently in 
hers.  "Dana, I only want what's best for you.  I want you to be 
happy.  But I don't see that you're happy with your life.  And I 
don't think this is the best thing for you."

I'm staring at the table and feel tears threaten in my eyes.  She 
continues, "Ethan still loves you and whatever disagreement you 
had, it's in the past.  He's here and wants to try again.  
Shouldn't you at least try too?"

I shake my head slightly, then change my mind and nod.  I feel 
like a child who's just received a scolding and one of those 
obligatory "this hurt me more than it hurt you" phrases 
afterwards.  I always hated it when I got in trouble, when my 
parents were angry and disappointed in me.  "He wants to bring 
his daughter here to meet me," I whisper.

She smiles.  "He has a daughter?"  I nod.  "How old is she?"

"Five."

By her voice, I can tell that she's trying not to cry, too.  "I 
think that's a wonderful idea, Dana."

"He wants her to see DC, and I told him that we could take her 
around the Mall."  I hesitate, then quietly add, "Mulder's coming 
too."

My mother drops my hand and her face and voice harden.  "Why?"

I look up at her with large, child-like eyes.  "He knows so much 
about the history, so..."

"That's not a good idea, Dana," she says harshly.

"What?  Why?"

She looks at me, confused.  "It just isn't."

I'm confused too, but she picks up the check and turns towards 
her purse: conversation over, time to go.

The car ride back to her house is silent, and just before I leave 
to go back to Georgetown, she looks me straight in the eyes and 
says, "Be careful, Dana.  Don't make any mistakes this time.  
This could be your last chance."

Last chance?  Mistakes?  This time?  I nod, though I don't 
understand and drive back home, trying to figure out what I need 
to be careful about.

<><><><><><>

May ended and June began, both without much fanfare.  Mulder and 
I stayed close to home, investigating things at the back of our 
filing cabinets instead of in the field.  A few years ago, Mulder 
would've been filling out 302's non-stop until we finally pulled 
an assignment.  He'd always been stir crazy and absolutely hated 
sitting in our claustrophobic office pushing papers.  He'd pace 
and ask me mundane questions, finding any excuse to go up and bug 
Skinner for a case.  He'd get anxious and irritable, raving about 
how the Bureau is out to get him and how they're wasting two 
valuable investigators, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I'd try to tune him 
out when he'd start rambling like that.

I hardly recognize my partner now, though.  We haven't had a 
field assignment since returning from Vermont and he hasn't 
started to file one 302.  He sits quietly at his desk, politely 
asks me questions, and not once has he been up to Skinner's 
office to raise hell.  It's eerie, seeing this more reserved side 
of Mulder, and I wonder if there's a reason that he's not 
pursuing any cases.  Maybe he just doesn't want to.

He also doesn't stare at me like he used to.  He would say that, 
when he got bored, studying people was a technique he'd perfected 
in college.  He said he could tell you anything about anyone just 
by studying them for a few minutes.  He'd told me once that I was 
his favorite subject because I was his most difficult one, and on 
boring, sweltering, sticky days in our unair-conditioned office, 
I would notice him staring at me, lost in thought.  But not 
today, and not lately.

I wonder if something's wrong, if he's upset or depressed about 
something.  When did this start?  Was there any event that I can 
trace these attitudes back to?

I think that last month has been boring, uneventful as far as 
work goes, and I trust that, if something had happened to him 
personally, I would've been the first to know.

I guess it started about the time we came back from Vermont, 
though I have no idea why that run-of-the-mill case would've 
caused such a dramatic change in him.  Maybe I should just ask 
him.

"Mulder?"

He keeps his head down, reading a file from 1996.

"Mulder?"

Still no response.  I rise from my chair and walk over to him, 
touching his shoulder lightly.  "Mulder?"  I ask quietly.

He looks up, slight shock written on his face, like he'd 
forgotten that I was even here.  "Hmm?"

"I want to talk to you."  He nods and swivels his chair around to 
face me, but doesn't say anything.  "You've been kinda...quiet 
lately.  Is everything okay?"

He nods that it is, but his eyes tell a different story.  Gray - 
I knew it, he's depressed.

"Are you sure?"  He nods again, looking down.  "You know you can 
talk to me about anything."  Another nod, and his head sinks 
lower.  "Okay.  I'm gonna go get something to drink.  You want 
anything?"  He shakes his head and I hesitate before turning away 
from him to get some money from the drawer in my un-desk.  I 
glance back at him before I walk out the door and see him in the 
exact same position: head bowed, starting at the floor.  Yes, 
something is definitely wrong.  Why won't he talk to me?

When I come back, diet coke in hand, he's still sitting in the 
same position, and doesn't look up as I walk in.  I walk back to 
my desk, sit down, and open the can with a loud "pop."  Still no 
movement.  Not knowing what else to do, I pull my chair closer to 
my table and begin going over an expense report.

In a minute, I hear him softly say, "Scully?"

I immediately turn my head towards him and, in my softest, most 
compassionate voice, say, "What?"

"I've been thinking."  He's still sitting in his same position, 
talking to the floor.  I can hardly hear him, so I wheel my chair 
over to sit right in front of his, our knees almost touching.  
"About what you said about there being an end..."

I nod.  He puts his hands over his face, his elbows on his knees.  
"I never really thought about it until you asked me...what I want 
to do with the rest of my life."

I nod again, though he's not looking at me.  He continues, "I 
honestly never thought I'd find my sister.  I wanted to, but as 
the years went by, I came to realize that I wanted my eight year 
old, bratty little sister back, not a grown woman who probably 
wouldn't even remember me...I think I almost wanted to find her 
dead, just so I wouldn't have to live with the fact that she had 
forgotten about me."  He looks up then, tears in his eyes.  "How 
selfish is that?" he whispers.

I scoot a little closer to him so that my knees rest between his.  
I pull his hands away from his face and hold them in mine.  "It's 
not selfish.  If she had lived, she would've been in so much 
pain.  At least, in death, she was peaceful."

"But she wouldn't have remembered me, and that's what bothers 
me," he says, quietly but vehemently.

"But she did.  She remembered that she had a brother.  You read 
it in her diary."  He shakes his head and looks to the side, 
grimacing slightly.

"But she wasn't looking for me.  I spent my whole life looking 
for her and she wouldn't have cared."  His tears are falling 
freely now, and I keep a tight hold of his hands so he can't wipe 
them away.

"She was just a child, Mulder.  She couldn't even if she wanted 
to."

He closes his eyes and nods.  "I know," he whispers miserably.  
He squeezes my hands tightly and I squeeze back, letting him know 
that I'm here.

"I'm so tired of this..."  he whispers after a few minutes.  "I'm 
tired of failing at everything, of looking for things that aren't 
there to be found."

"You haven't failed at everything, Mulder.  In fact, I can't 
think of anything that you have failed at."

"When I first started working here, my mother asked me to promise 
her that I'd find Samantha, and I didn't keep that promise.  I 
never got to tell her - " he breaks down then, shoulders hunching 
and sobs rising from deep within him.  I scoot closer and pull 
him towards me, wrapping my arms around him as best as I can.  He 
rests his head on my shoulder and sobs as quietly as possible, 
squeezing me tightly.  I don't say anything; I just rock him 
slightly, massage my hands up and down his spine, and wait for 
his sobs to pass.

After the worst is over, he rests, spent, in my arms, tears still 
streaming down his cheeks.  He raises his head and presses his 
mouth against the base of my neck as he heaves in a deep breath.  
His closed eyes are wet against my pulse, and his soft breath 
against my skin causes a slight tremor to course through me.  He 
sniffs twice and settles contentedly into his little niche 
between my head and shoulder, still holding me tightly.

"Do you ever regret staying with me?" he asks softly against my 
neck.

Even if I could think,  I would give him the same answer.  "No."

"Not even after everything that's happened to you?  Everything 
you've lost?"

"No.  Never."

He readjusts himself and his parted lips brush against my 
pounding pulse.  "Why not?"

I take a deep breath.  "I may have lost many things, but I've 
gained a lot, too."  I move one hand to his hair and thread my 
fingers through it.  Slowly, I turn my head and press my lips to 
his forehead.  He sniffs again, but his tears have stopped.

"Thank you," he says quietly into my neck.

"For what?"

"For being here.  For saying that you don't regret this."

I smile and kiss his forehead once more, lingering longer this 
time.  He squeezes me for a second then starts to disentangle 
himself from me.  He rubs at his eyes and cheeks, then looks at 
me.  "I got your jacket wet," he says, touching my shoulder 
lightly.

"It's okay."

He nods and pulls his chair back so that my legs are no longer 
between his and stands, stretching.  "I'll be right back."  He 
peaks his head into the hall after opening then door then, 
assured no one is out there, steps out and closes it behind him.

Not knowing what else to do, I wheel my chair back to my area and 
start working again.

<><><><><><> 

"All right, our flight gets in to National at 11:05 am."

"On the 19th?"

"Yup.  Delta flight 146, Atlanta to Washington National."

I smile and write down Ethan's flight plans.

"Emma is so excited she can hardly stand it," he says, laughing.

My smile gets bigger.  "And would her father share those 
sentiments?"  I ask playfully.

"Maybe just a little."

"Mmmhmm..."  He laughs again and I remember a question that I'd 
meaning to ask him.  "So, are you staying at a hotel or...?"

He hesitates.  "Uh, yeah.  I don't want Emma to get the wrong 
idea."  I frown slightly, but I know he's right.  He doesn't want 
Emma to know that we're sleeping together - I understand that.  
"Did you talk to whomever about getting the day off Monday?"

I sigh.  As much as I had wanted to meet them at the airport, 
fate wouldn't allow it.  Mulder and I had to turn in our 
quarterly report to Skinner first thing Monday morning, and the 
meeting would likely last all day with only a half-hour break for 
lunch.  I would have just enough time to call Ethan and make sure 
that they had arrived safely before I would be whisked back into 
our meeting.  "No, I told you.  I have to be at this meeting."

"You sure do have a lot of meetings," he says with a tinge of 
suspicion in his voice.

I sigh.  "Yeah, we do.  I'm sorry."  I don't know what I'm 
apologizing for; it's not my fault.

"I know...I just wanted to see you."

"I wanted to see you too, but we're spending the whole week 
together."

"Yeah...Tuesday we're spending the day around the Mall?" he asks 
quickly.

"Yeah, but I don't think we should try and do everything in one 
day.  Some of the lines can get kinda long..."

"Well, we'll see how much we can do in one day."

"Oh, I invited Mulder to come with us."  He doesn't say anything 
for a minute.  "Is that okay?"

"Why?"

"Because...Mulder loves this kind of stuff, and he'd be a much 
better tour guide than me."

"I thought this week was for us," he whines.

"It is, but I want you to meet him.  It'll only be for Tuesday; 
we'll have plenty of time to spend together."  I had assumed that 
having Mulder come with us would be okay and had neglected to 
mention it in any of our other conversations about this vacation.  
But I can't really go back and uninvite him now anyway.

He sighs and says, "Okay, if it's just for one day."

"Good."

"But after that, it's just the three of us...unless he's agreed 
to baby-sit..."

"I didn't ask him, but I promise - after Tuesday, it'll just be 
the three of us."

<><><><><><>

I was excited - more excited than I could ever remember being 
about anything, except maybe for moving into a dorm at the 
University of Maryland for the first time.  Freedom was all I 
could think of then: from my father, my brothers, my 
mother...from being the perfect little daughter all the time.  
Now, it was a myriad of emotions: anxiety, companionship...love.

I all but skip into the office on Friday, three days before Ethan 
and Emma are due to arrive.  I've been cleaning my apartment, 
even though I know we won't spend much time there.  I've been 
shopping for new summer clothes, even though I know I won't wear 
half of them during the week that they're staying.  But I can't 
help it.  I'm too excited and nervous to sit and do nothing.

If I have a polar opposite in the world today, it's Mulder.  I 
notice it as soon as I walk in: his shoulders are slumped and 
there are dark circles under his eyes.  The faint lines around 
his mouth and eyes are stronger, more predominant now, and his 
forehead seems perpetually creased in what looks like worry and 
loneliness.  After his breakdown last week, we'd spent a lot of 
time together, both at work and afterwards, though we rarely did 
anything other than sit in silence.  We either went out to dinner 
or ate pizza or Chinese at each other's apartments almost every 
night last week and all but twice this week.  I had slept at his 
place three times, and he had slept at mine four.  We said we 
were too tired to go home, and the other had agreed - it was too 
late to be driving home anyway.

It struck me as odd that, at our closest moments, we often did 
little more than just be with each other.

Last night, Mulder decided to leave early, saying that his couch 
was infinitely more comfortable than mine.  He had been happy, 
smiling and boyish - his usual self.  I wondered what had changed 
in just twelve hours.

He looks up as I enter and continues to stare at me as I deposit 
my laptop at my table, then smooth my skirt to sit.  I take my 
computer out of its snug little case and turn it on, fumbling to 
plug it in to conserve the battery.  I glance at him, saying 
"Morning," quickly, and I go about checking my mail.

He doesn't respond immediately, but continues to stare at me.  
Then, he drops a bombshell.  "I don't want to go with you on 
Tuesday."

I slowly turn my head towards him.  "What?"  I ask, unable to 
believe his confession.  This was all planned and arranged.  He 
can't back out now.

"I don't want to go," he says again, more plaintively.  His brows 
are drawn up towards his hairline like he's afraid I'm about to 
yell at him and he's trying to make me feel sorry for him.

It's not working.  "Why not?"

"I just...I don't want to."  He looks at the top of his desk and 
shifts some papers around, trying to distract me.

"But, I want you to come,"  I say, sounding like a twelve-year-
old girl.

"Why?"  He keeps shuffling papers, even picks up a pen, feigning 
attention to them.

"Because...I told you...you - "

"You want me to be your personal tour guide?" he interrupts.  

I nod.  "I can count on one hand the number of times I've even 
noticed these places in passing.  I don't know anything about 
them, and you seem to, so I though you could help me."  I sound 
whiny, and I don't mean to, but I thought we had a deal.  He had 
agreed to this.  He couldn't just change his mind.

He puts down his pen, puts his palms flat on his desk, still 
staring at the papers.  "Did you ever ask Ethan if this was okay 
with him?"

I hesitate.  Technically, I didn't ask.  "Yes.  He said it was 
fine."

"You're a terrible liar, Scully,"  he says flatly.  He gets up 
and heads towards the filing cabinet, yanking it open and rifling 
through it, looking for nothing in particular.

"Mulder...why didn't you tell me sooner?"  I ask quietly.

"Forget it," he says, slamming the cabinet shut and returning to 
his chair empty handed.  I gape at him for a moment before he 
continues, "I've already been approved for the day off.  What 
else am I gonna do?"

He picks up his pen again and starts scratching away on one of 
the papers in front of him.  Not knowing what else to do, I turn 
back to my computer and finish checking my mail.

When I walked in and saw Mulder's countenance, I told myself his 
bad mood wouldn't ruin my day.  My good day would improve his, I 
told myself.  I guess I really am a horrible liar.

<><><><><><>

Mulder meets me outside Skinner's office Monday morning, files 
tucked under his arm, one cup of Starbucks coffee in each hand.  
He's clearly exhausted and I wonder how much sleep he's gotten in 
the past week.  Not much, I'll bet.  I'll have to watch him 
closely to make sure he doesn't fall asleep during our meeting.

"Coffee," he says, handing me the cup in his left hand.  "You're 
favorite, with whipped cream on top."  No smile accompanies his 
greeting.

"Thanks," I say extra sweetly.  "How much?"

He waves my question away.  "Don't worry about it."  He takes a 
long sip of his coffee, and I see my opening.

"Mulder, how much did you sleep last night?"

"I didn't," he softly tells his shoes.

I sigh and prepare to launch into a tirade about how unhealthy it 
is for him not to sleep, especially when we'll be on our feet in 
the hot sun all day tomorrow, but Kimberly interrupts with, 
"Agents, the Assistant Director is ready to begin."

Mulder nods to her and starts towards Skinner's door without 
looking at me.  Mulder's always been a gentleman, opening and 
holding doors for me, abiding by the "ladies first" rule, but 
today, he brushes by me and opens Skinner's door, quickly passing 
through it and leaving me open-mouthed, staring at the space he 
used to occupy in front of me.

I silently follow, keeping my head down so as not to draw any 
unwanted questions from Kimberly.  When I enter, Mulder is 
already seated in front of Skinner's desk.  Skinner looks at me 
as I pause in the doorway.  He approaches me, closes the door, 
and says, "Thank you for joining us, Agent Scully.  Please have 
seat."

I close my mouth and have a seat.

<><><><><><>

At lunch, Mulder was out the door and standing in front of the 
vending machines before I could even gather up our files.  
Skinner, noting my unusual disorganization, sternly asks, "Agent 
Scully, is everything all right?"

I glance up at him and attempt to close the folder without 
creasing any of its contents.  "Yes, sir," I answer crisply.

"There's nothing going on between you and Agent Mulder that I 
should know about?"

I try to stifle my sigh a frustration.  Damned if I know.   
"No, sir, not that I'm aware of."

"He doesn't look well.  Are you sure he's okay?"

I'm a horrible liar, remember, and I really don't like to lie, 
especially to my boss.  "He told me that he's been having 
difficulty sleeping," I answer, hoping that he will let it drop.

Skinner takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, 
a sign of his own frustration.  He replaces his glasses and says, 
"I expect you back here in twenty-five minutes, Agent."

"Yes, sir," I say dutifully as I walk out of his door.

Mulder is no where to be found in the hallway, elevator, or 
office, so I seize the moment and call Ethan's cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey!  It's me."

"Hey, me, how's your meeting?"

I smile.  "Boring, but we're taking a lunch break."

"How convenient.  I'm trying to fight my way through traffic to 
get to our hotel and you're relaxing over lunch."

"Actually, I'm neither relaxing or eating."

He laughs.  "Well, at least you know where you're going."

"Are you lost?"

"No...uh, I don't think so..."

"You're getting old.  Your memory's failing."

"I never knew my way around Crystal City."

"Then why are you staying there instead of Georgetown?"

"Because it's much cheaper in Crystal City."

We're silent for a minute.  "So, your flight was okay?"

"Yeah, Emma loved it."

"Was this her first flight?"

"Yup.  She did well."

"Good."  I hear feet shuffling and see Mulder standing in the 
door way, looking like he's about to cry.  "I'm glad you got here 
okay, but I have to go," I say quickly.

Ethan noticed my change in tone and asks, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, I just have to go."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah."

"I love you."

I look down at my lap.  "I love you, too," I whisper.  I hang up 
the phone and, when I look back towards the doorway, Mulder's not 
standing there anymore.

<><><><><><>

He shows every sign of ditching me again after our meeting is 
finally over - at 6:30 - and I run to catch up with him in the 
nearly empty hallway.

"Mulder?  Mulder!"  I call as he disappears into the stairwell.  
I follow him.

"Mulder?  Would you slow down?"

He keeps jogging down the stairs, two at a time, and I fall 
further behind him.

When I finally reach our office, he's gathering up some files to 
take home and digging his keys out of his pocket.  "Mulder?"  I 
say pitifully from the doorway, panting to try and control my 
breathing.

"What?"  he snaps, glaring at me with a "leave me the hell alone" 
look.

"I just...what's wrong?  Why won't you talk to me?"

"There's nothing to talk about," he says as he tries to push past 
me and into the hallway.  I block the doorway, spreading my feet 
and putting my arms up to brace myself on the door frame.

"You told me you weren't sleeping well.  There has to be a reason 
for that.  Now what is it?"  He looks at the floor and doesn't 
say anything.  "I can't help you if you won't talk to me," I say 
softly, trying to peer up at his eyes.

"Maybe I don't want your help," he says as he forces me out of 
his way, nearly knocking me down in the process.  I say nothing 
more, instead just watching him walk down the hallway and into 
the parking garage.  

I hope he's better by tomorrow.

<><><><><><>

I can't stop thinking about Mulder.  All the way home, I tried to 
determine what his problem is.  He said he hasn't been sleeping 
well which is common for him, but his insomnia is usually brought 
on by something.  I can't figure out what that could be, and its 
depressing me.  I can't stand to see him like this.

What he said is also depressing me.  He said that he didn't want 
my help.  Friday, he sobbed in my arms after pouring his heart 
out to me, and now he won't even talk to me.  If I've done 
something, I have no idea what it is, and if he won't tell me, 
then I truly can't help him.

By the time I get home, it's almost eight o'clock - Georgetown 
traffic after six is a nightmare and, against my better judgment, 
I had chosen to drive to work today instead of taking the Metro.  
I'm exhausted and want nothing more than to curl up with a nice 
Lean Cuisine and crawl in bed extra early.

Of course I can't though.  Ethan is in town - with Emma - and, 
although we didn't discuss it, I'm sure he'll want to go out to 
dinner.  For some reason, now that they're here, I'm not as 
excited as I was about their visit.  Maybe I was anticipating 
something fun to do instead of actually doing something fun with 
these specific people.  Or maybe Mulder's depression has affected 
me, too.

But I just don't feel like entertaining tonight, and I certainly 
don't feel like meeting my lover's daughter.

There's no message from Ethan when I get home and I decide to 
wait for him to call me.  I know that Mulder and I are meeting 
him and Emma at the Smithsonian Metro Station at ten o'clock 
tomorrow morning.  That's enough for now.

When he hasn't called by nine, I figure that Emma was tired by 
her day of travel and excitement and Ethan wanted to stay in.  It 
would've been nice of him to call, though.

I go to bed at nine thirty, feeling lonely and sad.  I want to 
call Mulder to see if he's feeling any better, to make sure that 
he's still going to pick me up at nine fifteen tomorrow morning, 
but decide against it and turn over to face my windows and stare 
out at the darkness until I finally fall asleep.

<><><><><><>

Before I decided on a new pair of shorts and a new pale blue tank 
top and new sandals, I tried on every item in my wardrobe at 
least three times.  I've blow dried my hair straight, pulled it 
up into a pony-tail, brushed it out, braided it, took it down and 
put barrettes in it, and brushed it out one more time before 
deciding on a simple headband - the one I wore to our movie 
premiere.  I smile as I remember the fun that Mulder and I had 
that night, holding hands and walking down the streets of LA, 
getting drunk at the Bureau's expense, Mulder gazing at me, 
telling me over and over how beautiful I looked...

Mulder arrives at ten after nine, looking very much like my 
average partner on casual days.  Jeans, gray T-shirt, and tennis 
shoes, adorable smile and soft, tired eyes.

"You're going to burn up today.  It's supposed to be ninety," I 
chide as I pour him a cup of coffee.

"I'll be all right," he says quietly.

"Did you sleep any last night?"

He pauses, spoon in mid stir.  "Yeah...I took one of those pills 
you gave me."

"You did?"  After his mother's death, his nightmares became so 
horrible that he couldn't sleep at all, and I had prescribed him 
a mild sedative to help him sleep, much to his dismay.  I didn't 
even know he had gotten the prescription filled.

He nods and goes back to stirring.

I leave him in the kitchen and make my way around my living room, 
opening my blinds, when he says softly, "You look pretty today."

I turn around and stare at him.  "Thank you."

H nods again and takes a sip of his coffee.  "Are you nervous?" 
he asks with more confidence.

"Yes," I answer, rejoining him in the kitchen and taking a sip of 
my orange juice.  "But I'll be more nervous when we get there.  
Have you eaten anything?"  He shakes his head.  "Neither have I.  
Will you split a bagel with me?"

He nods, and I fix our bagel while he watches me in silence.

<><><><><><>

We're early.  Mulder's casually standing at the top of the 
escalator at the Smithsonian Metro Station, watching me as I 
furiously pace back and forth in front of him.  My bagel is 
threatening to make a return appearance and my heart is about to 
pound its way out of my chest, but I can't stop pacing.

"Scully," Mulder says, gently taking my arm.  "Do you want to sit 
down?"

I shake my head and go back to pacing.  "What if she doesn't like 
me, Mulder?"

"She's five; she likes anyone."

"But, what if she doesn't like me?  I don't have much experience 
around kids, Mulder, what if I screw this up?"

"Just be nice to her, ask her open ended questions.  You won't 
screw this up, Scully."  He takes my arm again and halts my 
pacing.  "Look at me," he says softly.

I do, and he puts his finger under my chin, tilting my face 
towards his a little more.  I feel tears in my eyes as he says 
very earnestly, "Scully, she'll love you.  Just calm down."

I close my eyes tightly for a moment, squeezing out two tears in 
the process.  Mulder places his hands on either side of my face 
and, with his thumbs, wipes them away tenderly.  When I open my 
eyes, I see tears threatening in his eyes too.

We stare at each other for a minute as another wave of people 
begins streaming up and out of the underground tunnel.  I put my 
hands on Mulder's forearms and gently but firmly push his hands 
down, away from my face, and move in front of the escalator, 
trying to see Ethan.

I don't have to wait long.  I see only the top of his head as he 
leans down to a small girl with wavy blond hair cascading down 
her back from a high pony tail.  She's dressed remarkably like 
me, in shorts and a blue tank top, and I smile,  noting that at 
least we have one thing in common.  She looks excited but a 
little scared, and she holds tightly to Ethan's hand as they 
ascend the escalator.  She's asking him a question, and Ethan 
nods, then stands up to his full height and catches a glimpse of 
me.  I smile a little wider and stand frozen.  The closer they 
get, the more I'm sure that I'll faint from nervousness.  From 
the corner of my eye, I see Mulder notice my wide smile and 
follow my gaze, trying not to move his head in the process.

When Ethan finally reaches the top of the escalator, he almost 
drags the little girl behind him in his haste to approach me.  
His strides get wider and wider until he's standing right in 
front of me.  Then, he, too, becomes frozen.

The little girl at his side swings her hand in his to snap him 
back to attention.  He glances down at her and they exchange 
secretive smiles, then he drops her hand and steps forward, 
taking me into his arms.

I sag into him and bury my head in his shoulder, tightening my 
arms around his waste.  He strokes my back and whispers in my 
ear, "It's so good to see you again."

I pull back and nod slightly, feeling tears threaten again.  He 
leans down and chastely kisses my cheek, then glances back to the 
little girl at his side who is still smiling.  "Dana," he says 
proudly, taking the girl's hand, "this is Emma.  Emma," he 
glances at her again, "this is Dana."

Emma becomes shy suddenly and inspects her pink tennis shoes.  
"Hi Emma," I say in my best kid-friendly voice, not too stern, 
not too placating.

Ethan shakes Emma's arm and she says, barely audible, "Hi."

"It's nice to meet you.  Your daddy's told me a lot about you."

She giggles and looks up at her daddy, smiling.

We stand there for a moment, basking in our togetherness when 
Ethan asks, "So, where's Mulder?"

Huh?  Oh, yeah.  I turn around and spot Mulder, doing his best to 
either blend into his surroundings or sink into the ground, arms 
crossed over his chest, scuffing one shoe against the pavement, 
trying to look casual.  "Mulder!"  I say, and he looks at me like 
he's constipated.  "Come here!"

He slowly ambles over and appraises the three of us already 
standing there.  When he finally arrives, I being my 
introductions.  "Ethan, this is Fox Mulder.  Mulder, this is 
Ethan Minette."

Mulder looks Ethan over head to toe, as if trying to figure out 
the best way to take him down.  Ethan extends a friendly hand 
and, after a brief hesitation, Mulder takes it and they shake.  
"Mulder?"  Ethan asks, just to be sure.  Mulder nods.  "This is 
my daughter, Emma."  He gestures to Emma, who's eyeing Mulder 
warily.  Ethan bends down to her and says, "Emma, this is Mr. 
Mulder, one of Dana's friends."

She nods and looks at both of us again before looking back at her 
father and smiling.  She whispers something in his ear and he 
laughs, then stands up and addresses us.  "It's good to finally 
meet you, Mulder.  Dana talks about you constantly."

Mulder nods and looks at the ground again.  "It's good to meet 
you too, Ethan," he says, still looking down.

Well, this is going well.  Maybe Mulder should start carrying a 
cave around on his back like a turtle and then he'd never have to 
see or talk to anyone new.  I give him an annoyed look which he 
doesn't see and then ask everyone, "So, what's do we want to do 
first?"

<><><><><><>

In two hours, we managed to cover two Smithsonians.  Ethan and I 
talked almost constantly about anything that came to mind, 
reacquainting ourselves with each other, holding hands like 
teenagers and sneaking a kiss when we were sure Emma wasn't 
looking.  As I figured, Emma was immediately drawn to Mulder.  
From what little of their conversation I heard, she asked him 
silly, pointless questions and he gave her sillier, more 
pointless answers.  They got along well, and I even saw Mulder 
smile a few times as he hoisted Emma onto his shoulders to get a 
better look at something.

At twelve, Emma began to complain of being hungry, so we decided 
to take a break and eat lunch.  As we were walking to Ethan's 
favorite all-you-can-eat for $2.99 pizza buffet, Emma pointed to 
a hot dog vendor and asked Mulder what it was.  Mulder answered 
that the man behind the little rolling cart was selling the best 
hot dogs in the world and that at night, when he stops selling 
hot dogs, he goes to sleep inside the cart where it's warm and 
yummy smelling.  Emma gave Mulder a look that I said "I don't 
believe you," but laughed anyway and said she wanted a hot dog.  
Ethan said so, absolutely not, that "those things" were 
unhealthy, and Emma looked so disappointed I thought she might 
cry.  Mulder just stared at Ethan, so I intervened and told Ethan 
that at least once a week, Mulder and I eat one of those hot 
dogs, and we're still alive and healthy.  Emma turned on her best 
pouty look, and so the four of us bought hot dogs and chips and 
sat on a bench across from the Jefferson Memorial and ate.

After we had finished eating, Mulder walked with Emma down to an 
ice cream vendor to buy dessert.  Ethan watched them walk away 
and, when they were out of earshot, said, "Emma seems to really 
like Mulder."

I nod, "Yeah...he's great with kids."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Mulder?  No."

"Is he, uh...?" he hesitates.

I turn towards him.  "What?"

"Gay?"  he asks quietly.

"Ethan!"  I slap him playfully on the arm.

"Well, I had to ask."

"No, he's not gay.  He's just...shy...hard to get to know."

He nods.  "I noticed."

I sigh and make my plaintive face.  "Ethan, please be patient 
with him.  This is a new situation for us - "

"What do you mean?"

"Neither of us have ever dated before - while we've been friends 
- and Mulder's very...possessive of me sometimes.  He doesn't 
have any other friends, really, or family.  I'm all he has - "

"You make it sound like you're the couple here, not us."

I look down at my hands and fiddle with the hem of my tank top.  
"That's not what I meant, I just...if he seems a little distant, 
it's just because he doesn't know how to act in this kind of 
situation, and he's not really a people-person anyway.  Please, 
be patient."

Ethan nods.  "Okay."

I nod back.  "Thank you.  It really means a lot to me that you 
two get along."

"I'll try my best," he says as he leans in to kiss me.

I push him away suddenly when I see Mulder and Emma coming back.  
Whether its embarrassment at being seen by Mulder or Emma, I'm 
not sure.

Emma runs up, ice cream cone in hand, and jumps up on Ethan's 
lap.  "Want some?"  she asks.

"No, thanks," he tells her, kissing her temple lightly.

"Sorry, Scully, they didn't have any non-fat tofutti rice 
dreamcicles.  I guess it's regular ice cream for you," Mulder 
says, handing me my cone.

"You didn't get one?"  I ask, noticing his now empty hands.

"No.  I thought maybe you'd share."  He grabs my wrist and pulls 
it towards him, taking a healthy bite out of my chocolate ice 
cream.

"Mulder!"  I laugh as melted ice cream drips down his chin and I 
reach up to wipe it off, licking my thumb and finger afterwards.  
He's smiling at me for the first time today and, for a minute, I 
forget where I am and who I'm with as I lose myself in his eyes.

Ethan clears his throat angrily and asks, "So, what's next on our 
agenda?"

Mulder's smile falls and I look back at Ethan, my cheeks burning.

"I want to go to see the fishies," Emma says excitedly, bouncing 
up and down on Ethan lap.

"Well, let's go," Ethan says, standing up suddenly and taking 
Emma's hand.  "Mulder, you know how to get there?"

Mulder nods and turns around, walking towards the nearest 
intersection.  Emma drops her fathers hand and runs after Mulder, 
tugging on his fingers until Mulder notices her.  She smiles up 
at him and jumps up and down some more, too excited to stand 
herself.

"I never should have let her have that ice cream," Ethan sighs.  
"She'll be hyper the rest of the day."

"Oh, let her have fun," I say, struggling to catch up to Mulder 
and Emma already across the street.

Inside the aquarium, Emma stands amazed at the exotic fish 
species around her.  Mulder asks her if she knows how to make a 
fish-face and she says no.  Mulder glances at me, still lagging 
behind with Ethan, and then looks back down at Emma, sucks in his 
cheeks and opens and closes his mouth as much as possible.  Emma 
laughs and so do I, despite myself.  Ethan looks at me like I'm 
crazy, not seeing the humor in his daughter imitating Mulder's 
silly face.

Mulder stops making the face and rubs his sore cheeks, smiling 
shyly at me.  I return his smile and Ethan clears his throat, 
urging us to continue our tour of the aquarium.

Ethan wanted Emma to see the White House, but she was less than 
interested in it, seeing it as just another white house.  She 
quickly became bored with Ethan's stories of the opulent mansion 
and found it infinitely more fun to talk to Mulder, who never 
failed to amuse her, even in the most unexciting of situations.

By dinner time, Emma was exhausted and Ethan had to carry her 
everywhere.  "I figured all this walking and the heat would get 
to her," he says as we stood in front of the Metro station where 
we had met.

"Maybe she'll feel better tomorrow," I say.

"Thanks for entertaining her, Mulder."  Mulder nodded and studied 
his shoes.  "Do you think you might be interested in watching her 
for a few hours while Dana and I go out to dinner one night?"

I look at Ethan, eyes wide.  We hadn't talked about having an 
intimate dinner alone, and I know Ethan real intentions aren't to 
eat out at a restaurant.

Mulder looks up at us briefly and I think he's about to cry.  
"Sure, I guess," he says, and quickly looks away.

Ethan smiles and leans in to kiss me.  Before he pulls away, he 
whispers, "I love you," then, with a quick, spiteful glance at 
Mulder, disappears underground.

I watch him and Emma until I can't see them anymore, then turn 
around and find Mulder watching me warily.

I walk towards him slowly, looking up at the rapidly setting sun.  
When I'm a few steps in front of him, I close my eyes and stretch 
my arms up over my head, feeling energized and happy.  "Now, that 
wasn't so bad, was it?"  I ask him playfully.

Mulder obviously doesn't feel like playing.  He shakes his head 
and looks at the ground again, the same as he's done every time 
anyone spoke to him today.  "We should probably be headed home, 
too," he mumbles sadly.

"No.  Let's walk," I say decisively.  He opens his mouth to 
object but I stick my hand out towards him in invitation.  "It'll 
be fun, I promise."  I give him my biggest, most sincere smile 
and reach for one of his hands, stuck in the pocket of his jeans.

He looks at my face, at my eyes, and I can see him trying to 
fight the smile tugging at his own lips.  He reluctantly takes my 
hand and shyly asks "Where're we going?"

I lace our fingers together, putting my other hand on his forearm 
to draw him closer.  "Where ever we end up," I reply.

We walk in silence for a minute before I finally ask, "Did you 
have fun today?"

He hesitates and stares off into the distance.  "Yeah.  Emma's 
great...she's a lot of fun."

I smile again and look up at him.  "She seemed to really like 
you."  He shrugs.  "She did.  I think Ethan was a little jealous 
of it, actually."

"Yeah, he barely seemed to notice her at all," he says, glancing 
down at me before quickly looking up and away again.

"I guess he was...preoccupied," I say, feeling a blush creep into 
my cheeks.

"You could say that," he says angrily.  

I glance over his anger and giddily ask, "So, what'd you think of 
Ethan?"

I feel him startle and he looks over at me.  He opens his mouth 
but hesitates before saying, "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does, Mulder.  I want to know what you thought of him."

"Why?"

"Because.  It matters to me."

He looks away and takes a deep breath.  "Scully, I honestly 
didn't talk to him that much.  You were with him and I was with 
Emma."

"What are you general impressions of him, from what time you did 
spend with him?"  I feel Mulder try and pull his hand away, but I 
tighten my grip and stop walking, standing in front of him.  
"Mulder...what's the matter?"

He shrugs again.  "Nothing."

"Don't tell me that.  I know that something's bothering you, but 
you won't talk to me.  I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to worry about me, Scully," he says solemnly.

"I know I don't have to.  You're my best friend and I care about 
you, so I want to worry about you, especially when I think there 
really is something wrong and you just won't tell me."  I can 
feel exasperation creeping into my voice and try and chase it 
away.  I'm not angry with him, I'm just...concerned.

He looks down again and chews his bottom lip, calculating his 
next words.  Then he looks up, tears in his eyes.  "Is that all I 
am to you, Scully?"

I cock my head.  "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head in frustration and looks away again.  A tear 
slips down his cheek and he violently wipes it away, turning away 
from me.  He again tries to reclaim his hand from mine, but I 
hold tightly to it, squeezing.  "Mulder...please talk to me," I 
whisper with as much vehemence as I can muster.  He shakes his 
head again.  I let out a deep breath.  "All right.  You don't 
have to talk to me."

He squeezes my hand and looks at me suddenly, but doesn't say 
anything.

Around us, the street lights are staring to come on as it gets 
increasingly darker.  "You're right.  We should be heading home," 
I say before dropping his hand and turning around towards the 
Metro station.  Mulder hesitates and I look back at him.  He 
looks lost and pathetic, but I don't know what else to do to help 
him.  "You coming?"  I ask, and he catches up to me.  

The Metro ride back to Foggy Bottom and the short walk to my 
place are made in silence, and right before we approach the 
building, Mulder stops beside his car and announces, "I'm gonna 
go."

"You're not coming up?"  He shakes his head.  "Not even for a few 
minutes?"  Another shake.  "Okay."  I walk back towards him and 
he crosses his arms over his chest in his classic "stay away from 
me" posture.

"Thank you for coming with me today.  I don't know how I would've 
done this without you."

He nods and I place my hands on his forearms, trying to pull them 
away from his body.  He doesn't budge, so I just rest my hands 
there.  I stand on my tip-toes and brush a kiss over his cheek.  
When I pull away, I notice tears in his eyes again.  "Thank you," 
I say again.  "I'll see you next week."

He nods and slowly pulls himself away from me, climbs in his car, 
and leaves without making sure I'm safely in my building - an 
oddity from him.  I stand in the parking lot for a minute, 
watching his tail lights disappear into the darkness then turn 
around and head up to my apartment.

<><><><><><>

Mulder never did offer to watch Emma for a few hours and I wasn't 
about to ask him.  I hadn't spoken to him since our parting on 
Tuesday afternoon, three days ago.  That has to be some kind of 
record of us not speaking to each other.  I decided that I'm not 
going to call him, that he'll have to call me.  I told him he 
didn't have to talk to me, which is usually a good way to get him 
to talk to me, but the reverse psychology obviously didn't work 
this time.  Although I know he is hurting, his mini-confession 
last week in his office was only scratching the surface, or maybe 
a diversion from the real problem.  But Mulder knows that I'm 
here if and when he needs me, that I'll always be here, and all 
he has to do is call or come over.  He's yet to do either.

Friday afternoon, I asked Ethan to come over to my place and said 
that I would cook dinner for him and Emma.  I had a bit of an 
ulterior motive, too.  Ethan and I hadn't been alone since they 
had arrived and my libido was in full overdrive.  If I was lucky, 
I thought, Emma would fall asleep on the couch and let Ethan and 
me have a few minutes to ourselves.

I asked Ethan what Emma's favorite food was and he said anything 
Italian, so I made spaghetti.  If she liked it, she didn't give 
much of an indication.  She played with it, mostly, but did 
manage to eat a few noodles every now and then.  There was ice 
cream for dessert, which she loved, but other than that and the 
obligatory "please" and "thank you," she didn't say a word to me 
the entire time.  Ethan alternated between trying to get a 
conversation going between Emma and me and praising me for my 
cooking, both of which were futile.  Emma wasn't interested in me 
or my food, and I felt like a complete failure.

Surprisingly, as I'm loading the dishwasher, Emma comes and 
stands on the other side of the open door, looking at the dishes.  
I don't know what to say, so I don't say a word, instead making 
sure not to get water on her.

"Where's Mulder?"  she asks quietly.

I close my eyes for a moment.  Damned if I know.  "He's at home, 
I guess,"  I say with false cheeriness.

"Where does he live?"

"He lives in Alexandria.  That's not far from here."

"Oh."  She goes back to staring at the dishes and I'm ready to 
close the door, but afraid that if I do, she'll run off.

"Did you have fun with Mulder the other day?"  I finally ask.

She nods happily.  "He said he has fishies."

"Yeah, he does.  He has two little fishies."

She smiles and, after a minute of staring at me, runs off to sit 
beside her father on the couch in the living room.

Well, that was odd.

I follow her after a minute, handing Ethan a glass of white wine 
as I pass him and sitting on the other side of Emma.

"Why don't we see if we can find some cartoons on TV, Em?"  Ethan 
asks, nodding at me conspiratorially.

In about thirty minutes, Emma is peacefully sleeping on the couch 
and Ethan and I are trying our best to be quiet as we fumble our 
way to my bed half dressed.

He tells me that he loves me right before he comes, and I smile 
in contentment.  Tonight wasn't quite perfect, but it was 
definitely better than Tuesday.

Afterwards, I lay on my stomach, my head on his chest, listening 
to his heart beat.  He rubs my back and pulls the covers over me 
against the chill of the sweat cooling on my skin and says, 
"Thank you."

I giggle into his shoulder.  "For what?"

"For trying so hard.  With Emma, I mean."

"I failed miserably.  I would suck at being a mother."

"No, you wouldn't," he whispers.  "What do you mean, 'would?'"

Huh?  My lazily closed eyes snap open.  "What?"

"You said you would suck at being a mother."

"Yeah...?"

"I thought you said you had a daughter."

Oh.  I burrow my face into his shoulder, trying to disappear.  
"Yeah...but it was...different."

"How?"

"Ethan," I sigh in exasperation.  I do NOT want to get into this 
right now or ever.  "Even if I explained it to you, you wouldn't 
understand."

"I bet I would.  I could try, anyway."

"No," I say angrily.

"Then will you at least answer one question for me?"  I don't say 
anything, tears stinging my eyes.  "Who was her father?"

I take a deep breath.  "I don't know," I whisper.  What was that 
noise?  The shit hitting the fan?  My relationship crumbling to 
the ground?

Ethan holds his breath for a minute, then asks softly, "You don't 
know?"

"Like I said, you wouldn't understand."  I roll away from him and 
curl myself into a tiny ball, pulling the covers tightly around 
me.

He hesitates for a moment, then curls himself around me, pulling 
me close to his body, resting his arms over mine.  "Try to 
explain it, Dana, please.  I want to know."

He kisses my temple lightly and I whimper, fighting back my 
tears.  Another kiss down my cheek, then a series from my neck to 
my shoulder and collar bone and I start talking, very slowly and 
softly.  "A few years ago I was abducted..."  His hair tickles my 
neck as he nods, kissing down to my breast.  "The men that 
abducted me did tests on me...some kind of experiments...they 
removed my ova and - "  My breath hitches as he lightly teases my 
nipple.  "They used the ova to create a child...my 
child...without my permission or knowledge.  I have no idea who 
her father is or if she even has a father."

Ethan pauses and looks up at me.  He pushes himself up and braces 
his arms around me, gently coaxing me onto my back, then settles 
down to continue his ministrations.  "Another woman gave birth to 
her and raised her as a daughter.  Then I found her.  Her mother 
and father were killed by the same men who abducted me, but she 
was so sick.  I only knew her for a few days and then she died."  
Tears are streaming silently down my cheeks now, and Ethan's 
tongue and hands have stopped feeling good.

"Ethan..."  I say pitifully, pushing him away as he settles 
himself between my legs.

"What?" he asks in surprise.

"Were you even listening to me?"

"Yes," he whispers, laying his body over mine, kissing away my 
tears.  "You're right.  I don't understand," is all he says 
before he starts his journey downwards again.

I wiggle, trying to get out from under him.  I don't feel like 
sex now.  I just poured my heart out to him and he didn't even 
acknowledge it.  All I want to do is drowned myself in a bubble 
bath and sob for a few hours - alone.

He puts his hands on my hips to keep me still; he probably thinks 
I'm just playing around, not actually trying to get away.  He's 
reached my stomach again and he pauses, looking up at me. 

"We're leaving tomorrow," he whispers.

"I know," I whisper back.

"Dana?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to leave you."

I don't answer.

"I love you," he whispers, resuming his task.

"Ethan, I don't want to do this right now," I say a little too 
loudly.

He sits up and rests on his calves, studying me in the dim light 
slanting through the blinds.  "What's the matter?"

I shake my head and turn over, resuming my fetal position, not 
answering.

He sits for a minute, then the mattress jumps as he stands up.  
He searches for his clothes, then dresses, and opens the door.  
"I'll call you before we leave tomorrow," he says, then closes 
the door behind him.

I hear him open and close the front door, too, then silence as he 
leaves me blessedly alone.  I look at the clock - 10:17 - then 
turn my head into my pillow and sob.

<><><>End Part 1<><><>

Feedback now!  Lil_gusty@hotmail.com

Next Step (2/3)
Headers in Part 1

<><><><><><>

I can't sleep.  I've been laying here for three hours, 
alternately crying in loneliness and anger.  Loneliness because 
I've pushed Ethan away from me, either by telling him a story 
which I knew he wouldn't understand or believe, or by turning him 
out of my bed.  I'd tried so hard to be good for him in every way 
imaginable: I'd tried to coax his daughter into liking me, I'd 
tried to gloss over and creatively edit the facts of the past few 
years of my life, I'd tried to act like the happy, tenacious Dana 
that he knew - that he left - for him, and everything had back 
fired.  I was right back where I started, before he ever came to 
visit me one lonely Friday night, only slightly more depressed 
about the state of my life than I was then.

If someone had asked me before he came back if I was happy, I 
would've hesitated, but answered that yes, I was.  Maybe not 
every minute of every day, but overall, in general, I was 
basically happy.  I had a nice apartment, enough money to pay my 
bills and live comfortably, a good friend and partner, and a 
reasonably exciting and challenging job.  It wasn't the life I 
had imagined for myself when I was twenty-five, but it wasn't too 
bad.  It could have been a lot worse.

Now, though, if someone asked me if I was happy, as Ethan had a 
few weeks ago, I would honestly say that I didn't know.  All I 
can see now is that life that I could've had if I'd married Ethan 
eight years ago, and all I see are positive things.  Somewhere in 
the back of my mind, I know I'm idealizing my life-that-wasn't, 
but the negative doesn't register right now.

All this week, where ever Ethan and I would go with Emma, I would 
try my best to treat Emma like she was my daughter.  I thought it 
would help me erase my anxiousness about being with her, but it 
hadn't.  It had only deepened my depression and emptiness.  I 
kept thinking of all the people around us, the strangers, who 
thought that we were a happy little family, maybe on vacation, 
maybe just going out to eat together.  They didn't know that she 
wasn't my daughter; that my daughter had turned to sand before we 
buried her in San Diego, next to an aunt and a memorial for a 
grandfather she never knew.  They didn't know that I couldn't 
have any more children.

Not being able to have children never really bothered me.  As I 
was told when I tried to adopt Emily, I wasn't a very good 
candidate for parenthood.  My job had become my life, and what 
tiny cracks it didn't fill, Mulder was there to complete the 
take-over.  I never had time to think about having a family and 
therefore never missed the fact that I couldn't.  I never thought 
about it and it never bothered me.

Ethan's resurfacing has brought up those long-repressed emotions.  
I told Ethan that I thought it was God's way of punishing me.  
Maybe I was being a little over dramatic, but it wouldn't 
surprise me that the same God who has taken from me and taken 
from me, and has showed me no mercy or support over these last 
few years when I've needed Him the most, would see that, because 
of my abortion of one deformed innocent, I would never be allowed 
the chance to have a healthy child.

Mulder said he was tired of chasing after things that weren't 
there to be found when the chase ended; maybe I'm tired too.  I 
never intended to be consumed by his quest, and while I don't 
regret my decision to stay with him, sometimes I wonder if it's 
been worth all the sacrifices I've had to make.

If Mulder were happy with his closure from Samantha, it would be 
worth it.  But Mulder's not happy, so was it worth it?

I told Mulder that I wanted an end.  Maybe Ethan is that end.  My 
life has always seemed to move in circles, and I have a tattoo on 
my back to prove it.  Maybe my circle is completing itself and 
I'm supposed to return to Ethan after my trials and tribulations.

Maybe God sent him to show me that.

I sit up in bed, the sheet and comforter falling to my waist and 
exposing my bare chest to the darkness.  If Ethan is that end, I 
may have just ruined my chance of accepting it.  He said he would 
find a way to make this work - this thing between us - so that it 
would last forever.  I want that forever.

But I can't leave without my closure.

I rise from the bed and dress in the dark, putting my black dress 
pants and sleeveless cream-colored blouse back on from earlier, 
slip into my black sandals, and hastily leave my apartment.

The night had gotten colder, and chill bumps rise on my bare arms 
and make me nervous, edgy, as I climb into my car and start the 
short drive to Alexandria.

When I arrive at Mulder's building, I notice his car parked out 
front.  It's almost two o'clock.  I don't know where he would be 
at this time of night, but I'm glad he's here instead.  He's 
always here when I need him.  There's a faint, bluish-white light 
flickering inside his window.  He must be awake, too.

When I get to his door, I hesitate, listening to the muffled 
sounds of the television coming from the other side.  He's not 
watching one of those tapes that aren't his, thank God, but he's 
exercising a method of breaking his insomnia.  He told me once 
that, all through college, he would sleep with either the TV or 
radio on to chase away his nightmares.  After the nightmares 
tapered off, he'd never thought to get used to sleeping in the 
silence again.

I knock softly on his door, not wanting to wake his neighbors or, 
if he is asleep, wake him.  In a moment, I hear his footsteps 
crossing the foyer and pause in front of the door, wondering who 
could be visiting him at this time of night.

Slowly, I hear the lock disengage and the door creak open a 
crack.  I peak through it into the quasi-darkness, but I don't 
see him.

"Mulder?"  I whisper as loud as I can.

I hear a sigh of relief, then the door swings open and Mulder 
emerges from behind it.  He's bare-chested and wearing a pair of 
flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips, ready for bed - or 
couch.  I see the light from the TV reflecting off something in 
his hand and, looking down, I realize that he's holding his gun, 
ready to shoot whoever was at the door.

He sees me eyeing the gun and tucks it behind his back.  "What're 
you doing here?" he sleepily asks.

"I wanted to talk to you.  Were you asleep?"

He shakes his head and steps back, letting me enter.  He closes 
the door softly behind him and locks it, clicking the safety of 
his gun on.

I walk into the living room and plop down on his couch heavily.  
The cushions are molded to his body and warm from where he was 
laying.  A thin blanket and pillow adorn opposite ends of the 
couch, and I impulsively pull the blanket over me in a belated 
attempt at warmth, then curl up into the pillow like a large 
house cat.

He watches me warily for a minute and I realize that he lied to 
me.  There are crease on his face from the pillow and his 
movements are sluggish, his eyes hooded: he was asleep.  He sits 
down on the middle cushion and mutes the TV, then stares at me.

"I did wake you.  I'm sorry," I whisper miserably.

"It's okay.  I shouldn't be sleeping out here anyway."

I give him a questioning look.

"I'm gettin' old.  If I sleep out here, I wake up sore the next 
morning."  He smiles slightly and looks at the floor between his 
knees.

"You're going to be thirty-nine on your birthday," I say, 
laughing.

"Don't remind me."  He shakes his head and looks back at me with 
wide, sad eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you," I repeat and he leans back into the 
couch.  "Get comfortable.  I'm on a rant and this could take a 
while."

He tugs the bottom of the blanket over his legs and I snatch it 
back.  He smiles again and scoots closer to me, pulling a corner 
of the blanket over his lap, then slides my sandals off my feet 
and tucks the rest of the blanket around my freezing toes.

"Ethan and Emma are going back home tomorrow," I start, and he 
looks away, fiddling with the blanket.  "I was thinking about 
that end we keep discussing.  And I've come to the conclusion 
that my end is with him."

Mulder looks at me then, eyes wide and shocked.

"You know this tattoo I have?"  He nods.  "At the time, it 
represented the way that I lived my life.  In circles."  He nods 
again, trying to follow my tangled diatribe.  "Maybe Ethan 
returning to my life is another of those circles...maybe he 
symbolizes where this stage of my life is supposed to end and the 
next phase is supposed to begin."

"The next phase with Ethan?"  Mulder asks quietly, sadly.

"Yeah."  I look at him, but he's studying a spot on the ground 
between his knees again.  "What'd you think?"

He shakes his head, pondering, but not saying anything.

I sit up and touch his shoulder lightly, but he still doesn't 
look at me.  "If I quit the Bureau and went with Ethan, what 
would you do?"

He looks up and stares straight ahead, at the people on TV, 
silently talking to no one.

"Mulder?"

"I don't know," he says quickly.

I nod and rub his shoulder, right over the scar where I shot him 
all those years ago.  "Would you stay at the Bureau?"

"I don't know!"  He repeats loudly.

I sigh and he looks sharply at me.  "Is that what you wanted to 
talk to me about?  Did he ask you to marry him?" he asks 
seriously.

"No.  Not yet.  I don't even know if he wants to, but if he 
does -"  

He stands abruptly, slowly pacing behind his coffee table.  
"You'll say yes?  Just like that?  He leaves you eight years ago, 
then mysteriously pops back into your life with a little girl 
that reminds you of Emily and you just concede to marry him?  You 
don't even know him anymore, Scully!"

"I do know him, Mulder, I've known him for years," I interrupt.

"But he's changed, Scully, and so have you.  The relationship 
that you had with him may not work now."

I sigh in annoyance.  He's treating me like a child, someone 
who's not competent to make her own decisions, just because he 
doesn't agree with them.  He's always done that, belittled me 
because I'd disagree with him.  Even if he does have a good point 
this time.

"Okay...okay, maybe you're right.  But it's still something to 
think about."  He stops pacing, looks at me for a second, then 
bows his head in seeming defeat.  "But I want to know what you'd 
do if I left."

He nods sadly.  "I don't know, Scully."  He looks at me very 
solemnly and my heart unconsciously speed up a little.  He sighs 
tiredly and sits back down beside me.  "Why do you want to know?  
I mean, what does it matter what I would do?"

"Why wouldn't it matter?"  He shrugs.  "For so long, it's just 
been you and me, and I want to make sure that you understand why 
I'm doing this.  I'm not running away from you, I'm just...I just 
want to know what you'll do without me."

He sighs again and closes his eyes.  "I've never really thought 
about it.  I guess I never thought I'd have to worry about it - 
not having you in my life -"

"I'd still be a part of your life, Mulder, just not to the degree 
that I am now," I sternly interrupt.

"And how would Ethan feel about that?"

"It's not up for discussion.  He accepts every part of my life, 
or he doesn't accept me at all."

We're silent for a minute, both staring at the flashing 
television in front of us.  "Scully?" he quietly asks, not moving 
his eyes from the screen.

"Yeah?"

"After everything that's happened to you because of me, you 
deserve some happiness.  If he makes you happy, that's all that 
matters to me."

I blink back tears at his sentiments, then say to him very 
softly, "Thank you, Mulder."

"I'm just not convinced that he can make you happy, Scully."

He looks at me then, honesty and seriousness in his eyes.  I nod, 
not knowing how to respond to that.  He looks away again, the 
conversation officially declared closed.

I stand up, feeling fatigue and ache in my joints.  "Do you mind 
if I sleep here tonight?"  I ask in a tiny voice.

He shakes his head and looks away, towards his empty window.

"Do you have a reasonably clean T-shirt I can sleep in?"

He nods and quickly disappears into his bedroom, not looking at 
me as he passes me.

He emerges after a few seconds with a white undershirt and asks, 
"This okay?"

I smile and take it from him.  "I'll sleep out here.  Don't want 
you to be sore in the morning, old man," I tease.

He smiles shyly and shakes his head.  "No, that's okay.  One more 
night won't kill me."

"You sure?  We've shared a bed before; I don't mind."

He pauses, thinking.  "No.  It's okay."

I nod and reach up to his neck, curling my fingers around the 
base of it and pull him down, brushing a kiss over his cheekbone.  
"Goodnight," I whisper.  "Thank you for talking to me, for 
listening to me.  You've always been a good listener."

He nods, blushing slightly, and picks up his remote, turning off 
the TV.

I stand in front of him, in the dark, and listen as he whispers, 
"'Night."

I turn and walk into his bedroom, close the door, hastily change 
into his T-shirt, and climb into his bed.  In just a few minutes, 
I fall asleep, surrounded by his scent like a second skin.

<><><><><><> 

I'm dreaming again.  It's one of those dreams where you're awake 
enough to still be dreaming, yet not able to control what 
happens.  You're watching it like you watch a movie, shouting at 
yourself and the other players to do what you want them to do, 
not what your subconscious wants them to do.  It's futile, but it 
makes you feel a little better to at least try and control the 
situation.

It's about that night that Mulder came back from England, the 
night that I fell asleep on his couch while we were discussing 
destiny, fate, and how to throw a curve ball.  Mulder gingerly 
covered me with his scratchy Indian blanket, then went into his 
bedroom, I assume to get ready for bed.  A few minutes later, he 
emerged in his pajama pants and bare-chested, and came to tower 
over me, hands on hips, a distressed look on his face.

He appeared to be thinking and, in the end, decided against 
whatever it was he was thinking about.  He re-tucked the blanket 
around me, turned out the lights, and went back into his bedroom, 
partially closing the door behind him.

After about an hour, I woke up and realized where I was.  Already 
a little stiff from sleeping in the awkward position, I quietly 
stood up and started slipping on my shoes.  I saw light spilling 
into the living room from Mulder's bedroom, and I peaked into the 
room, seeing if he was asleep.  He wasn't - instead, he was 
propped up against his headboard, reading a book by lamplight - 
and noticed me standing there immediately.

I smiled shyly and walked into his room, sitting on the side of 
his bed.  "Sorry I fell asleep," I said softly.

"It's okay.  You were exhausted," he'd said, looking at me with 
sleepy eyes.

"Well...I'm gonna...go home, I guess."

He sat up straight, then, and quickly, nervously, said "You don't 
have to."  I cocked my head, silently asking why I didn't.  "It's 
too late for you to be driving home now, and you're still tired.  
You might fall asleep on the way."

I nodded, looking at the floor.  "You're right."

He nodded, too, then shyly asked, "Do you want to sleep in here?"

I looked back at him.  His eyes were pleading, begging me to 
stay, watching me carefully in case I didn't.

I grinned at his nervousness.  We'd shared a bed before - when we 
hadn't had a choice - and I didn't find it awkward to sleep with 
him.  I crawled over to the other side of the bed, turned away 
from him, and stripped down to my panties and camisole, crawling 
into bed and piling the covers on top of me against the slight 
chill in the spring air.  When I'd gotten settled and 
comfortable, I looked back at Mulder, still staring at me, wide 
eyed.  I smiled again and said, "'Night," before turning away 
from him and closing my eyes.

He took a deep breath, held it, and then asked, "Do you want me 
to turn off the light?  I can, if it's keeping you awake."

"No, it's fine," I'd said.  

The next thing I remember, I woke up at 5:30 with a heavy, lazy 
arm draped across my stomach.  Mulder had curled around me 
sometime during the night seeking warmth and I, apparently, had 
snuggled back into his body.  I'd shifted myself in his embrace 
and discovered that he'd shed his pajama pants at some point 
during the night and was pressed against me in only a thin pair 
of boxer-briefs and that underneath those boxer-briefs was a very 
impressive erection.  As I'd inadvertently rubbed against it, 
he'd groaned slightly and rubbed back, pulling me tighter against 
him.  His open mouth settled itself over my collar bone and the 
moist puffs of air had made me shiver.  That's when I knew it was 
time to go.

I untangled myself from his warm, heavy limbs and walked softly 
into the bathroom, rinsed my mouth with mouthwash, washed my 
face, and redressed in my clothes from the previous day.  After a 
lingering glance at my sleeping partner, I'd left his apartment 
and returned to my own before the sun had come up.

I never mentioned that morning to him and either he didn't 
remember it or he did remember it, but was too afraid to 
acknowledge it, but he never mentioned it either.

That was how it had really happened, but my dream had different 
ideas.

In my dream, I wake up and realize that I've fallen asleep on 
Mulder's couch.  I slip on my shoes and, as I pass his firmly 
closed bedroom door, I hesitate, staring at it like I could see 
through it.  I turn the knob and gently push the door open, 
seeing Mulder asleep in the big bed, the street lights outside 
painting him in golden-orange color.  I step towards the bed, 
expecting him to wake up at any minute, but he doesn't.

I tell my dream self to turn around and walk out the door, to go 
home, to leave Mulder sleeping, but she doesn't listen.

I keep approaching the bed, trying not to wake him.  When I get 
even with his head, I slowly divest myself of my clothes, 
including the panties and camisole.  Then I slowly draw the 
covers back, exposing a delightfully nude Ethan, not Mulder, 
sporting that same impressive erection.

Why Ethan is in Mulder's bed, why he's nude, I have no idea, but 
my dream self isn't inclined to try and figure it out.

I put one knee on the bed, then straddle him, my hips poised 
above his, though not touching, my hands fisting the pillow on 
either side of his head.  I lean down and kiss the tender spot 
behind his ear, then trail my open mouth down to his throat.  He 
wakes, but doesn't seem to find it odd that we're both nude, in a 
strange bed, and inches away from having sex in this strange bed, 
instead placing his hands on the curve of my waist, then sliding 
them up to cup and caress my breaths before sliding back down to 
my hips, pulling me closer to him.  

"Mul...der..."  I moan against his neck.

Our mouths, which had before now been panting and gulping breaths 
against each other's skin, join in a harsh, bruising kiss.  As my 
tongue dips between his open lips and finds his, he tugs my hips 
one last time and I slide down on to him, shuttering in pleasure.  
I moan Mulder's name again, louder, and I know Ethan heard it.  
He doesn't appear to be phased, though.

Yeah, that's definitely a dream, and I'd stopped screaming at my 
dream self to stop, instead watching her, seeing how far this 
would go.

As he penetrates me, I wake up, still shuddering.  I open my eyes 
and see darkness surrounding me, though I know I'm in Mulder's 
bed.  Sweat coats my face and chest in a fine layer, and I kick 
the thick covers off, desperate to cool myself down.

I roll to my back, tucking my damp hair behind my ears.  Looking 
at the clock, I realize that it's almost seven am, and that the 
sun will be rising at any moment and remembering that, on 
weekends, Mulder rises with the sun to go jogging.

I sigh and pull the covers back over my now-chilled body, close 
my eyes, and burrow deeply into my cocoon of soft.

I'm almost asleep again when I hear the bedroom door creak open.  
My dream, still fresh in my memory and body, began similar to 
this.

I wonder what that dream could mean.  Ethan in Mulder's bed, my 
moaning Mulder's name instead of Ethan's.  Ethan not caring.  
Maybe it doesn't mean anything.

He walks in and I clamp my eyes shut tightly, feigning sleep.  He 
quietly steps towards the foot of the bed, pausing and watching 
me silently.  After a few seconds, he walks to his closet and I 
hear him changing clothes.  A few minutes more and he leaves his 
bedroom, closing the door behind him.  Then, another door closes 
as he leaves for his jog.

I'll wait until I'm sure he's gone, I tell myself as I mentally 
prepare my departure.  After a dream such as the one I'd had, I 
don't want to face him.  I'd had dreams about him in the past 
and, although I hadn't had one quite so graphic in a long time, 
I'd always felt that somehow, he knew.  He could read it in my 
face or body language, and I'd always spent the next few days 
avoiding him as much as possible, until I was sure he could no 
longer see it.

My eye lids get heavy again and I remember how exhausted I am.  
Sex with Ethan, crying, and pornographic dreams are taxing on my 
body, and I struggle not to fall asleep in Mulder's soft, 
yielding, warm, luxurious bed.

Ethan - he's leaving today.  He'd said earlier that he wanted me 
to go with him to the airport, to be with me as long as possible.  
He'd said that Thursday - I wonder if he feels the same way now.

I take a deep breath and pull the covers more tightly around me, 
letting my body lose its battle with sleep.

<><><><><><>

The next thing I know, I'm smelling coffee and hearing a shower 
run.  Mulder was back and I had fallen asleep.  I sigh, then 
snuggle deeply into the covers, savoring the warmth for a moment 
more before I throw them off of me and stand up.  It cold, and I 
hurriedly dress and follow the scent of fresh caffeine to the 
kitchen.

Mulder had bought us Starbucks coffee - again - plus gooey, 
yummy, cinnamon rolls.  I consider waiting for him to finish his 
shower before I start eating, but the smells and sights are 
making me famished, so I dainty dig in to my share of the 
breakfast, chewing slowly in an effort to wait for him.

A few minutes later, the shower cuts off and the bathroom door 
opens.  Mulder sticks his head out and, seeing the empty bed, 
calls "Scully?" into the apartment.

"I'm in here...I found breakfast," I call back, mouth full.

"Oh...I'll be out in a few minutes."

Before I can swallow and answer, the door's closed again as 
Mulder continues his morning routine.

In the silence, I consider my dream again.  What a weird dream to 
have.  Maybe it says something about how stressed I am about 
dividing my time between Mulder and Ethan.

I look at the clock on the microwave.  Assuming it's right, it's 
a little after nine.  Ethan hasn't called me on my cell phone to 
see if I'm still going to the airport with him yet and a part of 
me thinks that he won't.  That he'll just leave without saying 
goodbye again and disappear from my life.

I'm suddenly not hungry anymore and shove my half-eaten cinnamon 
roll away, swallowing bile with my last sip of coffee.

Well, Mom, I'd screwed up again.  My last chance and I blew it.

I hear the bathroom door open again and Mulder emerges.  He 
ambles into the kitchen, smiling slightly, and asking, "Sleep 
well?"

Yeah, except for this pornographic dream I kinda had about you 
but not really, I slept just fine.  "Yeah."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No."

He nods.  "We hadn't had a cinnamon roll in a while so..." he 
gestures at my half-eaten one and opens his, picking up the fork 
that I'd laid out for him.

"It was good; thank you."

"You done?" he looks back and forth between me and the pastry and 
I nod, swallowing more bile.

He nods back, slightly confused.  Usually, when we buy these 
cinnamon rolls, he ends up sharing half of his with me after I've 
finished my own.  But I'm just not hungry anymore.

I take a deep breath.  "Mulder, I -"

He puts his fork down, devoting all of his attention to me.

"I'm sorry I bothered you last night, but I needed to talk to 
someone who understands, someone who believes me. "

"It's not a bother Scully," he says seriously, tilting his head 
in silent encouragement for me to elaborate and leaning heavily 
on the counter beside me.  "I told you - anytime you want to 
talk."

I nod and swallow again.  "Last night...Ethan and Emma came over 
for dinner and I told Ethan about Emily."  My voice is flatter 
than necessary, but I don't want to start sobbing again.  As I 
look down at the floor, Mulder stands up and puts his hands on my 
shoulders, taking a step closer towards me.

"What'd he say?" he asks quietly.

"Nothing.  He said absolutely nothing," I answer pitifully, 
sniffing once despite myself.

He gently massages my shoulders and takes another step towards me 
until his nose is almost touching my hair.  "I'm sorry, Scully."

"I knew it, though.  I knew he wouldn't understand, but I thought 
he should know...what he was getting into."

Mulder nods and tugs on my shoulders, trying to pull me into his 
chest for a comforting hug.  I don't let him, though, pushing him 
away and taking a few steps back.

He doesn't look up from where his head was bent, talking softly 
to me, and I manage to say, "I have to go.  Ethan's leaving 
today..."

He looks up at me, then, and opens his mouth to say something.  I 
cut him off, though.  "I have to go," I whisper again, turning 
and opening his door, not hesitating as I step out and close the 
door harder than necessary.

I pull my keys out of my pocket and navigate my way to my car 
through a film of tears, wondering if Ethan's awake yet.

I drive home on auto-pilot, coming close to at least one serious 
accident when I tried to change lanes without checking my blind 
spot.  When I get to my apartment, I close my eyes and walk to my 
answering machine, praying that there'll be a message from Ethan 
there.  Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes and a red, blinking 
"1" greets me.  I punch the button and curse at the machine 
telling me "You have one new message."  Well, obviously.  Get on 
with it!

"Dana, it's me."  I close my eyes again and a tear falls onto the 
talking plastic against my will.  His voice is sad, tired, like I 
feel.  "I, uh, I was wondering if you were still gonna meet us at 
the airport."  A pause.  "I'm sorry for the way I acted last 
night.  You were obviously upset and I shouldn't have left you 
like that, but..."  Deep breath.  "I want to talk to you before 
we leave.  If you don't want to come to the airport, please call 
me.  I love you."

The machine tells me he called at eight thirty, while I was still 
asleep at Mulder's.  I pick up the phone and, holding my breath, 
dial his hotel room.

On the fifth ring, just when I'm about to hang up, he answers.

"Ethan," I whisper, relief flooding my body.

"Dana, thank God.  I was afraid you wouldn't call."

"I was afraid you wouldn't call.  I'm sorry...I was - wasn't 
here."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, expecting me to elaborate.

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me.  I'm the one who ruined our 
night last night," I finally say, breaking the silence.

"Well, we both agree that we're sorry for the way we handled it," 
he says diplomatically.

I nod.  "I need to talk to you, too, and I still want to come to 
the airport if you want me to."

"Yeah, absolutely."

I smile.  "Okay.  I'll meet you there at 12:30?"  I ask, 
remembering our plans.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Dana, I do love you."

I close my eyes again, and no tears fall this time.  "I know.  I 
love you, too."

I hear a 'click' as he hangs up, not saying goodbye.

Yet, anyway.

<><><><><><>

Ethan and Emma ate lunch at the airport, but I couldn't stand the 
thought of food and sipped my over-carbonated diet coke, watching 
Emma watch the minions of people bustling around her.

When we return to the gate, Ethan asks Emma to sit down in one of 
the seats, explaining that he and I are going to stand by the 
window, and for her not get up.  She dutifully nods and Ethan 
takes me by the hand, walking to our place in the drama.

"Dana..." he abruptly starts, turning so he can watch Emma over 
my shoulder.  "What you told me last night, about Emily...that's 
not true, is it?"

"Yes, it is," I strongly answer, a little annoyed that he would 
think I'd lie to him about something as important as this.

He nods, though I can tell he's not convinced.  "Well, that's a 
hell of a story."  I stare blankly out the window, watching the 
planes and people below.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," he prompts.

I don't take my eyes away from the outside, not wanting to look 
at him as I say this.  "I wanted to apologize for not being fair 
to you and Emma.  I looked so forward to your visit, but I 
just...I was preoccupied with work, " I hedge - Mulder qualifies 
as work.  "I couldn't enjoy it like I wanted to, and Emma 
probably hates me and I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that I ruined 
everything."

"Dana, you didn't ruin everything," he softly says, stroking my 
cheek with his knuckles.

"I've made some decisions.  I've decided that I want this.  I 
want you and Emma...and that life that I chose not to have.  I 
want to make this last forever, too, and I'm willing to change to 
do that.  What ever I have to do, I'm ready," I finish, tears in 
my eyes and voice.

I'm still looking away, but from the corner of my eye, I see 
Ethan take a deep breath, hold it, close his eyes, and exhale 
slowly.  "That's a big decision," he murmurs, gently turning my 
face towards his.

I finally, hesitantly meet his eyes, which are welled with tears 
as well.  "I'm ready, too, Dana," comes out as barely a whisper.

I nod and smile, feeling it stretch my taunt, dry skin.

"Does this mean that you're finally ready to get married?" he 
asks, seriousness in his eyes.

I nod again, though less confidently than before.  "I think so."

He beams, then, and cheerily says, "Then let's go tell Emma."

<><><><><><> 

Telling Emma proved to be less than exhilarating.  Ethan and I 
walked over to where she was sitting - holding hands - and Ethan 
bent down and simply said, "How would you like it if Dana came to 
live with us?"

Emma kept kicking her feet in the plastic seat, making little 
drumming noises as the heels of her tennis shoes hit underneath, 
and blinked up at her father, then at me, then back to her 
father.

I smiled and tried to show my enthusiasm, but Emma didn't seem to 
notice.  Maybe she didn't understand what Ethan was trying to 
tell her or maybe she just really doesn't like me, but Emma gave 
no reaction, positive or negative.  The only thing she did was 
shrug halfheartedly, then tell Ethan she was thirsty.

Ethan said later that he had discussed the possibility of me 
living with them before they arrived in DC and that Emma seemed 
receptive.  Ethan said that Emma was probably just tired and 
ready to get back home.  I kept smiling, brushing away renegade 
tears as they sporadically fell, and agreed with him; she was 
tired and homesick.

Before they boarded the plane, Ethan asked me when I would tell 
my mother and I replied that I didn't know.  I hadn't actually 
thought about it.  In a way, I felt that telling my mother would 
be admitting that she had been right, that I was supposed to 
marry Ethan all those years ago and now he and God were giving me 
another chance.  It would be admitting that working for the 
Bureau had really just been a phase left over from my rebellious 
youth and that now, I had come to my senses, realized where my 
place in life was, and decided to grasp it with both hands before 
it escaped again.

It would be admitting that Ethan was right, too.  That God had 
brought us together again for a reason - to be together after all 
of our trial, tribulations, and tragedies we had suffered while 
apart.

I hate it when other people are right.

Thinking of all this on the drive back to my apartment, 
rehearsing what I would say to my mother when I called, how I 
would deflect her questions about when and how much money, I 
realized that this was a huge blow to my pride and independence.  
I was admitting to my mother and to myself that loneliness had 
finally gotten the better of me and that I needed companionship.  
I needed someone.

For so long, I had convinced myself that needing someone was weak 
and that I would never, ever sacrifice my pride, my life, my 
sovereignty, just to have someone to share my life with.  But I 
was doing those things now, and while it sickened me to think of 
how I was admitting dependence and conceding defeat, it excited 
me to know that I would finally be settled, have someone to sleep 
beside me at night, someone to expect me home in the evenings, 
someone who cared whether I lived or died.

Maybe that isn't the same as admitting dependency.

I put off calling my mother, though, as long as possible.  On 
most Saturday's, we have lunch together or, at the very least, 
talk on the phone, but I had called her earlier in the week 
telling her that Ethan and Emma were leaving on Saturday and that 
I wouldn't be able to make our lunch date, and wouldn't be near a 
phone until later that day.  She said she understood, then asked 
how things were going.  "Fine," I had told her.  She asked if 
Ethan and I wanted to spend an evening alone together, if we 
wanted her to watch Emma, and I automatically responded no.  
After a beat of tense, misunderstanding silence, she said that 
her offer would be open if we changed our minds.  I never 
mentioned the offer to Ethan, and I hadn't changed my mind.

My giddiness and initial excitement over Ethan's proposal had 
worn off by the time I'd gotten home, and my thoughts were now 
filled with the practical things: would I have to move to Atlanta 
or would they move here?  Ethan would probably insist that Emma 
stay in Atlanta, if only to be close to her mother and his 
parents.  If I did move, where would I work?  I still had no 
interest in working in an FBI field office, so I would have to 
find an entirely new career.  Maybe teaching at a college - Emory 
University was in Atlanta, and it had a medical school.  Or maybe 
the CDC - I was offered a job there when I graduated from med 
school and when I turned it down to go to the Bureau, they 
periodically sent me job offers, claiming they would double my 
salary, buy me a car, pay my relocation expenses.  But I was 
happy at Quantico and later, happy on the X-Files, so I remained 
adamant in my refusals.  But maybe the offers are still open.  
How would I feel about leaving my mother all alone?  Bill and 
Charles moved so often and were hardly ever available to visit 
Mom, but at least I was only an hour away if she needed me in an 
emergency, but if I moved to Atlanta, she'd be up here all alone.

And what about Mulder?  He'd be up here all alone, too.  He 
doesn't have any family, no real friends.  How would he react to 
my moving a thousand miles away?

I hadn't even thought about telling Mulder about my engagement.  
He thinks that Ethan and I are moving too fast and, in many ways, 
I think it makes him angry that I finally have a life, that I'm 
no longer lonely, and he still is.

I think that it's always been a comfort to Mulder that he has 
company in his solitary lifestyle.  He's an extremely possessive 
person, especially of me, and maybe he's a little jealous of my 
relationship with Ethan as well.  Jealous that I have someone to 
love and that loves me and he doesn't, the same sort of jealousy 
I felt towards him when he dated Alicia.

It is a comfort to know that someone as socially isolated as 
yourself has a counterpart that's just as socially isolated.  And 
I can't imagine how I would feel if Mulder approached me and 
suddenly announced that he was getting married to someone that I 
barely knew, that he barely knew.  I would be jealous of that 
relationship and I would be angry that he was leaving me in my 
solitude while he went off and lived the American dream.  After 
all, it wouldn't be fair.  I'm the one that suffered because of 
his quest, and now he abandons me for someone else?  If either 
one of us should be marrying or abandoning the other, it should 
be me marrying and abandoning him.  It's only fair.

Something occurs to me then, smacking me upside the head like a 
slap across the face: Mulder's weird moods, his depression and 
irritability, his distance from me - all of these things started 
when I mentioned that Ethan was coming to visit and bringing his 
five-year-old daughter named Emma.  He'd started avoiding me 
then, and acted awkward whenever I brought up something about 
Ethan, like him living in Roswell.  He'd started not sleeping and 
his eyes had been perpetually bloodshot after I'd asked him to 
come with us to the Mall.  Maybe Mulder was jealous that I had a 
relationship with someone and he didn't.  Maybe he was afraid 
that I would abandon him, and depressed because I had already 
appeared to be doing so.

Or maybe it was all a huge coincidence.  Mulder could have a 
relationship with someone if he wanted to, and he chooses to 
alienate anyone who is interested in him - like Alicia.  His 
loneliness is his fault.

But whose fault was his depression and jealousy?

Maybe Mulder was right: maybe I am moving way too fast.  Could I 
really abandon him and leave him all alone to sink further and 
further into his depression and self-loathing.  Could I really 
marry a man whom I haven't had any contact with in eight years, 
who'd abandoned me when I'd needed him the most?

Maybe I should've told Ethan that I needed to think about this 
before I gave him an answer.  Maybe I shouldn't have rushed into 
this.  Maybe I should've thought about all the practicalities of 
this before I'd committed myself to it.

Then, if I'd told Ethan to wait, that I'd needed to think, 
chances are he would've gotten on that plane and I never would've 
seen or spoken to him again.  I hurt him once by making him wait 
on me, he probably wouldn't allow me to do so again.

My apartment seems darker, emptier when I get home.  I wonder 
what kind of house Ethan lives in - I know he makes a lot more 
money than I do.  Certainly, it's bigger than my moderately sized 
apartment and I'm sure it exudes that "homey" feeling that my 
home never did.  Ethan's home would never seem dark and empty, it 
would always be filled with light and comfort.

I decide that, even though it's only a little after three, I'm 
taking a long, hot, relaxing bath and sipping white wine.  
Carrying the phone into the bathroom with me, I slip beneath the 
vanilla scented bubbles and just-hot-enough water, emitting a 
huge, echoing, sigh of relief as I get comfortable.

I hadn't allowed myself to realize how stressful this past week 
had been on me and while it hadn't been quite as successful as I 
had intended, the end product had been surprising and 
stimulating.  For the first time in a long, long while, I felt 
that I had a goal, a purpose in my life, and a reason to achieve 
it.  I just wonder if that goal is attainable, or if I've set 
myself up for failure.

I wonder idly if Ethan's master bathroom has a large enough 
bathtub for both of us, then giggle quietly as I imagine what a 
dual bath would consist of.

After the bath water gets cold and the bubbles disappear, I wrap 
myself in my thin, summer robe and lay down on my couch, 
determined to find something boring on TV to vegetate in front 
of.  I'm almost asleep when, at 5:30, my mother calls.

"So, did Ethan make his plane okay?"

"Yeah.  They should be home by now."

"He hasn't called?"  She asks in surprise.

"No, not yet."

"Oh, well..."

Silence.

"Mom?"  I ask in a tiny, childish voice.  "Can I ask you 
something?"

"Of course, Dana, you know you can ask me anything," she says 
sweetly, like mothers are supposed to do.

"Okay."  I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and begin.  "Last 
night, I told Ethan about Emily."

"Why?"  My mother sternly interrupts.

I'm surprised by her tone.  "Because, he needed to know.  She was 
a part of me, and I don't think it's right to keep her a secret.  
I don't think I should keep any secrets from him."

My mother sighs heavily, disappointedly, and says in a low, angry 
voice, "Ethan doesn't need to know everything, Dana.  Some things 
should remain in the past."

I gape at the phone.  "Are you saying that you're ashamed of 
her?"

"No, Dana of course -"

"She was my daughter!  The only daughter I'll ever have!  Your 
granddaughter!  How can you possibly be ashamed of her?"  I 
scream.

"Dana, I am not ashamed of her, but she was an abomination of 
nature.  She was never meant to be!  She wasn't even human!"

I hear my mother's mouth snap shut after those words, regretting 
them as soon as they left her lips.  Tears sting my eyes and 
nothing comes out of my open mouth, no words are there to express 
what I feel to her.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, she finally speaks again.  
"What did he say, Dana?"

"He said that he didn't understand," I rasp into the phone.

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

Neither of us says anything else for a few tense minutes and I 
wonder if she's hung up on me.

"Dana, what did you want to ask me?"

I'd forgotten I'd had anything to ask her.  "Ethan asked me to 
marry him today and I said yes."  There's no reaction from the 
other end of the line, so I continue.  "But I'm wondering if my 
decision was too hasty."

"Why?"  She asks, totally perplexed.

"Well," I inhale deeply, then slowly exhale through my nose.  "I 
didn't think about some things.  That I'd be leaving you all 
alone up here -"

"Oh, I'll be fine, Dana," she says in exasperation.

"And that I'd be leaving Mulder all alone."  No response.  "He's 
been so depressed lately, and I just realized today that it may 
be because of Ethan, because of our relationship.  I think Mulder 
feels like I'm abandoning him, and I'm not, but how can I 
convince him of that?  I don't want to hurt him..."  I finish in 
a whisper.

"Dana, don't worry about Fox.  He's a grown man and he can take 
care of himself."

"But he's all alone.  He doesn't have any family or friends.  I'm 
all he has -"

"Don't worry about him, Dana.  Its his own fault that he doesn't 
have anyone else."

I hang my head, like I'm ten and being scolded for fighting with 
Missy or sixteen and being lectured about breaking curfew.  "I 
can't help it," I tell her, hoping she can hear the sincerity in 
my voice.

"Dana, I know that you care about him very much, but you can't 
live your life around him."

"I know," I say thickly, even though I really don't know.

"You have to remember everything that's happened to you because 
of him.  Your abduction, your infertility, your cancer, Melissa's 
death...what am I leaving out?"

"Emily," I say softly.

"Yes, Emily.  All of those things were Fox's fault.  I know he 
didn't have any control over them, but indirectly, he was 
responsible for them."  When I don't respond, she finishes.  
"You've given enough of your life to him, Dana.  It's time that 
you start living for yourself."

I want to tell her that I have been living for myself every since 
I left medicine to work at the Bureau, but she has a point.  I've 
been dedicated to my work, but for more important reasons than 
just myself.  It was always Mulder that kept me in the basement 
year after year, tragedy after tragedy.

"Do you understand, Dana?  I just want you to be happy and safe, 
and I don't think that you can be with Fox.  You'll never be 
completely safe, and you'll never have the kind of life that 
Ethan can give you.  I love you.  I only want what's best for 
you."

I sniff and my head pounds at my overflowing sinuses.  I wince 
and weakly say, "I understand, Mom."

"I think that you made the right decision.  Ethan loves you, too, 
and he only wants what's best for you just like I do."

I can argue with my mother.  I may not always win - she 
frequently tells me that I'm being disrespectful or stubborn - 
but I can always find a flaw in her logic or a loop hole in her 
argument.  I can't argue with what she says next, though.

"Maybe God brought Ethan back to you to show you that it's time 
to settle down, time to leave Fox and the FBI."

When we finally hang up, I'm more unsure than I was about my 
decision.  And I'm more nervous than ever about telling Mulder.

<><><><><><>

Monday morning when I arrive at work, Mulder is already seated 
behind his desk, drowning under stacks of new files, pictures, 
and theories.  He raises his head slightly as I enter, but is too 
engrossed in what he's looking at to look at me (thankfully) and 
I slide behind my table-not-a-desk and start up my computer, 
pushing my hair behind my ears, trying to act nonchalant.

All of Saturday night and Sunday morning, I planned how I would 
tell him about the latest development in my and Ethan's 
relationship.  I even had a dream about it: Ethan and I were 
sitting on a plush, obviously expensive couch in a large, 
brightly lit room in our house, sipping tea or coffee.  We're 
laughing and smiling, and Ethan's touching my hands, my face and 
hair.  When I look up, away from Ethan, I see a dim corner of the 
room.  I get up to investigate and notice that the closer I get 
to the corner, the colder I get.  Ethan calls me to come back and 
when I ignore him, he gets up and grabs my wrist, trying to pull 
me back to the couch, away from the darkness.  I twist my way out 
of his grasp and approach the corner warily.  When I finally get 
there, I can't see anything or anyone in the corner, so I drop to 
my hands and knees, feeling blindly for something, anything.  I 
find a small, cloth heart tucked in a plastic evidence bag, 
sitting in the very corner of the darkness.  As I delicately pick 
it up, turning it over in my hands, I feel a hand on my shoulder 
and, turning around, I realize it is Mulder, not Ethan.  He says, 
tears in his eyes, "You found her.  Scully, you found her for me!  
You finally found her!"  He reaches for the bag and I pull it 
away from him, hugging it to my chest.  A look of confusion and 
intense pain flits across his face, then everything goes black.

I woke up.

Maybe Mulder has some sort of dream interpretation book he'll let 
me borrow; these dreams keeping getting more and more strange.

My fingers clicking on the keyboard finally arouses Mulder's 
attention.  He looks at me and nods, starts to speak, clears his 
throat, then says, "Morning," before casting his eyes back 
towards his mounds of paper and photographs.

"Morning," I repeat after he's not paying attention anymore.

At barely 9:03, the phone on Mulder's desk rings.  He stares at 
it for a minute like he's forgotten what it is, then answers it 
tonelessly.  A tense, "She'll be right there," later, and he 
replaces the receiver, swiveling his chair towards me, a cocky 
grin on his face.

"You're in the doghouse now, Scully.  Skinner wants you in his 
office ASAP."

I blink at him and ask, "Just me?"

"Yup, just you.  Good luck, partner."

I open my mouth in confusion, the snap it shut again, feeling 
suspiciously like a fish who's just realized there's no water on 
land.  I get up, smooth my jacket over my skirt, then say, "I'll 
be back," as I breeze out the office door and into the elevator.

When I walk into Skinner's outer office, Kimberly's standing at 
the partially closed door.  She sees me and says, "The Assistant 
Director is ready for you, Agent Scully," then steps away, 
allowing me to enter.  The tight smile she gives me as I walk 
past her isn't one of recrimination, it looks like one of pride.

Skinner's seated at his desk, talking merrily with another man, 
someone I don't know, as I walk in.  Both men stand and Skinner 
walks towards me, closing the door and guiding me towards the 
stranger with a light hand on my back.

"Agent Scully, thank you for coming so quickly.  This is Doctor 
Richard Clifton from Quantico.  Dr. Clifton - Dana Scully."

The man extends his hand towards me, smiling.  "Dr. Scully, it's 
a pleasure to finally meet you," he says, sounding flustered.

I take his hand and shake briefly, then look back at Skinner, 
silently asking if I should know this man.

"Agent, have a seat, please," Skinner says tersely, both he and 
Dr. Clifton going back to theirs.

I sit down in my chair, the one that Mulder usually occupies when 
we're in Skinner's office together, and primly cross my legs, 
waiting for the punch line.

"Agent Scully," Skinner begins, "Were you aware of a serious car 
accident this weekend in Roslyn?"

"No, sir.  Should I be?"

"Not necessarily, no.  But this particular car accident killed 
Dr. David Kohl.  You do know who that is?"

"Yes, sir.  He was the Head Pathologist at Quantico."

Skinner glances at the man beside me and nods, allowing the man 
to take over the conversation.

"Dr. Scully, I've been working on and off at Quantico for a 
number of years, at times very closely with Dr. Kohl, and I know 
that he was a big admirer of yours.  Of your medical expertise, 
that is, and that he desperately wanted you back at Quantico."

"I didn't know that," I say, wondering where the hell this 
conversation is going.

"Well, as you can figure, Quantico will need a new Head 
Pathologist, and it's my belief that Dr. Kohl would want you to 
have that position."

I stare at him for a minute, processing what he's just said to 
me.  I'm being offered a job that will put me in charge of the 
best medical investigative facility in the world because someone 
was killed in a random car wreck - that can't be right.

He takes my silence as a bad sign and quickly adds, "Assistant 
Director Skinner has informed me of your serious dedication to 
your current position as a field agent - and I admire that - but 
this is a very coveted position.  It's an honor to even be 
considered for it, and we're basically giving you the job, if you 
want it."

"I know that," I finally answer after finding my voice again.  "I 
just...this is such a shock.  I had no idea Dr. Kohl thought so 
highly of me."

"We very much hope that you'll take this position, Dr. Scully," 
he finishes, smiling proudly.

I nod absently, and Skinner stands, asking the man if he would 
excuse us for a moment.  "Of course," the man says, rising and 
walking into Skinner's outer office.

When he walks back to his desk, Skinner sits beside me, in the 
chair the man just vacated, and turns towards me, removing his 
glasses.

"He's right, you know.  This is a wonderful opportunity for you, 
Agent Scully."

I nod - you don't have to tell me twice.

"And I did tell Dr. Clifton that he was probably wasting his 
time, that you were very dedicated to the X-Files."

I nod again.

"Scully, off the record...Violent Crimes is begging for Mulder 
back and it's getting harder and harder to put them off.  Since 
this LaPierre case, you two haven't been doing much except 
sitting in that office and I imagine that's Mulder's doing.  He 
just doesn't seem...interested in anything anymore, and I can 
tell that his heart's no longer in those files.  When you turn in 
your budget at the end of this fiscal year, in all likelihood, 
the Bureau will see that it's putting money in and not getting 
anything out, and God knows they've been looking for excuses to 
shut you down.  Are you following me, Agent?"

I look at my hands, neatly folded in my lap.  He's right: 
Mulder's heart isn't in his work anymore and we hadn't been out 
in the field much in the past few months, since Mulder found 
Samantha.  If Skinner's noticed it, then all the wrong people 
have noticed, too.  It was just a matter of time.

"I like to see my agents succeed, Scully, and with your 
intelligence and your background, you could go so far - farther 
than some banal job they'd put you in after the X-Files are shut 
down.  I'm telling you all this because I want you to at least 
think about accepting this job."  He replaces his glasses on his 
nose, then adds, "It offers you more of a future than the Bureau 
does."

I nod again, maintaining my silence, as Skinner gets up and lets 
Dr. Clifton back in.  The men stand just inside the door, talking 
softly, and Clifton asks perfunctorily, "So, Dr. Scully.  Can I 
tell the Board you're considering our offer?"

I inhale deeply, slowly, then stand and smooth my skirt, walking 
towards the men.  "Yes, I'll consider it.  Thank you, Dr. 
Clifton."

"Thank you, Dr. Scully."

I look at Skinner, who opens the door and, actually smiling 
slightly, says, "That'll be all, Agent."  I dip my head towards 
my chest, then walk out of the office and hail the elevator.

I amble slowly down the dark, empty hallway that leads to our 
office, thinking hazily about the first time I made this walk.  I 
never thought this would turn into a career, or have the dramatic 
impact of my life - every aspect of it - as it has.  Being forced 
out of this job and into another one was one thing, but 
voluntarily leaving it for another was completely different, and 
I didn't know if I could do the latter.

When I approach the half-open door, I pause before pushing it 
open, knowing that I'll have to tell Mulder about this, 
momentarily forgetting the other important thing I had to tell 
him.

When I finally manage to heave the door open, he looks up at me 
and playfully asks, "So, forty lashes?  Thumb screws?  Water 
torture?"

I shake my head and slowly walk up to his desk, sitting heavily 
in the chair in front of him.

His grin fades and he asks me, playfulness gone, "What's up, 
Scully?"

I become interested in my hands again, pushing back a cuticle 
with a nail.  "Nothing bad," I answer vaguely.

"It looks bad."

I shake my head again.  "Did you know that the Head Pathologist 
at Quantico was killed this weekend?"

"No, no I didn't.  Did you know him?"

"Not well."  I sigh and finally look up, but behind him.  "I 
worked with him a few times, but I didn't know him personally."  
Mulder nods, urging me to continue.  "They're offering me the 
job,"  I say hurriedly.

He gapes, then asks, "As Head Pathologist?"

I nod, looking straight at him for the first time.

"What'd you say?"

I hesitate.  "That I'd have to think about it."

Mulder nods again, looking slightly dejected and confused.  I sit 
up straighter in my chair and lean towards him over his desk.  
"Mulder, Skinner says that they're trying to close us down."

"They're always trying to close us down, Scully."

"But this time they're serious.  Skinner says that we're over 
budget and basically a waste of man-power."

"And?"  Mulder asks in annoyance.

"And...what are they gonna do with us then?  They'll send you 
back to the VCS, but what about me?"

His eyes open a little wider and his brows creep towards his hair 
line.  

"I don't want to be in some mundane job - like background checks 
again.  And I can't think of anything outside of this," I gesture 
towards the stacks of files on his desk, "that holds any interest 
for me."

He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest 
defiantly.

"Mulder...when I first got my job at Quantico, the only thing I 
wanted was to be Head Path.  That was my dream, and I thought 
that they were testing me by sending me here, to see how high I 
would jump when they said to.  I never thought I'd make a career 
out of this."

His jaw clenches, and I can tell I'm not doing this right.

"My point is that they're finally offering me this job.  You 
know, they've never had a woman as Head Path.  And I'm pretty 
sure I'd be the youngest, too.  This is a big honor, Mulder, and 
if they weren't going to shut us down, I wouldn't even consider 
it, but -"

"You don't know that they will!"  He explodes, leaping out of his 
chair and pacing back and forth behind his desk.  "How do you 
know that they're not offering you this job because they know 
you'll take it and then they can shut us down?  How do you know 
it's not a part of their plan?"

"And they just killed Dr. Kohl as part of that plan?  That's a 
long way to go."  I'm trying to stay calm, hoping that it will 
infect Mulder, but I'm apparently not contagious enough.

"They've gone further before, Scully."

"Mulder," I exhale an exaggerated breath.  "I'm not definitely 
taking the position.  I told them I'd consider it, and I am, but 
I thought I should tell you."

I sigh and admit defeat - there is no way in hell I will ever win 
this argument, so I might as well save my breath.  When I just 
sit silently, inspecting my nails again, Mulder stops his furious 
pacing and looks at me, hands on his hips.  He takes a deep 
breath and closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and sits 
down at his desk.  In an emotionless voice, he quietly says, 
"There's been a report of people disappearing near Little Rock, 
Arkansas.  Apparently, each of the missing had reported a dream 
they'd had about being abducted to their families."  As he's 
speaking, he picks up a file and throws it at the edge of his 
desk, towards me, and it slides over the side and onto the floor, 
spilling its contents at my feet.

I stare at the papers and photographs, not saying a word.

<><><><><><>

I've heard a lot of weird words and phrases come out of Mulder's 
mouth in the past, but one that I've never gotten used to - 
probably because I hear it so rarely - is "You were right, 
Scully."  It takes me a moment to process what he's said and, 
when I look up at him, I see defeat evidenced in his weary facial 
expression, in the sag of his shoulders.

He replaces the phone receiver, then slowly stands, places his 
hands on his hips, and paces over to my little table, not taking 
his eyes off of the floor.

"What, Mulder?"  I ask softly.

"Tuesday, eight a.m.  You and me and OPC.  They're shutting us 
down."

He brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing tiredly at 
his eyes, bending slightly at the waist.

"So soon?"

"Apparently.  I asked them to hold off until we got back from 
this case," he says, gesturing at the papers and photographs 
littering the table-top in front of me.

"What'd they say?"

"They agreed.  I guess a couple more weeks doesn't make much 
difference."  He slowly walks back to his desk, gazing at the 
newspaper clippings and pictures attached to the wall behind it 
before sitting down.

He leans his elbows on his knees, fisting his hands between them, 
bowing his head.  He doesn't say anything more and neither do I, 
at a loss for words.

I neatly put the papers back in their folder, closing it and 
setting it to the side of my table, then turn my chair towards 
his, looking at him while he refuses to look at me.

"Scully," he says suddenly, loudly, looking up and slightly above 
me.  "Take that job at Quantico."

"What -"

"Take it and get out.  Get away from here.  Go get your dream job 
and live your perfect life.  Don't let me drag you down anymore."

"Mulder -"

He's already out of his seat, tugging on his suit coat and headed 
for the door.  I know that anything I say will go unanswered, 
most likely unheard, so I silently watch him walk away, listening 
as his footsteps fade down the hallway towards the elevator, out 
of my life for a few hours, at the least.

<><><>End Part 2<><><>

Next Step (3/3)
Headers in Part 1

<><><><><><>

I know what he's doing.  He's pulling away, thinking that if he 
detaches from me, it won't hurt him as much.  He initiates the 
leaving so he can say he left, not that he was left.  I've done 
the same thing.

When my cancer was methodically eating away at my body, and I was 
so weak that, in order to vomit, I had to crawl on my hands and 
knees to the toilet, when the headaches made me see red and black 
spots before my eyes, when the restless hum of silence made my 
sinuses throb, I did the same thing.  I pushed away the people 
that cared for me - my mother, my brothers, my faith, my friends 
- thinking that if I left them, if I pushed them away, if I hurt 
them so deeply that they wouldn't come back, it would hurt them a 
little less when I died.  If I made them angry, they wouldn't 
miss me when I was gone.

And it didn't work.  Not on my mother, not on my brothers, not on 
my faith, and most certainly not on Mulder.

I think he knew what I was doing - trying to spare him the pain 
of losing me to a mindless disease by him losing me to myself - 
and he wouldn't allow it.  He knew that if he didn't return one 
day, that I would mope and sob and miss him.  And he would miss 
me.  So he just never left.

One night, right before the end that I was sure was near, he came 
back late at night.  I was trying to sleep.  I was exhausted, as 
I always was, so much so that sleep was impossible.  And I had 
one of my headaches.  The doctors had maxed out my pain 
medication, and I had sent the gentle, cooing nurse away.  A cool 
wash cloth on my forehead did nothing to ease the pain.

He came and, assuming I was asleep, knelt by my bed.  He touched 
my arm, my hair, reverently, then put his face into my palm and 
wept.  Soundlessly.  He was afraid of waking me.

I wanted to comfort him, to whisper to him how much I hurt 
physically, how much I wanted to cry and someone to silently 
absorb my tears like I was doing for him.  I wanted to share, but 
Mulder took up all of his emotional space and most of mine - 
there was no room for my pain to exist.

So I let him cry out his despair, his loneliness, his sadness, 
while I suffered alone with mine.

After a few hours, he left, and I cried.  I cried because I was 
selfish, because I couldn't even comfort my best friend when he 
needed it, because I had wanted him, for once, to hold me while I 
cried.

I was the one dying, after all.

Mulder has always had the ability to make everyone else's pain 
and suffering seem inferior to his, like he owns stock and 
property in the land of hurt and loss.  No matter what I was 
feeling, why I was feeling it, he could always top me, make me 
feel that I didn't deserve to acknowledge myself when he was so 
much more forlorn than me.

When I was younger and depressed over something frivolous, I 
would think 'what right do I have to be sad when I have so much, 
when there are people in dire circumstances - starvation, 
repression, sickness - who aren't.'  Those people always seem to 
love life the most, those who realize its preciousness.  I envied 
them.  And that would make my depression even deeper, knowing 
that I envied strife.

But even when I was diseased, I didn't recognize the beauty of 
life.  I was still trying to make life beautiful for Mulder, 
ignoring my own ugliness.

I thought at one time that if my death could lead him closer to 
his truth, to his sister, that it would be worth it.

But after so many lives sacrificed, what difference would mine 
have made to him?

He thinks that the world owes him something for all of the pain 
that he'd had to endure.  He wears his pain arrogantly and uses 
it as an excuse to exempt him from life.  

Despite all my weary trials, I couldn't bring him happiness or 
beauty, and it drained those qualities from my life until there 
was nothing left except emptiness and ugliness.

He's depended on me for comfort, for extra space for his pain 
when he didn't have room enough in himself.  He comes to me in 
the middle of the night, the middle of the day, and weeps.  I 
hold him and whisper to him, and he leaves, no longer weeping.

Yet he's never stayed to see if I wept for him, for myself.  I've 
always played the strong one because I had to - for him.  He's 
come to depend on me for comfort and companionship through his 
darkest nights and days, so much so that he's convinced himself 
that he can't live without me, can't bear for me to live without 
him.  It would hurt him too much, and where would that hurt go?

So he pushes me away, making me feel inferior and unneeded.  
Making me want to leave him even more.

But it hurts me and it hurts him, which hurts me even more.

And I keep letting him push.

<><><><><><>

It would happen that the entire time we were in Little Rock, it 
rained like Noah and the flood.  The rain was constant, sometimes 
only drizzle, sometimes blinding torrents.  We didn't accomplish 
much of anything while we were there and spent most of the eight 
days in our hotel rooms going over police reports and conducting 
interviews by phone.

Skinner was right. Mulder's heart just wasn't in it anymore.

As a child, I was never afraid of thunderstorms like Missy.  We 
always shared a room and, on nights when thunder shook our tiny 
house and lightening illuminated our room like sunlight, she 
would climb into bed beside me, curl up to my back, and sleep 
peacefully, knowing that she was somehow safer with me in my bed 
than alone in hers.

Sometimes, though, seeing lightening now brings back fragmented 
memories of events that I don't think I've actually lived.  They 
seem like bits of a movie I saw long ago or perhaps read in a 
novel and envisioned vividly in my mind.  Regardless, they come 
to me, whether asleep or awake, when the darkness is shattered by 
lightening and thunder rumbles, vibrating the ground.

My mother used to tell me that, when it rained, the angels were 
doing their laundry, and when it thundered, God was bowling.  She 
never had an explanation for the lightening, though.

In the fragments, the lightening is blue and flickers on and off 
intermittently, not yellow and random like in reality.  I'm 
laying on a table and there are white and blue patterns of light 
on my forearms.  Sometimes, I see a pump attached to my stomach 
and can almost feel the air being forced into my expanding belly.  
Sometimes I see a drill, hear it softly whirring in the 
background.

Lightening reminds me of these things, though I can't place their 
origin.  They frighten me and, at 2:14 in the morning, with the 
angels doing the laundry for all of Heaven and God bowling a 
three-hundred game, I'm sweating, trembling, and huddled in the 
corner of my motel room, clutching my gun in my hand and begging 
Mulder to hear my soft whimpers through the thin, plaster walls.

When the rain slacks off so that the sound of it hitting the roof 
isn't deafening, I slowly stand up, wavering as the movement 
shocks my joints.  I still can't hear my feet as they stalk 
quietly across the floor, nor does the door seem to make the 
slightest creak as I open it into Mulder's room.

I feel childish, but I also feel exhausted.  I need sleep.  I 
need safety.

He's asleep, laying on his left side, facing his bed-side table 
and digital clock.  The covers are pushed down to his hips, a 
concession to July's sticky humidity, exposing his bare chest, 
colored golden by the sparse light streaming through a gap in the 
drapes.  His chest softly, steadily rises and falls as he 
breathes, soft snores oozing from between his lips, declaring him 
fast, soundly, deeply asleep.

I tip-toe to the opposite side of the bed and pull back the 
covers.  The lightening flashes and paints the room in white 
light for a split second and I close my eyes, pushing back the 
shards of memories that threaten to dance before my eyes again.

Slowly, gently, I lower myself onto the mattress, hugging the 
empty side of the bed in a fetal ball, squeezing my eyes shut 
tightly.  Despite the thick covers on top of me, I shiver at the 
cold of the air conditioner and accidentally whimper aloud in 
desperation.

Mulder stirs, adjusts his long legs under the sheet, then relaxes 
again.

Another lightening flash, this one accompanied by another of 
God's strikes, and I whimper again, louder, more desperate.

He doesn't stir this time.

I take a deep breath and don't exhale, moving one half of my body 
at a time, turning towards his back.  When both halves are facing 
the same direction again, I slowly scoot across the mattress 
until I'm against his back.  Warm, heavy, soft, Mulderskin.

I tiredly rest my forehead against him, comforted in the steady 
rise and fall, rise and fall of his back as he breathes.  I fold 
my arms in front of my chest, then push them between me and him, 
seeking more contact, more proof that I'm not alone.  I mold my 
legs to his, and finally exhale, finally safe.

Lightening flashes again, but through my eye lids and under the 
cover of Mulder, I barely see the eerie shadows it casts.  My eye 
lids grow heavier and I sink deeper and deeper into sleep, 
cradled against him until finally, I can no longer stay afloat 
and drown in softness, safety, warmth, Mulder.

<><><><><><>

"Scully?" washes over me as a whisper and I murmur an 
unintelligible response, still below the waves of consciousness.

My cocoon shifts, then a strong, heavy arm drapes around my 
shoulders, pulling me closer.  I mumble something else, and sigh 
as I adjust and get comfortable again.

Fingers stroking my hair, then another soft "Scully" right above 
my ear and I slowly open my eyes, seeing nothing around me except 
darkness.

"You okay?"

I close my eyes and finally manage an understandable grunt in the 
affirmative.

"What are you doing in here?" he whispers, still stroking my 
hair, still holding me tightly against him.

I say nothing, feigning sleep, tightly cradled against his chest.

"Lonely?" he asks teasingly.

"Lightening..." I sigh against his shoulder.

His forehead dips and rests against mine, his lips touching my 
eyelids softly.  "Bad dreams?"  His voice more serious.

I shake my head slightly, feeling sleep tug at me once again.

"What about the lightening, then?  I didn't know you were afraid 
of thunderstorms."

"Not," I weakly manage.

His forehead shifts on mine; he's nodding, not believing, but not 
probing either.

"Then what?  It's not every night I awake to find a little 
furnace with ice-cold feet pressed against my back."  I feel him 
smile above me, and I rise through a few more layers of black, 
back to consciousness.

"Bad dreams," I finally, reluctantly confirm.

His head raises and his warm lips touch the skin between my eyes 
brows, holding their position for long seconds before releasing.

"Tell my about your dreams, Scully," he pleads so softly, I 
wonder if I heard it at all.

"Mulder...I'm fine now."  Another slash of lightening illuminates 
the room and my once opened eyes slam shut, squeezing tightly, my 
face aching with effort.  I dip my head lower, towards the center 
of his chest, blocking out the light.

"You're not fine, Scully."

I shake my head vehemently as the lightening fades.  I didn't 
come here to talk about these things.

"Why won't you talk to me?" he whispers, pain lacing his voice.

"Blue lightening...drill...pump in my stomach..." I say louder 
than is necessary, slight anger touching my words.  My breath 
hitches and I stop, admitting defeat to these fragmented 
memories, then feel his lips on my cheek, just under my eye.

"From your abduction?"

I sniff and burrow further into his chest, his arm tightening 
around me, his legs locking around my own.

"What else?"

I shake my head again and turn my head into the pillow.  A tear 
escapes my eye and trickles slowly down my cheek, stopped by 
Mulder's soft, warm tongue, kissed away by his lips.

"I'm so sorry, Scully," he says softly against my skin and I turn 
my eyes towards his, opening them again, staring at his in the 
darkness.

"You think a story would help you sleep?"  I close my eyes and 
smile slightly.  "They always helped Samantha."

"Okay," I sigh as his arms tighten around me again, both of us 
getting comfortable.

"While you were missing, your mother had me go with her to pick 
up your tombstone.  She insisted I go, even though I told her I 
didn't want to.  She was ready to give up on you, and I told her 
it was too soon, that we had to keep looking, and she told me a 
story."  Another gentle kiss against my tear tracked cheek.  
"About when your brothers were teaching you to shoot a BB gun, 
and Bill found a snake and you were all shooting at it.  Then the 
snake started to bleed and you went and picked it up and held it 
as it died.  You remember?"

I nod, my head buzzing from sleep and Mulder's lips.

"Your mother said that you kept saying that you had taken 
something that wasn't yours to take - you weren't supposed to 
kill that snake.  Then your mother looked at me so hard, so 
hatefully, and said that she knew how that felt, to have 
something taken from her by someone that wasn't supposed to take 
it.  She was talking about me, Scully.  I took you away from her 
and she hated me for it.  I hated myself for it."

I sigh heavily.  No matter how many times I tell him this, he 
never seems to believe it.  "Mulder, my disappearance was not 
your fault.  You couldn't have known that Duane Barry would come 
after me and that chip.  It wasn't your fault."

He slowly shakes his head from side to side as I speak.  "I 
should have run you off years ago, Scully.  After that first 
case, I should have made you leave, forced you go back to 
Quantico."

"You couldn't have forced me to do anything, Mulder."

"And now you're afraid of lightening because of what They did to 
you because of me.  You could've died a thousand times over 
because of me Scully, and you never would've known..."  He kisses 
me again and again, breathing ragged - cheeks, eyes, forehead, 
chin, temple, neck, anywhere he can reach.

"Known what?"  I quietly ask.

He ignores it.  "At least then I could look for you.  I knew you 
wanted to be found.  I thought I could rescue you and keep you 
safe after that.  I could do something about it."

More kisses, harder, more insistent.  Closer to my lips.

"Mulder -"

He's not talking to me now.  He's talking and I just happen to be 
in the room, in bed with him, held tightly against him.  "I can't 
rescue you now, Scully.  You don't want to be rescued.  If I lose 
you this time, if you marry Ethan...Scully, what will I do?  I 
can't look for you, go crazy trying to find you.  I can't do 
anything about it, Scully...what will I do?"

The hollow of my throat is bathed with his tongue, then he raises 
his head, looks me in my eyes, and softly whispers, "You can't 
leave me, Scully.  I can't let you.  I can't lose you again."

I open my mouth, protest ready, when his lips suddenly cover 
mine, hard but yielding, demanding but gentle.  His tongue pushes 
against mine, teasing, tasting, testing.  His hand moves to cup 
my head, threading his long fingers through my hair, crushing my 
mouth against his.

My hands, held loosely in front of me, come up against his chest 
meaning to push him away, but only pull him closer, snaking 
around his shoulders and into his short, soft hair.  His legs 
shift and then I'm under him and he's everywhere, kissing me, 
touching me, and I can't breathe.

I pull my mouth away from his, turning my head to the side, the 
stifled protest from before still on the tip of my dazzled 
tongue, when his mouth slides down my throat and latches on to my 
pulse, beating quickly, heavily against my skin.

Hands on my waist, now, pulling my hips closer to his.  I moan 
unconsciously and another bolt of lightening crashes as God makes 
another strike.

My moan causes Mulder to become more desperate and, through the 
four layers of material separating us, I feel his erection 
pressed firmly, rubbing, against my thigh.

He must've had a dream, too, about me being abducted again.  He 
must be afraid of the lightening, too.  He's starved for contact 
with me - he needs to know that I'm here, that I'm real, that I'm 
alive.  And he'll go as far as I let him for that contact.

His mouth slides over my chin and back to my lips, bruising my 
mouth as his attaches to it.  His tongue and his arousal are 
making me just as desperate as he is and, for a second, as his 
tongue twines around mine, I wonder what would happen if I let 
him go as far as he wanted for one night.

Then I abruptly tear my lips away from his, turning my head 
towards the window as another flash of lightening strikes.  I 
don't cower this time or shut my eyes - I'm no longer afraid of 
the storm outside.  It's the storm inside that scares me now.

His lips are back at my neck now, sucking at my pulse, causing my 
arousal to become unbearable.  "Mulder," I pant hoarsely.  His 
hands, which had been braced on the mattress forming a cage 
around me, find their way to my waist again and slide under my 
pajama top.  He quietly moans as his hands touch the skin of my 
back, then creep towards my shoulders, still pinning me against 
him.  "Mulder," I try again, desperate for his attention.

"He asked me, Mulder...he asked me to marry him..."  I finally 
get out in a huff of breaths and moans.

His lips pause above the top button of my pajama top and his head 
raises, his eyes searching for mine in the darkness.

"I said yes, Mulder.  I'm getting married.  We're getting 
married."

He's still and silent for a moment, then he catapults himself up 
my body until his face is millimeters above mine, our noses 
rubbing slightly.  "When?" he asks in a harsh, strained voice 
that sounds like he can't decide whether to yell and scream in 
anger or sob in defeat.

"Just before he left...at the airport -"

"And you didn't tell me?" he whispers hoarsely, sounding wild.

"Mulder, I -"

"Why the hell are you here, Scully?  Why did you do this?  Why 
are in my bed like this if you're engaged to him?"  He spits the 
word "him" out like it's sour, then pants above me as he waits 
for my answer.

"I didn't know how to tell you, Mulder.  I didn't know how you'd 
react."

"You knew how I'd react, Scully.  You know how I feel about him 
and about this, so why are you here now?"

I hesitate, then answer him honestly.  "Because I was afraid and 
I wanted to be close to you."  I meant it as a vehement reply, 
but it comes out as barely a whisper.

"Close to me, or close to a warm body?"

"Mulder, I -"

"I didn't think you were that much of a slut, Scully.  Do you 
just jump into bed with anyone who's alive and got a dick?"

"Mulder!"

"Not me, Scully.  I'm not gonna let you do this to me."  He leaps 
out of bed in a flurry of covers, limbs, and movement and turns 
away from me, searching in the darkness for his discarded clothes 
from earlier in the day.

I sit up against the plastic that's glued to the wall in place of 
a headboard, pull the covers up to my chin, and watch as he 
fumbles for escape.  I hiccup, and realize there are hot tears of 
hurt and anger streaming down my cheeks.

He kicks something towards the wall then sits down heavily on the 
end of the bed, far away from me.  His hands come up to cover his 
face and he sobs once, sounding mortally wounded, then asks 
softly, "Why did you do this, Scully?"

I clutch the covers tighter against me, not answering.

"I thought I meant more to you than this.  I thought *we* were 
more than this."  He sounds tortured, but the anger has been bled 
from his voice, exposing his raw hurt.

He turns his head towards me then, dropping his hands.  Then he 
rises from the bed, picks up a pile of something from where it 
fell beside the wall, walks into my room and slams the door 
behind him, locking it.

In a few more minutes, I hear the door to the outside from my 
room open, then close, as Mulder leaves.  Then, a car starting 
and the sound fading.

Another bolt of lightening, another strike, as Mulder drives 
away, into the dark, rainy morning.  

<><><><><><> 

After three hours of tossing, turning, fuming, and hiccuping away 
sobs, I finally got up to take a shower, start my morning, after 
awaking the hotel manager so I could get back into my room - 
Mulder had locked the connecting door and I didn't have my key 
with me.  I had no idea where he had gone and if - when - he 
would return.  Technically, we were still on assignment and 
therefore, required to actually work while we stayed in beautiful 
downtown Little Rock.  

Today, we were supposed to go to the police station to meet with 
the local detectives working the case and compare what 
insubstantial evidence we had collected.  If the rain held off, 
we were then going to see a few of the crime scenes, as if there 
would be any trace evidence left after the deluge of the last few 
days.

I scrub harder than necessary in the shower, washing my hair 
twice and using too much lather to wash myself clean.  When I was 
brushing my teeth, I noticed faint red splotches on my chin, 
neck, and chest - from his early morning beard - and a little, 
round reddish-purple bruise from his lips.  I smiled slightly, 
fingering it in the mirror; it's been years since I've had a 
hickey.  My lips were also sore and bruised from the pressure of 
his, but that wasn't visible upon a casual glance.

The hickey could be covered with the collar of my jacket, the 
irritation from Mulder's beard stubble would probably not be 
suspicious enough to warrant a second glance.

No one would ever suspect that Special Agents Dana Scully and Fox 
Mulder almost put an end to eight years of unresolved sexual 
tension early this morning.

Despite myself, I dabbed concealer on the bruise on my neck, just 
in case my collar wouldn't cover it.  I felt dirty, like the slut 
that Mulder had called me.  But I felt exhilarated, too, knowing 
that I had caused Mulder to lose control over himself like he 
had, given into his primal, animalistic desires.

Yes, Mulder desired me; I wasn't dumb or blind.  He found me 
mildly physically attractive, but then again, he hadn't been laid 
in ten, fifteen years.  He was desperate and, for a little while, 
I had been willing.  There was no deep mystery about what had 
happened.  He was there, I was there, and it just happened.

The night his mother killed herself, we laid in his bed, him 
clinging to me, begging me never to leave him.  He had sobbed 
earlier and was emotionally exhausted then, content to rest his 
head near mine and occasionally thank me for being there.  I told 
him that he didn't have to thank me, that I would never leave 
him.  I promised I would never leave him, and he rose up, then, 
fencing me against the bed with his arms.  In the dim light from 
the street lights outside, I saw the need, the desire in his eyes 
boring down on me.  He was desperate then and, if I'd have let 
him as I did this morning, he would've crossed that faded line 
between platonic and sexual.

But I didn't let him, that night.  I placed my hands on either 
side of his face, brushed away his tears with my thumbs, and 
shook my head slightly, never breaking our eye contact.  He 
sniffed and nodded, then rested his head between my breasts and, 
within moments, was asleep.

In the aftermath of that night, we had never discussed what had 
wanted to happen.  I didn't think it was necessary, just as I 
don't think it's necessary in this case.

But this is different.  I'm engaged now - engaged to be married 
to a man living a thousand miles away, to whom I haven't spoken 
in almost a week.  I'm getting married and yet I almost had sex 
with my partner and best friend in his hotel room while on 
assignment.  How cliche, how...as Mulder said, slutty.

I inspect my reflection in the mirror - I don't look any 
different now than I did before bed last night, and yet, on the 
inside, I already feel like I've betrayed Ethan.

He said that he divorced his first wife because she cheated on 
him.  I immediately condemned her, wondering how she could've 
done such a thing to her family.  So little pleasure for so much 
pain.  I had forgotten how easy it is to get caught up in 
something, how quickly things can move if you're not careful.

But I had nearly done the same thing.  Maybe there was more to 
her story than just a quick fling.

Finishing my appraisal of myself, I walk to the telephone and 
pick up the receiver, intending to dial the number to the police 
station.  As I turn the old rotary dial to the first number, I 
hear a faint, hesitant knock at the connecting door - the one to 
Mulder's room.

I replace the receiver, then slowly walk to the door, taking a 
deep breath before turning the knob.

I open it only a crack and Mulder's standing there, running his 
fingers nervously through his damp, unstyled hair.  He's still 
wearing his wrinkled clothes from yesterday which are also 
slightly damp and there are droplets of water hanging from the 
tip of his nose and chin, and from his earlobes.

"Detective Mitchell called," he begins without preamble.  "He 
wants us to meet him at the crime scene instead of the station.  
He gave me directions.  I told him we'd be there at eight 
thirty."

He doesn't look up at me through his well-rehearsed speech and 
impatiently awaits my equally stilted response.

"Okay.  I'm almost ready."

He nods, just a quick jerk of his head.  "It'll take me about a 
half-hour.  We can get breakfast."

"Okay," I say again.  Just like always.

He jerks his head again and walks away from the door, towards his 
bathroom.  I sigh and inwardly shrug, not knowing what else to 
do.  I close the door and walk back to the bed, stopping in front 
of the bed and unbuttoning my suit coat, turning down the collar 
to see if my concealer is still in place.

Mulder's doing it again: pulling away from me.  Shutting himself 
off to avoid getting hurt.  He won't mention or allude to what 
happened this morning for fear of me saying that it didn't mean 
anything, for rationalizing that what happened was just the 
normal reaction two healthy, sexually repressed adults would have 
to laying in bed together, that it didn't have any deep, romantic 
meanings behind it.

We won't talk about this and it will never happen again.  
Everything will return to normal, just like it always does.  
Mulder asked me one time if we ignored someone, did I think he 
would go away.  That's his policy about everything: if you ignore 
it, it didn't happen.  The man hadn't gone away, though, and 
neither will this.

Any other time I would force him to face this reality, just as I 
did that night that I told him yes, his mother killed herself.  
Now, I'm too tired of this stupid game to force him to stop 
playing it.  He can wallow in his self-recrimination.

Twenty eight minutes later, he knocks on my door again, this time 
dry, shaven, and wearing clean clothes.

"Ready?" he asks perfunctorily.

"Yeah.  Let's go."  And we do.

Breakfast was a silent, awkward affair that consisted of a lot of 
playing with the food and little eating of it.  The short car 
ride to the crime scene was equally silent and Mulder didn't look 
at me the entire time.

When we arrive at our destination, a large, soggy field, 
Detective Mitchell meets us at our car, shakes both our hands, 
and grins in an uncharacteristic way.

"Well, motorists found somethin' out here earlier this morning."  
Oh, you mean while Mulder and I were almost having sex?  "We 
thought at first he was dead and we had another victim on our 
hands, but this one was alive."

"Alive?"  Mulder asks incredulously.

"Yup.  He says he was caught out in the storm last night.  
Hypothermia, the paramedics say.  Mumblin' a bunch of gibberish, 
or so we thought."

"What'd you mean?"

"Kept sayin' somethin' 'bout slashin' people, follerin' 'em then 
slashin' 'em, over 'n over 'n over.  Like I said, we though he's 
just ramblin' but come to find out, this is our man."

"The murderer?  You caught him?"  I jump in.

"Yes ma'am.  Said he's been follerin' these people - the victims 
- before he's been killin' 'em.  Guess that explain their 
dreams."

I nod, looking over at Mulder.  Just as I'd told him on the plane 
- the dreams were stress related and were just a coincidence.  
Mulder's nodding, too, then asks, "Can we talk to him?"

"Yeah, they took 'em to the hospital.  He was unconscious when 
they left, so you may not get to talk to him today.  We got 
everything we need, so y'all can go home today, I guess."

Mulder opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.  "Thank 
you, Detective.  I'm sorry we couldn't be of more help."

"Me too," he says genuinely.  "I really appreciate y'all comin' 
out here, though."  He shakes our hands again, then walks away 
towards a group of sheriff's deputies, leaving Mulder staring 
after him like a puppy left at the kennel.

"I'll call the airline and see when the next flight leaves," I 
say absently, pulling out my phone.

Glancing at him as I dial, he doesn't move or say anything, just 
keeps staring blankly at the field and the officers.

I walk away from him, anxious to move while I talk to the 
airline.  According to the woman on the phone, we could be home 
by two o'clock this afternoon.

I hang up and walk back towards Mulder.  "There's a flight 
leaving at ten thirty.  That'll give us just enough time to get 
back to the hotel and check out, then get to the airport."

Mulder remains still and unseeing.

I step closer.  "Mulder?"

He breaks his trance, then, and walks to the car, brushing past 
me without a word, then climbs into the car and cranks it, 
waiting for me.

I sigh and shake my head at the ground.  Awkwardness around 
Mulder is not something I enjoy, especially when I have to spend 
so much time around him.

Before I even close the car door, he's accelerating, heading 
towards the hotel and then, towards home.

<><><><><><>

Other than the necessities, like "you're in 18C, I'm in 15A," 
Mulder didn't say a word to me from the time we left Little Rock 
until the time he dropped me off at my apartment.  He didn't get 
out to help me with my bags, but he sat in front of my building 
for almost ten minutes afterwards before he finally left.  His 
face remained blank the entire day, though I knew he was feeling 
angry with me and probably a little hurt too.  He wasn't giving 
anything away, though - certainly not to me.

My answering machine has two messages for me, and I press the 
button impatiently, wondering who else called besides Ethan.

"Dr. Scully, this is Dr. Clifton.  I was just calling to see if 
you've reached a decision yet.  We need an answer before August 
first.  I'll be in my office whenever you'd like to talk."

I rub the bridge of my nose wearily, realizing that the job offer 
had been the furthest thing from my mind in the last week.  
Mulder and I would probably have our meeting with OPC first thing 
tomorrow morning and, after that, I'd officially be out of a job.  
Without any other prospects, I guess I'll call Dr. Clifton today 
and let him know I'll be taking the job.

The second message, as I anticipated, is from Ethan.  I feel I 
smile spread across my face when his voice fills my quiet 
apartment.  "Hey, Dana, it's me.  I was calling to see how you 
were and tell you that at the very least, we need to set a date.  
I was thinking that you could come down here for a week or two to 
visit and we could plan then, but I don't know what your 
schedule's like, so just let me know, okay?  I love you. Bye."

My smile decides to take up residence as I pick up the phone and 
call him at work.  I should wait and call him at home, but I want 
to talk to him now, to tell him my good news.

"Ethan Minette," he crisply answers, sounding busy.

"Future Dana Minette," I mock, giggling slightly.

"Dana!" he says surprised to hear from me at this time of day.  
"Hey!  Did you just get in from a case again?"

"Yeah.  You're not too busy to talk for a few minutes, are you?"  
I ask, silently praying the answer is no.

"No, I'm never to busy for you,"  He answers matter-of-factly.

"Good, because I have something to tell you."

"Okay."

"I was offered a job as Head Pathologist at Quantico."

As his silence stretches, the smile on my face fades away.

"The Bureau is shutting down the X-Files and this position just 
came at the same time and you know how much I've always wanted 
this," I ramble, getting nervous.

He takes a deep breath.  "Dana, what about us?"

"What do you mean?"

His voice is soft, gentle, trying not to anger me.  "I though you 
understood that you'd be living down here."

"We never talked about it."

"Well, I think it would be best for Emma if we stayed down here.  
All her family and friends are here, and my job -"

"You could get a job up here, Ethan.  Doesn't CNN have a DC 
office?"

Another deep breath.  "But what about Emma?"

"She can make new friends..."  I trail off, not really having a 
solid argument for that.

"Dana, I thought you understood this," he says again, sounding 
slightly annoyed.

"But this job - this position at Quantico.  You remember when I 
first starting working there, that was all I wanted, and now I 
can have it -"

"I also remember you saying that you were ready for this and that 
you'd sacrifice whatever was necessary to have it."

"Yes, but -"

"But what?  Tell me, Dana.  If you don't want this then tell me 
right now.  I'm not gonna wait forever like I did the last time.  
Just tell me, because I have better things to do than wait for 
you to grow up and decide what kind of life you want.  I have my 
own life and my daughter's to think about."  His patient softness 
has been replaced with desperate anger, tinged with a little 
betrayal at my stubbornness.

I press the phone closer to my ear and hear him quickly, 
nervously breathing on the other end, waiting for my reply.  He 
was right: I did say that I was willing to do whatever it took to 
be with him.  And it wouldn't be fair to hurt him again.

I take a deep breath and slowly exhale it through my nose, 
searching for words.  "You're right.  I'm sorry, Ethan.  You're 
right," is all I can come up with.

I hear him exhale in relief, then the squeak of metal and plastic 
as he leans back in his chair and relaxes.  "Okay," he says 
quietly, then, "Have you told your mother yet?"

"Yeah," I say sadly.  "I told her last week, after you left."

"What'd she say?  Is she excited?"

"Yeah, she is."

"What about you coming down here for a while?  Do you think you 
could do that?"

"Ethan," I almost whine, sounding tiny and afraid.  "Things are 
very stressful at work right now and this time tomorrow I'm going 
to be out of a job -"

"Why?"  he interrupts.

"Because, I told you, the Bureau is shutting us down."

"Oh.  Well, then I guess your schedule isn't a problem."

I exhale a frustrated breath.  "My point is, I don't know if I'll 
be able to do that right now."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I need a job.  I need money -"

"Then why don't you just come down here, Dana?  Take a break from 
all of that."

"And where would I live when I get back?"  I ask in alarm.

"Who says you'd be going back?"  My mouth drops open and I gape 
like a fish out of water.  "You have to move down here sometime.  
Why not right now?  It looks like it would work pretty well, to 
me."

He's serious about this - he really wants me to move right now.  
Mulder was right, this is very sudden.

Oh, fuck.  Mulder...Mulder...what in the hell am I supposed to 
tell him?

"Ethan -"

"Look, Dana, I have to go.  Just think about it, okay?  We don't 
have to get married right away, but as long as there's nothing 
tying you to DC, what's the point of staying there?  Dana?"

"Okay," I whisper.  "I think about it."

"Good.  I love you.  I'll try and call you later."

I nod, though he can't see it.  "I love you too."

"Bye," he says quickly, just before the phone clicks in my ear.

I hang up the phone, leaving my hand on the smooth plastic.  I 
guess he has a point, now would be a good time to leave DC, but I 
just wasn't prepared for such a big step so quickly.  Marrying 
him seemed like some distant future that I didn't have to face 
right away but I always knew it was there, and that comforted me.  
I never seriously thought it would happen so soon.

I pick up the phone again and, after finding Dr. Clifton's card 
with his office number on it, call him to tell him my answer.

No, I will not be able to accept your offer.  Thank you for 
considering me.  No, lucrative offers will not change my mind.  
I'm engaged now.  It's not my decision to make.

<><><><><><>

The next morning, I arrived at work early.  I had been up late 
last night going over all of the things that I needed to do in 
order to move to Atlanta.  My lease wouldn't be up until 
November, so I would have to talk to the landlord about sub-
letting until then.  I would have to find something to do with 
all of this furniture - Ethan's house was already furnished.  A 
job wasn't a factor on this end, but once I got to Atlanta, I 
would need to find a job there.  And I would need to make sure 
that Mom really was comfortable being up here all alone.

And make sure Mulder wouldn't put a gun to his head once my 
flight took off.

I had wrangled some boxes from the janitor and had already set to 
work at packing up my tiny area of Mulder's office when he 
breezed in at seven thirty, looking tired, pale, and like the 
puppy left at the kennel had just been spade.

As I'm stacking books and folders into a box atop my table, he 
freezes in his tracks and cocks his head, not quite 
understanding.

"There was a voice-mail this morning.  Our meeting with OPC is at 
ten," I say, not looking up at him.

He still doesn't move, so I continue.  "I called Quantico 
yesterday."  I drop the box on the floor and finally look at him 
then.  "I told them I won't be able to take the job."

It takes him a few seconds, but he eventually reacts.  "What?  
Why not?"

I take off my suit coat and drape it over the back of my chair, 
holding my hair off the nape of my neck for a minute to cool 
down.  It's not even eight o'clock yet and this office is already 
sweltering.

"I hadn't mentioned it to Ethan until yesterday.  He wants me to 
go ahead and move down there even if we don't get married yet."

Mulder stays rooted to the floor, but keeps probing me verbally.  
"And he doesn't want you to take the job?"

"No.  He said that this would be a good time to move, being that, 
after today, I won't have job here anymore."

His unblinking stare is unnerving, so I pick up another empty box 
and place it on my table, resuming my task of packing.  I had 
only told the old janitor that I'd need five medium sized boxes, 
but I'm already on the fourth and I've barely made a dent in my 
part of this office.  My stuff was strewn everywhere and it 
hadn't occurred to me how easily and seamlessly I'd insinuated 
myself in Mulder's office after all these years.

I pretend that filling a box requires more concentration than 
necessary and jump when a small, rectangular box lands with a 
light 'thud' on the table in front of me.

"I guess you won't need that, then," he says tonelessly as he 
turns and walks back out of his office, slamming the door behind 
him.

I stare at the plain white, shiny box for a moment before 
reaching for it, afraid that it might burn me.  When I conclude 
that it's cool, I pick it up, surprised at the slight weight of 
it.  I pull the top off of it and push back the tissue paper 
surrounding the object inside.

When I see the gold winking off the florescent lights and the 
black and white contrast of the lettering, I gasp and take a step 
back, trying to get away from it.

"Dana K. Scully, MD"

Knowing that, at Quantico, I would finally have my very own desk, 
Mulder had gotten me my very own nameplate to go with it.

I touch the bright white letters reverently, then fumble my way 
into a sitting position in my chair.  He knew how much I wanted 
that job, my dream job, and he had told me to take it.  He told 
me that he wanted me to be happy, no matter what, and he knew 
that I would be happy there.  And by giving me this, he had given 
me his blessing to be happy without him.

Not knowing what else to do, I push the half-full box aside, lay 
my head down across my arms on my table, and quietly sob.

<><><><><><>

As we'd expected, OPC, citing a budget crisis and the fact that 
we weren't a significant advantage to the Bureau and, therefore, 
a waste of money, formally shut down the X-Files that day, 
reassigning Mulder to the VCS as a profiler and me to Quantico 
doing whatever "they deemed necessary."

While they were telling us all this, Mulder sat stone faced, not 
letting any emotion mar his face.  Inside, I knew that he was 
dying, having his life's work dissected and it declared "a 
valuable waste of time, money, and man-power," but he didn't give 
the panel the satisfaction of showing them how much it hurt.

I at least put up a fight.  I told them that, as many of the 
investigative departments do, we were simply going through a slow 
period and that our solve rate hadn't fallen, just the number of 
cases we solved.  Percentage wise, we were still one of the best 
teams the Bureau had.  And I asked how it costs the Bureau any 
more money to keep the X-Files open when, in our other jobs, we 
would be traveling and our salaries would stay the same.  My 
arguments fell on deaf ears and, as my ire increased, Mulder 
leaned over to me, tugged on the sleeve of my jacket, and 
whispered for me to stop, just to let it go.

After they dismissed us, Mulder silently got up and walked out of 
the room, not waiting for me.  I hurried to catch up to him, just 
to give the panel a view of us walking out together - as a team - 
but he was long gone before I had even risen from my chair.

When I get back to his office, he's there, just sitting in his 
chair playing with a pencil like nothing's amiss.  His face is 
still unreadable, even to me - and that scared me.

I let out a disheartened sigh and sit down in the chair in front 
of him, and ask, "Well, now what?"

Without hesitating, he answers, "I guess this is where you ride 
off into the sunset with your knight in shining armor for your 
happily-ever-after fairy tale."

I stick my chin out defiantly, just for the hell of it.  "And 
you?"

"Me?  I guess I'll go back to profiling like a good little 
agent," he says sarcastically.

"You mean, you're staying here?"

"What else would I do?  This is all I know."

I shrug.  "I don't know.  I just can't believe you're staying 
here.  You hate profiling."

He looks at me sharply, then, and it makes me shiver.  "I don't 
have an alternative, Scully."

"You at least could have fought them on this," I say quietly.

"It wouldn't have done any good.  Especially with you leaving."

He gets up and walks to his filing cabinet, rifling through the 
top drawer looking for something to distract him.

"I wouldn't be leaving if they weren't shutting us down, you know 
that."

"No, I didn't know that," as he slams the drawer shut, finding 
nothing.

"Mulder, we've been through this.  I never would have considered 
that job at Quantico if they weren't shutting us down -"

"What does that have to do with anything, Scully?  You're leaving 
completely and you'd still be leaving even if they hadn't shut us 
down because you're get -" he hesitates.  "Getting married," he 
says in a soft voice to the toes of his shoes.  "And even if we 
were still here on the X-Files together, you'd still be getting 
married, so what does it matter?"

He sounds so lost, so empty, so alone, and I can't take it.  I 
get up and stand in front of him, close enough so that, with his 
head bowed in defeat, our foreheads are almost touching.  "It 
matters to me.  It matters that you know why I'm leaving."

"Why?"  Comes out as a ragged, tortured plea.

I pull his forearms and hands away from their spot on his hips, 
then slide my fingers in between his.  "Because, I want you to 
understand this.  Everything that's happened, when it happened, 
is all just a coincidence.  This job at Quantico, the X-Files 
closing, me getting engaged - they just happened to occur around 
the same time."  My voice is soft and placating, but it must be 
working because Mulder's fingers tighten around mine and he takes 
a step towards me, raising his head a little so that he can look 
at my eyes.

"Scully, I want to ask you a question," he says in a low, serious 
voice.  I nod.  "If he had asked you to marry him and all this 
other stuff hadn't happened, would you have still said yes?"

My instantaneous reply dies on my lips as his eyes pierce my 
mind, begging me to think about this before I answer and to 
answer honestly.

Not able to stand his intense gaze any longer, I close my eyes 
and feel his fingers tighten around mine again, squeezing 
desperately.  I take a deep breath and begin.  "Mulder..."  Okay, 
another deep breath and continue.  "Mulder..."

This isn't working.  I bow my head and open my eyes, face-to-face 
with our entwined fingers held between us like a bridge.  Okay, 
continue.  "I told Ethan that I was willing to do whatever it 
took, to sacrifice whatever I had to, in order to be with him.  
That was before all of this other stuff happened, and when he 
asked me if that meant I was finally ready to get married, I said 
yes."  He lets out a huge sigh of air and then sniffs - damn it.

"But then when I was thinking about it later I thought that maybe 
I spoke to soon, that maybe I wasn't ready to give up my life for 
him, if that's what he wanted.  I didn't know if I could do that, 
but I'd already committed myself to him -"

"You changed you mind?"  Mulder asks suddenly, kneeling down a 
little to try and regain our eye contact.

"I didn't say that -"

"Then what are you saying?"

I squeeze my eyes shut again, feeling tears building up in them.  
"A couple of weeks ago, when I came to your apartment, just 
before he left, and you answered your door with a gun in your 
hand...Mulder, you're so paranoid, but you should be.  You never 
know when someone is going to try and kill you or harm you - 
you're never safe anymore.  And neither am I."  His fingers 
loosen slightly around mine, pulling away.  "Mulder, I want that 
safety.  I want to know that, if I answer my door in the middle 
of the night, it's not going to be someone trying to kill me or 
harm me.  I want to relax, I want to live my life without always 
being afraid someone is following me and without wondering if the 
guy next to me in line at the dry cleaners can be trusted or not.  
I'm tired of this life, Mulder, and I want that other one that I 
gave up.  I want that normalcy and stability and safety."  I stop 
because I've run out of air and because I hear Mulder's chest 
heaving above me as he tries not to explode out of anger or 
sorrow.

"So if he asked me to give up this job to be with him, I'd say 
yes, Mulder."

He suddenly goes still and I open my eyes, raising my head to 
look at him.  He's staring at a distant spot on the wall behind 
me, his eyes seething with anger, and lets go of my hands like 
they're acidic, placing them back on his hips.

"So what you're saying is that you're running away because you're 
scared of turning into me.  Or scared of being with me," he huffs 
out in disgust.

"Mulder, no -"

"That's what you basically just said, Scully.  You're tired of 
facing all of the dangers in this life so you're running away, 
thinking that you'll be safe somewhere else - away from me.  
Isn't that the cliff note's version of it?"

I bow my head again, thinking, is that really what I just said?

"Let me ask you something else, then.  If he hadn't asked you to 
marry him at all, if he'd never even come back into your life, 
and they still shut the X-Files down and offered you that job at 
Quantico, what then?  Would you still have run away from 
everything?"

"No," I whisper.

"Why not?"

"Because...where would I go?"

"Would you have taken that job at Quantico?"

"Yes."

"And would you have felt safer, then?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"Yes, then, I guess I would."

"So why aren't you taking that job?"  He sounds proud of himself, 
like he just figured out the secrets to the Universe.

"Because, I told you...Ethan doesn't want me to -"

"And since when have you let anyone tell you what to do, Scully?"

I take a deep, calming breath, then slowly ask, "What's your 
point, Mulder?"

"My point is, why you say you're doing this and why you're 
actually doing it are two different things."

I look up at him sharply again.  "What the hell are you talking 
about?"

He widens his stance, getting comfortable on his feet and 
decreasing his height advantage.  "Scully, all you're seeing 
right now are the positive things about Ethan's life, most of all 
that he has a little girl who looks like Emily and is roughly the 
same age as Emily would be if she were still alive.  I don't 
think that you even love Ethan at all, I think that you're in 
love with the idea of him and the life he can give you.  I think 
you're marrying him more for that little girl than you are for 
him."

I gape at him, not able to tell him how wrong he is.

"Think about it Scully: just three months ago, you told me that 
you could never be free from this job, that you would always be 
bound to it because of everything They've done to you and your 
family.  Now, all of the sudden, you're willing to give all of 
this up without a fight?"  He leans down so that he's right in my 
face for his big finish.  "What's changed, Scully?  Why is it 
suddenly okay for you to leave now when it wasn't three months 
ago?  Is it really because you love him and you want to spend the 
rest of your life with him or is it because you see an 
alternative to spending your life down here and you're just 
jumping at that opportunity?"

After a few squeaks and false starts, I finally form a coherent 
reply.  "How dare you say that to me!  How dare you accuse me of 
using Ethan and his daughter like that!"

"Is it true?" he asks, unfazed by my anger.

I open my mouth again to speak, though I have no idea what I'm 
supposed to say.  I take an unconscious step back from him, but 
he steps forward, not letting me get away.

"Scully, I told you that all I want for you is happiness and 
that's the truth.  I really don't give a damn what you do, but if 
you're happy, I'll be happy for you, and I'm willing to let you 
do whatever you want to do to achieve that - even if it means 
leaving me.  I would be completely miserable, but if you would be 
happy, that's all that matters to me, and you know what a selfish 
bastard I can be.  But do you know why I would sacrifice my 
happiness for yours?"  I just stand there, stunned.  "Do you?"  
He loudly asks and I frantically shake my head.  "Because I love 
you, Scully," he slowly enunciates, looking straight into my eyes 
as he does so.  "And I love you so much that I'm willing to let 
you go so that you can be happy."

Tears start their journey from my eyes to my cheeks unchecked, 
and my chin quivers as I struggle to breathe.  "And if I thought 
that you would be happy with him, I would let you go, let you 
live your life with him where ever and however you two wanted.  
But it's like I told you earlier, Scully, I don't think that 
you'll be happy with him and I'm going to do everything in my 
power to make sure that you don't get to prove me right.  
Whatever I have to do to keep you from moving away and marrying 
him, I will do it, Scully, and don't underestimate how far I will 
go."

"Is that what you think love is?"  I shriek.  "You think that 
love is telling another person how they feel then deciding that 
they don't know what's best for themselves?  Is that how much you 
love me, Mulder?  That's not love.  That's some kind of, of 
obsession or...desperation to get me to stay with you.  That's 
not love, Mulder.  And how dare you say something like that to 
me?"

"Then what is love, Scully?  Explain it to me."

"Love is letting a person live their life the way they want to, 
not the way that you want them to.  Love it letting a person do 
what they want and make mistakes and enjoy their successes -"

"That's what I'm doing," he growls through his clinched jaw.

"No, it's not!  You're being selfish and insecure, just like 
always.  You're so afraid of being alone that you'll lie to 
people and manipulate them until you get what you want from them, 
just because you think you need them and you can't bear to see 
them be happy without you -"

"Look who's talking, Scully," he says quietly, sounding odd in 
the middle of our shouting match.

That's all I can handle.  I will not be insulted and belittled by 
my best friend.  I storm over to my table and pick up my gift, 
still in its box, from where I left it after my crying jag this 
morning.  Mulder's standing in the same position, staring at me, 
fury burning in his eyes.

"You can take this back," I say tonelessly, throwing the box at 
him.  It hits him in the chest and bounces to the ground - he 
didn't even try to catch it, but his eyes follow it to where it 
sits at his feet.  "And you can do whatever the hell you want to 
with all of this shit that I've packed.  It's your goddamn 
office, anyway."

On my way out, I realize that, if I wanted, I would never have to 
see him again.  I could fax my letter of resignation to Skinner 
this afternoon.  I could pack the necessities tonight and be in 
Atlanta by lunch-time tomorrow and to hell with everything else.  
To hell with Mulder.  He doesn't run my life.

I could be in Atlanta tomorrow and married to Ethan by the 
weekend.  And I'd never have to speak to Mulder again.

<><><>End Part 3<><><>

Note:  I really have no idea about Quantico's Head Pathology 
position, how they go about selecting a new person for it, or 
even if it exists.

Thanks:  as usual, to RealB, Karri, and Liam, my Betas and dear 
friends.

And to you, dear reader, for reading this.  Thank you for 
following me on this journey.  We're not done yet, but we've 
found a shady spot under a tree to sit and rest for a while, so 
drink from the canteen as it's passed and get comfortable.

Feedback: when I don't get much (or any), I start to think that 
no one is reading this or cares if it's finished in a timely 
manner or finished at all.  So if you are reading this, please 
let me know - whether you enjoy it or not - and please let me 
know if you want me to continue.  All questions, comments, and 
mild complaints accepted at Lil_gusty@hotmail.com.