From: Laurie Fiore <danamulder@juno.com>
Date: Mon, 24 Jul 2000 05:58:29 -0400
Subject: RE:   WHAT I WANT (1/2) By LaurieAF
Source: direct

XXXXXX

Arriving at Michael's on Sunday morning, I knock hard on the wood 
door.  There is no answer, but his truck is parked in the driveway
so I know he made it home from the hospital.  Believe it or not, 
he tended to leave his door unlocked all the time.  How's that for a
highly trained law enforcement official?  

I let myself in and call out to him. 

"Hi, baby. I'll be right down," he calls back, his voice wafting 
through the house from upstairs.   

I used to hate that term of endearment, never used it.  With Michael, 
I find myself using it all the time as did he.  He has a way of 
saying it lovingly, and the word seems fresh and new, like it's our 
very own.

Though I've seen them before, I'm drawn to the mantle of his
fireplace to examine pictures of an impossibly good looking family.
His parents, siblings, his sibling's families.  Again, there is no
recent picture of his father or eldest brother.  My favorite photo
is of Michael and his parents at his graduation from the Academy.
He's so alive, so happy, the way I want to always see him.  Always 

ruggedly handsome, he would have turned my head and anyone
else's even back then.

I idly wonder what it would be like to make love to him in front of
a hot, roaring fire on a cold February evening.  A knowing, naughty 
smile plays at the edges of my lips as I promise myself I will
find out.

My stomach growls in a protest of hunger as I wait impatiently
for my lover to join me.  I sift through some magazines on the 
coffee table, but none really catch my interest.  Some papers are 
sticking out of a manila envelope at the bottom of the magazine pile, 
and I plan on shoving them back inside until I notice something.  

My name.

My name listed as the patient on numerous medical documents.

<My name is in those files.>

I try to remember to breathe as copies of my medical records
stare me in the face.

It's all there.  Everything.  Pages and pages of the hospital chart
concerning my abduction in 1994 where I lay in a coma in Bethesda 
Naval Hospital.  The office notes from the removal of the chip in my 
neck in 1995. Records from my admittance to Georgetown Memorial 
Hospital in 1996 when I thought the end was near.  

Why? Why would he have this?


Shaking in disbelief, I fall into the chair opposite the coffee 
table.  I feel like someone has sucker punched me, my breath coming 
in hitches and starts.  My eyes fill with hot tears of betrayal, 
the drops falling down my face like a small raging river.  I swipe
them away with an angry hand, fighting to keep my composure and face
him without falling apart. Calm down, calm down, I tell myself.  

The moment of truth arrives when Michael descends the stairs.  As 
soon as he appears in my view, I start in on him.  

"What the hell is this?" I accuse and throw the rather heavy manila
envelope onto his coffee table.  It lands with a loud thud.

"Oh, Dana," he murmurs as he realizes what I have discovered. He 
starts to make his way to my side to comfort me I surmise.

"Don't.  Just don't," I plead, holding up my hand, and he stops 
in his tracks.  

Anger crosses his features.  "Why couldn't you leave it alone?"

"Leave it alone?  It's all about me, and I'm supposed to just leave
it alone?  Did you have someone dig this shit up on me?!"

"No, of course not!  Do you really believe that?!"

"I don't know what I believe.  The only thing I know is that I feel
I've been violated all over again.  I wanted to tell you all this in
my own time, in my own way, not like this."

"I understand.  Let's just sit down and talk about it.  None of it
changes how I feel about you."

Sudden realization hits me.  "Oh, my God.  That's why you were 
acting strange.  What, did you sleep with me last night because you 
felt sorry for me?"

He's appalled.  "Christ, Dana, how can you say that?!  I made =love=
to you last night because I love you.  I told you that last night 
=after= I knew about this."

His words don't register.  The only thing that does is that he knows, 
and I haven't been the one to tell him.  I wanted so much to share 
that confidence, that piece of myself that haunted me and scared me 
so.  So he would understand.   Who really would except for
my mother and Mulder? I had been so close to telling Michael; he had
gained so much of my hard earned trust.  We were almost there until 
this.    

Maybe it wasn't some subconscious or unrealized feelings for Mulder
that had kept me from seeking out a relationship after my abduction.    
I think that's around the time I had given up actively seeking one.  
I mean what would a man I was in a serious relationship think when I 
told him my woeful tale?  She's a freak?  Honestly, I feel like one 
sometimes.  Is she real or is she Memorex?  God damn that fucking
chip to hell. 

"So, Michael, what do you think of the saga of Dana Scully?  It's all
true, every bit of it.  Does it disgust you?  Are you embarrassed to 
be with me?  Do . . ." I taunt him until he interrupts me. 

"Stop it. Stop it.  I don't want to hear this.  I'm not talking to 
you when you're like this."

"Like what?  Don't I have every right to be angry?"

"Yes, you do.  At what's been done to you, not at me.  But you seem 
so . . ."  He pauses.

"So what?  Say it."

"So full of self-hatred . . . Like you don't think anyone could love
you or should love you for that matter."

"You're psychoanalyzing me now?  Thanks, but no thanks. I've already
been in therapy."

I have to clear my head, clear out of this space that was suffocating
me.  I rush past him for the door, but he latches onto my arm with
a vice-like grip, pulling me towards him.


"Where are you going?" he asks, angrier than I've ever heard.  I 
struggle in his grasp, our eyes locked.  

"You're hurting me, let go.  Let go. Of me. Now."  I only have to 
say it like that once, and he capitulates.  "I need some air.  And 
some =space=." 

I make sure I stress the last part because I don't think I'll be 
back here ever again.  I bolt for the door, for the freedom that 
lie beyond, freedom from this living nightmare that I feared all
along. 

"Dana, wait!"  His muffled cry reaches my ears as I put the physical            
distance between us.

He chases after me; and as I start the car's engine with fumbling 
fingers, I hear his words taunting me.

"That's right, Dana.  Run away.  That's going to solve everything."

I take off, not looking back, my heart still there with him.

XXXXX

It was pretty late when I'd returned home from my mother's on Sunday
night.  Of course, a message from Michael was waiting patiently for me
on my answering machine from earlier in the day, most likely a little
while after I'd left him. 

My mother had succeeded in calming me down enough that I listened to
his message before erasing it.  Oh, yeah, she was already on his side.  
With the little bits I had previously fed her about him and our 
relationship, he had already stole her heart.  I was thankful she'd 
never met him because one look at that gorgeous face and I would have 
been the loser with her every time.

So, he apologized for what had happened and urged me to call him so 
that we could talk about it.  Running away was not the answer, he 
said, and that we could work it out together if I gave us a chance. 
He expressed his deep concern for me and promised to keep calling 
because he was not going to give up.  The last thing he said was that 
he loved me.

XXXXXX

I'm fucking miserable.

I can barely sleep, don't want to eat, can hardly concentrate at
work.  Brian notices that something is very wrong, and it's hard to
hide. It's like a piece of myself is missing, and I can't really 
function.  I don't want to.  My heart is in mourning, and I am not
sure I will ever stop grieving.  

As the weeks and months pass, I concentrate most of my energy on 
the work, this bizarre serial killer case.  For awhile, the murders
stopped; but they have started up again and we've been unable to
establish an absolute link between the cases.  Even though all the 

investigators involved feel it's the same killer, some of the 
differences in the MO's cause doubts.  The work is all consuming, and 
I'm thankful for that for I need something to hold on to, something to 
think about besides Dana. 

When I'm not working, I'm pumping iron at the gym, working my 
muscles to exhaustion.  It's a welcome outlet to channel sadness, 
anger, and frustration, one that requires no real thought as it's 
just a mindless repetition of sets.  Thank God for this escape 
because I don't want to think anymore.   

I keep calling her, though.  If she hasn't realized it already, she 
will come to know that I will always be there for her no matter how
impossibly tough the obstacles seem.  Despite how badly things have 
turned out, I love this woman, this beautifully stubborn, frustrating
woman. I will never give up on her or us.  

One day soon, I hope and pray she will let me in again.

One day soon.

XXXXXX

Continued in Part II

WHAT I WANT (2/2) By LaurieAF

Thankfully, Michael and I don't cross paths too often in the Hoover
Building unless we go out of our way to more or less. As he had 
done in the past, messages inquiring about me and my well being are
left on my machine every couple days.  He's as sweet as ever, but I 
just can't face him.  Not yet.  I need some time.

I miss him terribly though; and after almost a month of feeling like
my heart has stopped beating, like everything I do is just going 
through the motions to get from point A to point B, I decide it's 
time I see Doctor Karen Kossoff again.  Just that decision alone is 
a major step for me; a step, I hope, in the right direction and     
back towards Michael.  I feel dead without him.  

For twice a week every week, Doctor Kossoff and I make great strides 
in reigning in my fears and doubts of coming clean with Michael about
my abduction, the chip, and my cancer. And about how those things 
sometimes make me feel inferior, that I'm not good enough for him or
anyone, that I cannot give him everything he needs and deserves.  And 
that doesn't even count how hard we work on my own unresolved 
feelings about these life altering events.

I think I even surprise Michael when I pick up his call one early
evening about three months after our initial confrontation. 

XXXXX

I'm taken aback when Dana finally answers one of my phone calls.

It's like a gift to finally be able to speak to her again after
all this time and know that she is doing okay. She apologizes for
the way she acted that day at my house and for her behavior 
since.  I tell her that it isn't necessary, that I understand she's
going through a difficult time; but she insists.     

And I have some apologizing and explaining of my own to do. She has 
to know I would never hurt her purposefully, that I played no part in
obtaining copies of her medical files.  I'm actively investigating the 
matter, but unfortunately, I haven't had much luck thus far.  My 
suspicions about Sal can neither be confirmed or denied. 

Dana mentions that she's back in therapy, and I'm relieved 
because I feel that that is her best chance to work through her
traumas and get past them.  It also gives me hope for us and our 

future, something I haven't had in what seems like forever.  

We start to speak on the phone about three times a week.  In 
general terms, she mentions what she and her doctor are 
working on and that she seems to be making great progress.  We 
speak of things going on in our personal lives but not of "us" 
specifically. 

I long to see her face to face, but it would not be conducive to 
her progress.  Not yet anyway.  And now, I will be heading to 
Massachusetts for that serial killer case; and unfortunately, it 
looks like I'll be there awhile.  


I continue to hope and pray for her well being and the future.  

XXXXX

The weeks pass slowly despite numerous X-Files and therapy. 
Luckily, none of our cases requires us to be out of town long enough
for me to miss but two of my scheduled appointments. I've done so 
well and feel so good that Doctor Kossoff said she will allow me to 
patch things up with Michael if that was what I want.  They never 
tell you what to do, they only make suggestions about what they 
think best.  And Doctor Kossoff thinks that Michael is very, 
very good for me.  I think so, too.   

Spending one entire morning doing research in the library for a new 
case had bored me to tears and brought on a low-grade headache behind
my eyes. I'm eager for something else to do and check the voice 
mail in my office, hoping for an autopsy.  Instead, Michael's message 
to "call him, it's important" echoes in my ears.  

I return to the basement all the while debating on whether to call 
him back or not.  Most likely, it's something regarding us 
personally; and I don't want to get into it over the phone at work.

I have so much to explain to him, revelations that I've come to about
myself and about us as a couple.  I'm finally ready to confide in
him; but he has been out of town almost nonstop for a month.  Our
phone calls continue, but I'm not about to hash out my life and 
decide my future on a cold piece of plastic, though I find it 
difficult to contain how enthused and encouraged I feel.

The debating going in my head hasn't helped me come to a decision.
I'm rooting through the cabinet of X-Files for an old case bearing 
some similarities to the present one when AD Skinner knocks on the 
door.  

"Agent Scully," he greets me.

"Sir?" I say sounding a little surprised.  "What can I do for you?"

"Agent Aaron just updated me on the investigation into the Brockton
murders, I'm sure you've heard about them."  I nodd.  That was the
suspected serial killer case Michael had been assisting on and off.
"Well, they've got four bodies, all four victims similar in 
appearance.  And that's about it.  They believe the murders are 
connected but haven't discovered the link yet.  Now, they've got 
a fifth body from a fresh crime scene about three hours old, and 
Agent Anzotti suggested calling you in to perform the autopsy.
What should I tell them?"

Damn.  That's why he had called.  To let me know ahead of time, a
courtesy call. Lately, I was so wrapped up in myself I had trouble
focusing on other things.

"I'll be there as soon as possible. Will you let Agent Mulder know
where I've gone?" I ask as I start to gather my things.

"Certainly.  Hopefully, you won't be gone too long.  You know how
he gets."  His lips scrunch up into something like a grimace or a 
half smile.

Yes, I do know how he gets.  "I'll try not to be," I assure him.  

I hightail it back to my office to make flight and car rental
arrangements as well as to get in touch with Michael at the Boston 
field office.

He answers the phone, all business.  "Anzotti."

"Hi," I say sweetly, almost apologetic.

His voice turns tender at the sound of mine.  "Hey, thanks for 
calling."

"Don't thank me yet.  Truth is, I hesitated calling you back because
I thought your call was personal, but Skinner set me straight.  So, I 
wanted to apologize for that, for possibly setting things back.  But 
I'm on my way to Dulles right now to catch the next shuttle out.  I 
should be there in a few hours."

"Perfect.  The body should be here within the hour, and the 
autopsy bay is being prepped as we speak . . . D, you should know 
my reason for suggesting you was two-fold.  The ME here could do
it; he's done all the other ones.  But we wanted you, wanted your
expertise, your take on this.  And  . . . and I knew you would come 
if we asked, giving me the chance to finally see you.  It was 
personal in a way, so in effect, I'm guilty as charged."

"No, . . . the only thing you're guilty of is loving me.  Michael, I 
want that back."

The silence from his end of the line hurts me so much that it's 
as if I have suffered a physical blow.

"You don't?" I finally have the courage to ask, petrified that I have 
read him wrong in the weeks that have passed.

"Of course I do, how can you ask?  But we haven't talked specifically 
about what comes next.  And what I need from you, what I think 
you need as well, is to talk to me about what happened to you.  Get
all of it out in the open.  I don't think we can move forward until
we do.  Are you ready for that?  Can you do that?"

"Yeah.  I think I can.  I'm not saying I don't have any doubts, but 
I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be."

"Then when this case in Massachusetts is done we'll sort everything 
out, you'll see."

"Sounds good.  Let me go.  I don't want to miss this shuttle."

"Have a safe flight.  Dana, I love you."

I hesitate but don't say it.  

"Bye, Michael."

XXXXX

The Boston field office is abuzz with activity.  I just want to 
get in, do what I have to do, and get out, preferably with Michael by
my side.  Unfortunately with the way this case is shaping up, he
won't be getting out of here anytime soon.

I try to focus on my future, our future as I stride purposefully
through the halls, duffle bag and briefcase in tow looking for him at

the appointed spot.  Another agent seems to recognize me and heads 
straight for me though I have no idea who he is.  

"Agent Scully, I'm Mike's partner, Brian Anderson.  Nice to finally 
meet you."  He holds out his hand to shake mine.  

"Yes, you too.  I've heard a lot about you.  Congratulations on the 
new addition."

"Thanks and I've heard even more about you." 

"Something good I hope."

"Always.  He raves about you."

I don't know why after everything I've put him through.  "Is he 
around?"  Please, please, let him be.

"'Fraid not.  There's a briefing going on right now, and he 
couldn't get away.  He asked me to show you around, take good 
care of you.  C'mon."

Damn.  I had wanted to see him something awful.

Brian shows me to the pathology lab, makes sure I have everything I
need, and leaves me to do my job.

XXXXX

As soon as I can break away from my colleagues and Brian's good 
natured teasing over Dana, I jaunt over to pathology to see her 
with a quick stop at the local donut shop in between.  She's busy 
scribbling notes on her findings to present to the team, and I knock 
on the open door to avoid scaring her.

"Just a minute," she murmurs, her brilliant mind intensely
focused on her work.  

I place a bag and a cup of coffee next to her on the desk, a smile
clearly playing at the edge of her lips.

"Who goes there, friend or foe?" she queries without once looking up. 

I began to massage her tight shoulders.  "Much more than a friend, 
I hope.  Never a foe."

Enjoying my handiwork, her writing comes to an abrupt halt.  

"This is true."

I continue to knead her skin through my fingers.

"mmm. . . That feels . . . really good."

Finding I can't resist any longer to have her striking blue gaze 
and luminous face directed at me, I abandon her shoulders with a 
parting kiss to the crown of her head.  Just so I can get a look at
her.  From her.  

Talk about a sight for sore eyes.  Glasses and upswept hair add to
the allure.  Somehow, she even makes scrubs look sexy.  

"You look good," I breathe.

"Don't lie," she says and playfully swats at my hand.  "We both
look like crap--you with that three day old beard," she admonishes
lightly.

I grab her hand and hold it within my own, our eyes locked and 
lost in one other, electricity sparking through us at the skin to 
skin contact.  Our first real touch in over five months.  Being 
apart for that long had only strengthened my love for her if that 
is possible. My groin aches, and I want to take her right there 
on the desk. To tone down the ache, I opt to sever the contact, 
dropping her hand.  She seems disappointed but understands the
reason.

Needing something to do with my hands besides grab Dana, I push the
cup towards her.  "Here, have some."

"Ah, Starbucks coffee.  You =know= what I like.  Thanks."

"Just tryin' to keep the help happy," I smirk.

She snorts at my smart aleck remark but ultimately ignores it.  

"What's in the bag, coppa?"

I hand over the loot.  "Your favorite."

"You mean that powdered donut with the chocolate cream in the 
middle?" she asks, all excited.

"Yep."

"It's not very healthy, you know," she informs me as she unabashedly
bites into the fried pastry.

"No, but I love the mischievous, girlish glow that overcomes you when
you're about to eat one."

Her beaming smile meets mine. Then, her eyes drift over her work.  
Suddenly serious, she slides it over to me.  

"Your fifth victim, Mr. Rogers, died via injection of a deadly drug.
I found needle punctures in between his toes.  There were knife 
wounds, but those were post mortem.  And from what I can tell, the 
coronor's report on the first victim, Mr. Leoni, was wrong.  Mr.
Leoni also died from an unidentified drug, not the gunshot wound
as indicated.  The gunshot wound was also post mortem."

"Between the toes?"

"Yeah.  We'll have to await the tox screenings to see what drug was 
used, but I'm pretty sure we can connect them.  I think we need to go 
over the other bodies again looking for needle punctures in obscure 
places.  Like between the fingers or toes." 

"Sounds like a plan.  Excellent work, Doctor Scully," I praise.

"I aim to please."

"And please you do.  Very well I might add," I tease, thankful we
can still be that way with each other.  "You ready?"

She nods.  "Let's get this going.  I have . . . other things I
desperately want to get back to."  She gives me one of her come 
hither smiles.  

I know what she means, but I'm not as cryptic.  "Yeah, me, 
too.  =You=," I say frankly, winking at her.

Off we go.

XXXXX

At the conclusion of the presentation of my findings, the members of
the team began to depart to get back to actively working the case.  
Michael is practically being dragged away by Brian and another agent
though his eyes seek me out.  Before he leaves, I have something I 
have to do, something very important to tell him.

"Michael, just give me a minute," I call out over the quickly 
dispersing crowd of agents.  

His eyes meet mine in understanding.  When everyone is finally gone, 
I make my way to him.  

"You sure Aaron doesn't want me to take a look at the other bodies?"

"No, no.  You did all the hard work, found the connection.  That's 
the break we needed.  The ME is going to start examining them again 
tonight."

"Okay. As soon as I get the lab results, I'll let Aaron know and then
I'm going to head back to DC.  Call me when you get a chance."

"I will.  Thanks for coming up.  I knew you would break this thing
open."

I smile at his confidence in me.  "Before you go, I have something 
of yours I want to return," I announce as I reached into the shirt
pocket of my scrubs and pull out his cross and chain.  "I want to 
make sure you have it with you."

He smiles tenderly, his thanks evident and reaches out for his 
necklace.

"No, let me," I offer proudly as I reach up to clasp the chain
around his neck.  Once it lies in its rightful place, I kiss the 
precious medal and bow my head into his chest.  His arms envelop me, 
and I'm finally able to say the words I know he longs to hear.


"I love you, Michael."

His hands fly to the sides of my face, lifting my head.  When I 
look up at him, he's smiling from ear to ear.  In his eyes, I see
life, adoration, love.  Sparkling life.  Pure adoration.  An intense
love I've never known until now.  All directed at me.

"I love you, too, always," he swears fiercely.

Our kiss is thorough and hungry, his tongue tasting and teasing the 
caverns of my mouth.

He leaves me breathless and undone.

XXXXXX

Another week and half passes until they nail the sick son-of-a 
bitch.  Michael is elated but exhausted.  I wanted to pick him 
up at Dulles tonight, but he has at least another day of interviews 
and paperwork.  That only leaves tomorrow night for us to
seriously talk before we shuttle to New York for his niece's
Communion on Saturday.  This is not good, not how I want to 
restart things between us; but I guess we will manage, the FBI be
damned.  

XXXXXX

I hadn't heard from Michael all day Friday, have no idea of when he 
is coming home, if he is coming home at all.  Where that leaves us
for Saturday is beyond me.  Truth be told, I'm a little pissed
that he hasn't contacted me about what is going on; but I'll get over 
it.

And I do.  

Very quickly.

When I shuffle into my apartment Friday night at 5:30 pm, Michael 
is already there waiting to surprise me with an impressive array of 
takeout Thai, wine and a vase of peach roses.  As always, what this 
man does never fails to surprise and amaze me.  He takes me in his 
arms, and we hold each other for a long time.  

Dinner is spent in relative silence, both of us just enjoying each
other's company and staring.  Yes, staring.  It's been so long
since we have been together for more than, say, 20 minutes that I've
forgotten how handsome he is.  When I try to strike up a 
conversation about his case, he refuses to talk about work in any
way, shape or form.    

After dinner, we retire to the couch.  He is physically, not to  

mention mentally exhausted, so I massage his broad shoulders, hoping
to ease his tension.  No clothing is removed this time for it will
only ignite the fire within me that has already started to simmer as 
my hands work his gorgeous body.     

The massage is the perfect way to relax him, and I know the wine 
will have the same effect for me.  Though I have contemplated this 
night, this talk for some time, I'm still apprehensive and nervous. 

He already knows about my sterility, the chip and the cancer; but 
getting into the details will still be rough, and I just hope 
Michael can find it in him to truly understand.  

I am not disappointed.  

He actually cries when I tell him of the terrible things to 
befall me in the last couple of years.  Not tears of pity, but tears 
borne of his own pain, comfort, love and understanding.  His reaction
causes my heart to swell and tears of my own, which he gently wipes 
away. We hold each other, safe in the cocoon of our arms.  It's a 
moment I will never, ever forget.

We talk long into the night, and our tears have drained us of much
of our energy.  As much as we want to make love, there will be 
time for that soon.  We end up falling asleep in each other's arms 
on the couch.  When I awake in the early morning hours, I rouse 
Michael from sleep so that we can rest together in the comfort of 
my bed.

All I know is I could have slept safe and happy in his arms forever,
but unfortunately, our shuttle to New York will be taking off before
long. Alas.  

For people like us, there never seems to be enough time to enjoy the 
simple pleasures in life.  

XXXXXX

Due to delays at both Dulles and LaGuardia airports, we missed the 
Communion ceremony but happened to arrive at Gina's house when 
the families were returning from church.  Gina and Michael share a 
warm reunion and then Michael introduces me to Gina and Anthony's 
families. Rebecca, Gina's daughter, seems thrilled to see her Uncle
Mike again, and Gina seems genuinely thrilled to meet me for the
first time.  

With the party being catered, Gina has the time to take me aside and 
give me the low down on her brother with some funny childhood 
stories, much to Michael's chagrin, of course.  She also pulls 
out her mother's old photo books of her brother as a baby and a 
toddler, and I grin from ear to ear at being able to view this 
side of him.  He was literally the cutest baby I'd ever laid eyes on.  

Michael and I assist Gina and her husband, Tom, with setting out 
the food as the rest of the guests begin to arrive.  The two of us 
have a hard time keeping our hands and mouths to ourselves in between 
chores.  Tom and Gina tease us mercifully about this, but when
you've been apart for five long months, you can hardly care less.    

All day, we gravitate towards the kitchen to watch the kids play
in the backyard. I'd forgotten how rough children can play and end
up having to patch up a couple of the kids' scrapes and bruises with 
antiseptic and some kind, soothing words.  Rebecca is one of 
the children that requires some first aid, and I find her to be an
adorably sweet child.  Even after her little mishap, she is in and 
out of the house doing her best to get her uncle's attention. She 
has finally slowed down now and is busy drawing a picture for 
Michael.  

I smirk at her latest bid to gain his attention.

"=What=?" he queries.  

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that little girl has a major crush
on you.  Just like this big girl."

"Well, I am charming, good looking, funny, all-around terrific . . ."

"And I'd agree," I chime in.  

"You'd agree, huh?  The woman I had to ask out three times.  The one
who barely noticed me."

"Who said I barely noticed you?  I would have had to have been dead
not to notice you . . . although I think I was dead in a sense."

"No, you were and are the most alive person I've ever known. I think 
you were just a little preoccupied back then."

"Right," I sighed and brought my hand up to caress the side of his 
face and then his lips.  "Now, I've got my priorities straight."

"I like the sound of that," he smiles and embraces me.  "Now  
speaking of someone who's terrific . . . I saw you with Rebecca 
earlier when she skinned her knee.  You were so wonderful with her,
. . . you'd make a wonderful mother."

"Maybe. Someday.  With the right man."

"Have you found the right man?" he asks hopefully.

"Oh =yeah=," I answer with much enthusiasm, and I feel him smile 
against my shoulder. Then he starts to assault my neck with his 
mouth, his sweet lips at my weak spot driving me crazy, making me
hotter than Arizona in summer. That is all it will take, but then
came the piece de resistance--he dips his hand between my legs, 
into me, fucking me with his fingers.  I respond as he knew I 
would, involuntarily moaning and sighing, claiming his wild mouth 
with my own.  "You know what you're doing to me, I want to feel your 
perfect body, your hardness against me, I want you to fuck me so
good, this is so good," my voice rasps uncontrollably with a 
torrid desire.

Michael continues his sweet torture until I start to laugh, 
realizing exactly where we are and what we are doing.  "What is it?" 
he rasps with a similar desire in his own voice.

"Your sister is going to walk in here in a minute or worse yet,
one of the kids.  As much as you know I want to continue this, we have 
to stop," I manage with more control than I thought possible though 
he disregards my words.  "Michael, what if one of the kids catches
your hand . . ." I begin to say but bite my tongue as Gina saunters
into the kitchen.  "in the cookie jar," I finish lamely. "Hey, 
Gina."

Gina smirks as she takes in the sight of us.  "Hey, guys.  What are 
you two up to over there?" she asks with a wag of her eyebrows.

Michael discretely removes his hand but ultimately ignores her, still 
holding me tight and talking low in my ear. "Cookie jar, huh?  That's 
the perfect analogy.  Cookies are sweet and delicious just like your
pussy."

I try not to react to his talk, and his sister won't let him
off the hook. "Mike, give the girl a chance to breathe, would ya?"

"C'mon, Gina.  Dana and I have barely seen each other in the last 
five months."

"Yeah, well you two look like a couple of lovesick, sex-starved
teenagers."  She still wears that look of teasing and amusement.

"Teenagers we are not, I can assure you, but lovesick and sex 
starved . . . that sounds like us.  Right, Michael?" I smirk.  

"Oh =yeah=," Michael says, echoing my words of before.

And we all laugh.

XXXXXX

The party is going well.  Too well, so I should have known better.

When my eldest brother arrives with his lackey in tow, I curse under 
my breath.  Gina told me he wasn't coming and that is the only 
reason Dana and I are here today. I guess I should have realized 
this was going to happen.  I knew he couldn't resist making a show 
because he's such an important little prick. Or at least he is in 
his own head.      

All of the other guests gather around mob boy to greet him while 
Dana and I don't move a muscle from our respective perches on the
couch.  She looks to me for an explanation, questioning me 
silently; but I have no easy answers. The look of surprise and apology
is evident on my sister's face when our gazes meet.  

When the greetings are completed and Dana and I have still not risen
to meet him, my brother decides to start in.  "Mikey, what s'matter 
wit you?  You goin' to introduce me to your lady?"

I have no desire to meet him or see him ever again for that matter, 

but this is already looking weird to all my sister's guests, 
including Dana.  Therefore, I rise up with Dana's hand tucked in mine 
to keep things from getting out of hand.

Before I can even say anything to him or introduce her to him, he 
is undressing her with his eyes. It is very obvious and very
inappropriate.  Good sport that she is, Dana ignores it while I 
seethe beside her.  I want to wring his neck with my bare hands.  

"My, Red, you =are= lovely," he murmurs intimately to Dana as he 
raises her hand to his lips and kisses it.  "Mikey's a very lucky 
man."

I stand by quiet, afraid that if I speak I will start a nasty scene.
I see Dana cringe when he refers to her as "Red," but she continues
to be her polite self.  

"It's Dana.  Dana Scully.  It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise.  I'm Salvatore Anzotti, Mike's older brother."

After their introductions, he thankfully takes his paws off Dana and
turns his attention to me.  "What s'matter with you, kid?  You too 
good to grace me with your presence?  You got some fuckin' nerve 

showing your face around here anyway," he snarls in a low voice.  

Dana cringes again at his profanity and antagonistic tone and looks
to me for my reaction.  I just stare at him for a moment in 
disbelief at what he chooses to say to me when we finally came face 
to face again for the first time in 10 years.

"You really want to start this now, Sal?  In front of all these 
people?  If you do, let's take it in the other room.  I'm not going 

to have you yell and curse at me in front of Dana and the other 
guests."

"Let's go to the kitchen then."

If that's what he wants, fine.  As we depart the room, I eye both
Dana and Gina.  They sport worrisome looks on their faces but for 
very different reasons. Dana's is because she doesn't know anything, 
and Gina's is because she knows too much.   

XXXXXX

We end up on opposite ends of the kitchen, both of us leaning up 
against the counters in what looks to be a stand off.  The 
question is who will shoot first and be left standing and who will 
be the one to suffer a quick death.  However it turns out, I'm sure 
we'll both remain remorseless.    

Sal lights up a cigarette and just stares and stares at me.  

"What?  What do you want from me, Sal?"

"Nothing but a little respect.  To acknowledge my presence.  I think
I deserve that much from my little brother."

"No, what you deserve from me is to be thrown in jail for the rest of 
your rotten fucking life.  I don't owe you respect.  I don't owe you 
a damn thing."

"Look, what happened between us was a long time ago and we're still 
family; and you should act that way.  Instead, you make me look like
a fucking jerk in front of everyone.  Family is the most important 
thing."  

"And I know, Sal, you're an expert on family . . . I don't consider 
you a part of my family. I don't need you.  I sure as hell don't want 
you.  I don't want any part of you and the mob cronies you call 
family.  I have Gina and Tony and a life in DC now."

"Oh, right.  With your fibbie friends and your fibbie girlfriend.  I
have to say, Mike, it looks like you've done well for yourself.  Red 
looks like a good fuck.  The garden may be infertile but a good fuck nonetheless," he mocked.  

Oh, Jesus Christ.  

It was him.  

I was right all along. He knew about Dana.  He had sent me her 
medical file. We had been through five months of pure hell because of
this sorry excuse for a brother, let alone a human being.  

"What did you just say?" I snarl, the rage in me about to boil 
over.  

"You heard me right," he answers with a pleased look on his face.  
The bastard's proud of what he's done.  


"I heard you right, you sick mother-fucking bastard?!  I could kill
you!  I could kill you for what you've done!" I yell at the top of 
my lungs.

I lunge for him then and begin to smash my fist into his face over 
and over again.  My knuckles split open at the brutal contact while 
blood starts to spill from Sal's nose, the sight pleasing me 
immensely.  But it isn't enough.  I want him to hurt, to suffer, 
to . . . to . . . die.  

By this time, Gina and Tony have run into the kitchen to find out 
what all the commotion is about.  I'm surprised they weren't in here 
sooner with the way I had yelled and the racket some pots and pans 
had caused when they hit the floor in our struggle.  They succeed 
in calming us down a bit, but Sal and I continue to struggle within 
each other's grasp, neither of us letting go one iota.   


As soon as Sal cathches his breath, however, he's back at it.  "Oh, 
Mikey, you're goin' to regret this. You will pay.  You =and= 
Red."

And that is all I need to push me over the edge. 

Once he threatens Dana, I completely lose it.  

XXXXXX

In the living room, I attempt to make small talk with the other 
guests even though something very wrong is going down in that 
kitchen.  I debate about going in there, but it really isn't my
place.  No matter how worried I am about Michael, I don't want to 
stick my nose in where it doesn't belong or where it isn't wanted.  

Gina then runs into the living room and without explanation pulls me
into the kitchen.  When I see Michael, I understand exactly why she
has done this.

Her brother, my lover, is wildly out of control, his fingers 
embedded in and around their brother's neck, attempting to strangle 
the life out of him. Michael's eyes bulge out of his head, his face
a bright crimson red in his rage of fury.

"Michael, what are you doing?!" I yell out, appalled at the sight
before me.  Michael doesn't even flinch at the sound of my
voice.  "Michael, stop this!  Stop this! Please!" I cry again.  

I place my hand on his forearm, hoping that my touch can reach him
in some way that my voice hasn't.  Again, I urge him to stop.

He finally looks to me although rage is still apparent in his 
face and eyes.  "It was him, Dana," he says and then turns back to 
his brother.  "Tell her.  Tell her how you dug and dug till you found 
out the horrible things that happened to her just to fuck with me. . . 
I'm glad Mom's not around to see the fuckin' monster you've become.  
Oh, but you were one even back then weren't you?  And she knew.  She 
knew what you did to me."  

Although I am deeply disturbed by what Michael has revealed, this
insanity has to stop. I position myself between the warring
brothers, essentially in Michael's face, pleading with him.  
"Michael, look at me.  =Look at me.  Stop.  Let it go. . . He's not 
worth it.  Let it go."

Finally, I get through to him.  Our eyes meet, and I know he 
understands what I'm saying, that he's back with me.  Slowly, he 
releases his hold on his brother, and I move him into the corner
of the room, far away from Sal while Tony takes Sal into the 
living room.  Michael and Sal's menacing glares at one another could 
stop you dead in your tracks.  I calm him as much as possible and 
then return to the living room to grab my bag, not daring to look in 
Sal's direction.    

We make our apologies to Gina, who makes it clear to us that she 

holds nothing against Michael.  We then leave quietly out the back 
door.    

XXXXX

Michael is too wound, too frustrated and upset to take the wheel; so
I drive us back to the hotel.  I want to know what in the hell was
going on with him and his brother, but he remains mum throughout the
ride.  

At the door to our room, he shoves in the key card and throws open 
the door. He enters in a rush, yanking the clothes from his body with 
force, and rifling through his suitcase for sweat pants and a 
T-shirt.  All the while, he utters not one word.  

Shit.  

Once we were in the comfort and privacy of our own room, I 
thought for sure he would open up to me. Trying to ease him into 
this, I start off the conversation with my voice as delicate as 
I can make it.  "Michael, talk to me.  Why would Sal have gotten 
ahold of my medical records?  I mean, why would he care?"

His sentences are short and clipped.  "To hurt me.  He hates me.  We 
hate each other."

"Why?  Knowing you the way I do, I find it difficult to believe that
you hate anyone, let alone your brother."

"Dana, you don't understand.  Just leave it alone for now.  Please,"
he pleads.    


"Michael, help me to understand.  You told me--"

The awful truth flys out of his mouth in a rush, his tone 
distressed.  "Because he's the one that shot me and killed Chris, 
all right?!"  

"No, oh no," I murmur in disbelief.  

I try to approach him, offer some measure of comfort; but he 
continues to dress, pulling a tight T-shirt over his bare chest,
the shirt outlining every single, perfect muscle. My groin tingles in
response.  Why, when we are in the midst of a crisis, am I getting 
turned on?

"I going with you," I insist.  

"No, stay here.  Let me run off some of this destructive energy, and

we'll talk when I get back.  I promise."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"Yeah.  You?"

"I'm . . ."

"You're fine, I know," he finishes for me and manages a slight 
smile.  Then he kisses me hard and fast on the lips and heads out.  
"Be back soon," he murmurs before the door clicks shut behind him.

XXXXX

Soon.  

He said he'd be back soon.  

That was over three hours ago.

It's a horrible feeling to sit and wait for someone you love to
return and then they don't.  Terrible, terrible things start to cross
your mind.  I wonder if Michael has gotten drunk off his ass, hit 
by a car, arrested, mugged, shot, or stabbed.  God forbid, but NY, 
like any large city, is dangerous and unpredictable at this time of 
night.
   
When he didn't return by 11:30 pm, those irrational fears really 
started to take hold.  Restless, I take a hot shower and then flop
on the bed to channel surf.  In between, I field a call from his 
sister, who also sounds worried.  I quickly tired of "57 channels 
and nothing on" and settle into a chair by the window, gazing out 
between the drapes at the starry night. 


The room is very dark when he finally returns, quietly opening and 
closing the door to avoid disturbing my presumed slumber.  A feeling 
of genuine relief washes over me at his presence, stilling my
jackhammering heart and jittery nerves.  

I watch as he strips off his T-shirt and heads for the sink 
outside the bathroom to splash cool water on his face.   I clear 
my throat to announce my presence and then speak.  

"That was some run," I sigh, not pleased with him.


He continues to splash water on his overheated skin, not caring to
face me as we converse.  

"Sorry, D.  Once my feet hit the ground, I couldn't stop.  Why are 
you up?  It's late."

"Yes, it is.  But there was no way I was getting any rest while I was
here and you were out there somewhere, hurting."


"I'm =fine=."

"Right," I laugh, unconvinced.  Had he learned that line from me? 
How awful it sounds coming from someone else.

He knows what I am waiting for, what I want and ignores me just 
the same. 

An irritating silence settles over us.  

I try to get his attention, thinking the last name bit might do the 
trick.  "Anzotti," I call.

"Scully," he responds automatically, void of emotion, aware of my
game.

"Come over here.  Talk to me.  Prove to me that you're not all talk 
and no action, so to speak."

He obeys and trudges over to me using his T-shirt to wipe the 
moisture and perspiration from his body.  He sits opposite me on the
floor, Indian style.  

"So," he begins reluctantly, not really meeting my eyes.    

"So," I repeat.  "You can tell me anything, you know."  Our eyes
finally meet, mine trying to soothe him and ease his pain.

"I know. . . So . . . I already told you the Anzotti's are part of 
the Gambino crime family.  All . . . all those years ago, the drugs 
Chris was dealing were for my brother who was being groomed all along
by my father.  Sal shot Chris after realizing he was stealing money; 
and as I held him, Sal looked me clear in the eyes and shot me at 
point blank range."

"Michael, how?  How could he shoot his own brother? I don't 
understand . . . Why?"

"My father wanted all his sons made.  Sal wanted to punish me because
I was already resisting my father's overtures; in a sense, betraying 
the family.  Plus, he figured I was stealing money, too.  He was right 
on that count, but you know the reason for that."

"I hear what you're saying but I just can't fathom the idea of 
hurting your own brother like that.  How did your family deal with
it?" 

"We did what a lot of families do.  We swept it under the rug, never
mentioning it although I told Gina and my mother eventually figured
it out.  Living that lie was one of the hardest things I've ever
done."

"Years later, I suppose wanting to join the FBI didn't go over 
too well, huh?"

"How'd you guess?  But I had just about been written off by my 
father by then.  It was a real ugly scene when we'd had it out.  I
told him where to go, where to stick his organized crime bullshit.
The FBI thing solidified my standing as an outcast.  A traitor for
joining "the other side."  I never told you this, but I was even 
arrested for dealing drugs once.  Sal tried to use it to prevent
me from getting into the Academy.  We almost came to physical blows
over it several times, but my father ordered him to cut the crap."

"What about Tony?  What's his place in all this?"  

"Tony's in it up to his eyeballs though Gina tells me he hates it. 
Gina, bless her heart, tries desperately to be the peacemaker, 
essentially taking over for my mother; but she's out of the loop and 
doesn't know much of what goes on."

"So that's why you haven't resisted moving around with the Bureau so 
much.  No real family ties grounding you."

"Right, except for Gina.  We're close.  Tony and I keep in touch,
keep up with the things going on in each other's lives; but that's
about it.  So, wherever the FBI wants to send me I go."  

"You're not going anywhere in the near future I hope."

"Nope.  I'm stayin' put as long as you want me."

"Oh, I want you, all right.  C'mere."  


I hold out my hand to him, stands, and we embrace.  God, it feels 
like heaven to have him in my arms again, and I become acutely aware 
for the thousandth time of what I've been missing all these months.  
My hand greedily caresses his muscular back, still damp with sweat.

"Dana, I never want to let you go again, but I think I need to jump 
in the shower," he announced sheepishly.  


I scrunch up my nose.  "I think that's probably a good idea."

He looks at me in mock shock.  "That bad?"

"No, not really.  It's a good smell.  A manly smell."  No doubt about 
it, Michael is =all= man.  

"I'll show you manly," he snarls and descends upon me like a 
cheetah on its prey.  

I can barely string two words together, our hot kisses rendering
my brain useless.  Words somehow rasp out of my throat between
kisses and roaming hands.  

"I know  . . . you will . . . Oh, God. . . how long . . . has it 
been . . . since we . . ."

Apparently, he is having the same kind of problem even as he 
interrupts me.  

"Five months. . . two weeks. . . six days. . . eighteen hours . . . 
but who's  . . . counting?  You feel . . . so. . . incredible . . ."

As it always seems to, the ringing of the phone stopped us dead in 

our tracks.  We slump into each other, frustrated that the only 
intimate moment we've been able to glean in forever is being 
interrupted yet again.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Michael wonders with irritation.

"Probably Gina.  She called earlier, worried about you."


"I guess I should let her know that everything is all right."

Even though Michael knows he should take this call, deep sighs 
punctuate the disentanglement of our overheated bodies. He kisses me 
lightly on the head before leaving me to answer the phone although he 
dispatches his sister in record time, assuring her that everything is 
okay.  

Great.  Now I have him all to myself.  


Once he hangs up, however, he bypasses me and starts heading for the
bathroom. I am beyond disappointment, positive that we were going
to pick up where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted. 

"Where are you going?" I quickly ask, my brow furrowing with 
confusion and disappointment.  

"Hitting the shower."

"But. . . but . . ." I stutter.

"Believe me, D, you'll love me more after I've showered," he
announces with a big smile and then disappears inside the 
bathroom.

"I sincerely doubt that," I mutter to myself. I already love this
man more than I thought it possible to love another human being.  

XXXXXX

After only a minute or two of being alone, I crave Michael's touch 
again and head for the bathroom.  The shower curtain is partially 
open, revealing a tired-looking, beaten down man.  Eyes closed, 
Michael's head rests up against the tiles, the hot water cascading 
down his body, soothing him and healing him.  

But I know I can do it better.  I want to do it better.  

"Mind if I join you?" I ask softly, hoping I'm not disturbing him
and this quiet time.  

He looks at me and smiles broadly.  "Of course not, get in here."  

He holds out his hand for me, his eyes raking over my naked body with
an intense heat.  I climb in behind him and immediately reach around
him for the soap, lathering up his back, greedily touching him
in a fashion reminiscent of that night on my couch.  His hands 
clench at his sides, steeling himself from reaching out to stroke 
me back.  It's getting mighty steamy in here, and it isn't because
of the hot water.       

I maneuver in front of him, lavishing the same attention on his 
chest. His eyes bore into mine, hot, intense, wanting, needing; and
I understand perfectly.  Our faces are close enough to kiss as he
leans down into me though we did not.  

He still does not touch me until my hand, not able to resist any 
longer, reaches down between us to stroke his penis.  Then in an 
instant, he hoists me up in his arms, my back crashing up against 
the tiles.  

Our eyes lock.  Poised at my entrance, he thrusts into me swift and
hard, just the way I want it.  

"God, Dana," he murmurs with wonder at our joining.

I ache for it, but he doesn't move.  I pull back to look in his 
eyes, questioning his hesitation.  

"What is it?"

"Nothing, baby.  I missed you, I want you, I need you, I love you so
much," he whispers.

"I know.  I love you, too.  Everything's going to be fine. 
Everything's fine now," I promise, stroking his lips.

He smiles and then begins to pump in and out of me slowly and as best
he can considering the awkward position we are in. His pace 
increases almost immediately, my back crashing into the shower tiles 
with increasing force. God, this feels good, so good.  I had wanted 
this to last a little longer; but it's inevitable that it wouldn't
with our pent up passion.  Michael is going to come, and I will 
soon follow.    

"Dana, . . . are you . . .  close?"  he grunts in between thrusts.

I'm not there quite yet, but that's okay.  

"It doesn't matter.  Let go, Michael.  Come for me."

With two or three more frantic thrusts, he fills me with his life.  
How did I do without this, without him for so long? I always
want to feel like this, feel him inside me.  

We semi-collapse into a heap after our passionate lovemaking. Once 
we get our bearings, we rinse off again, and take turns towel drying
each other off.  

Then, before I know what's happening, Michael grabs my hand and

leads me to the bed to finish what we had started in the shower. 
His tongue ravages the lips of my vagina, and I think the next town 
can hear my moans as I come.  God, the things he can do with that 
body and that mouth are almost criminal. 

Due to our, um, extracurricular activities, we're up most of the 
night.  Making up for lost time is always intensely pleasurable.  We
sleep in late the next morning; and before we catch the next shuttle
back to DC, we enjoy a wonderful Sunday brunch.

XXXXXX

Maybe I'm coming down with the flu.  I've been home from work for two
days straight, and the last time I stayed out of work for this long 
was when my cancer was in its final stages.   

Saturday, I was fine.  Sunday, I was fine, too, spending the rest of 
the day in bed with Michael when we'd returned from New York.  And it
wasn't because I was feeling under the weather either.  But Monday I 
awoke feeling like death warmed over, something I shouldn't joke 
about because death and I were very nearly acquainted.

As sick as I feel, I just have to wonder if I have any kind of luck.  
I finally get my love life straightened out and then I'm sick as a 
dog.  Well, at least I got fucked good a couple of times in between.  
I hate to sound vulgar, but it's the truth.  I could always count on
Michael for some amazing sex.   

Unfortunately, as much as I would love to thing about sex with 
Michael right now, I can't.  The bright light from the early afternoon
sun is streaming through my window blinds.  I lie in bed trying to 
summon the strength to rise and trek to the bathroom for some over-
the-counter remedies.  I get up slowly, not wanting to induce any 
dizziness or nausea, my hand shielding my eyes from the unwelcome 
light.  I proceed to the bathroom in the same slow-motion mode and 
manage to scarf down some Tylenol and a nasal decongestant.  

Then I hear a pretty loud noise.  It sounds like something fell over 
in the living room.  

I go to check it out, not really thinking anything could be the
matter. It's probably just a book that fell over on my bookshelf or
from my stacked pile to the floor.    

But I couldn't be more wrong.

A man looks up at me, startled, like a deer caught in the headlights 
of an oncoming vehicle.  He's searching through my drawers for 
something.  I'm frozen in place, partly because I'm just as startled
as he is and also because my brain is in a fog right now.  

He crosses the room to come stand in front of me and asks in a 
demanding voice, "Where is it?"

I hesitate and then answer, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, bitch.  I know it's here.  Just give it to me, and I won't
hurt you."

His hands have clamped down on my wrists, holding my arms in place,
effectively preventing me from taking a swing at him.  I'm starting 
to really get nervous.  I have no idea what is going on here or what
he wants.  


"I swear I haven't a clue what you're looking for.  If you just tell
me what it is, maybe I can help you."

"Don't play dumb with me, bitch!  Just give me what I came here
for and I'll leave.  I don't have time for your fucking games!"  

He's holding me with much more force, and the tone of his voice has 
turned venomous.  I'm going to have to try something here, and I just
hope it doesn't backfire.  

I attempt to knee him in the groin, but I'm only partially successful
because of our extreme height difference.  I've clipped him enough to
cause pain but not enough to subdue him.  He immediately counters 

with a hard, close fisted punch to my face that has me seeing stars
and then backhands me across the mouth for good measure. I'm 
momentarily in a state of shock and practically fall back on my
ass.

With a limping jog while he holds his groin, he attempts to dash 
across the room but ends up tripping on the straps of my handbag.  
It's the bag I used over the weekend in New York, and I had 
dropped it down on the floor near the coffee table on Sunday when 
Michael and I returned home to my apartment in a rush. 

The contents of my bag have spilled out and now he's rummaging through 
that, too.  Still a bit stunned, I watch him as I try to figure out 
what to do next.  He picks up a clear bag of fine white powder and 
holds it up to the light.  He then lets out a jubilant exclamation 
when he realizes he's found what he's been searching for all this 
time. 

The man rises and starts to take off while I take off into my bedroom 
to retrieve the gun from my nightstand.  I quickly slip on a pair of
shoes and follow off after him.  I'm chasing after him down my hallway 
even though he's too far ahead, and I feel too sick to give it my all.  
I practically knock down my poor, unsuspecting elderly neighbor as I 
run past him in the hallway.  I reach the ground floor, and the perp 
has disappeared.

I mutter an expletive, trying to process what the hell just happened; 
but it takes too much effort to think right now and my head is 
starting to pound; I return to my apartment and collapse into the 
couch, my head between my knees to stave off the coming wave of 
nausea.

XXXXXX

After that alarming encounter, I fell asleep on the couch for close
to two hours.

I awaken now feeling much better than I have in two days except
for the pain radiating from my face.  I head for the bathroom to 
check my reflection, grimacing at the sight I make in the
mirror.  Before I can make it to the kitchen for some ice, the 
phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer a bit weakly.  

It's Michael's welcome voice.  "How's my girl feelin'?"

"A little better actually."  Except for the round or two I look and 
feel like I've gone with Mike Tyson, it's true. "But I'm going a 

little stir crazy here.  I need to get back to work."


"Let me take your mind off things.  I'm on my way over with some 
chicken soup for your soul and me for every other part of you."

"Michael, you don't have to come over to check up on me.  I'm fine, 
really.  Plus, I look like shit."  

That's very true.  After only a few hours, my lip is twice its 
size and the area around my eye is already starting to turn a deep 
purple.

"You've been sick.  We all look like shit when we're sick."

He's right; but I continue my efforts to dissuade him from swinging
by.  "But I'm not even dressed."

"Is that supposed to be a turn off?" he laughs.  "Besides, I'm 
really close by."

"How close?"  I ask apprehensively.

"Knocking on your door close."

Yep. I knew it.  There he is.  Fuck, fuck and more fuck.

I hang up the phone and dare a look through my peephole.  My 
heartbeat speeds up as it always does when he's near, but I'm
dreading this meeting.  I inhale deeply, undo the lock, turn the 
knob, and retreat to the couch.

Glancing at me with a wink and a smile, Michael proceeds to drop the
bag of soup as well as a bouquet of roses on the kitchen table.


There's no hiding it, so I make no attempt to do so when he comes to
me for a kiss.

"Jesus . . ." he mutters and drops to his knees when he gets a good
look at me.  He gently takes hold of my face.  "What the hell 
happened?"  The care and concern evident on his own face is 
immeasurable.

"It's nothing," I lie, my eyes darting about the room.  Anywhere but 
away from him and his own eyes that are begging me for the truth, his 
scrutiny making me a nervous wreck.  "I just had a little accident.  
You know how clumsy I can be."

"Dana, . . ." his stern voice starts until someone's knocks startle
us both.


Saved by the bell, er, knock.  Or so I think.

I jump up from the couch to answer the door, eager to escape.


Shit.  It's my elderly neighbor, James Nichols.  The one I had ran 
past in the hallway as I chased down my intruder to no avail.  Any
chance I have of getting away with this is now blown out of the water 
even though I already lied unconvincingly to Michael's face.
Pinocchio has nothing on me; I am the worst liar ever.

"Hi, Mr. Nichols.  What can I do for you?"  Ordinarily the man is 

okay but right now he's the biggest and nosiest pain in the ass.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay, Miss Scully.  Did that man
hurt . . ." he's about to ask until he gets a load of my bruises.

I chance a glance at Michael, pacing like a caged animal who
can't contain himself much longer. 

"I'm fine.  No real harm done, Mr. Nichols.  Thanks for your 
concern."  I try to smile.


Like I knew he would, Michael comes over to stick his well meaning
nose in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Nichols, I'm Dana's boyfriend.  We were just
discussing what happened.  Can you shed some light on it by telling 
what you saw."  Michael and I glare at each other.

"I was just coming back to my apartment from the store, and I saw 
this man tear out of Miss Scully's apartment.  He almost knocked me
down as he passed.  Then a few moments later, Miss Scully ran out 
after him, identifying herself as an FBI agent.  That was all."

While I slowly drift away from the utterly uninteresting details,
Michael asks Mr. Nichols some more questions regarding the incident.
Then Nichols is gone, thank goodness.

Michael volleys.  "What do you think the intruder was after?"

For his sake, I keep up the facade and return with, "Money and 
jewelry, I imagine."

Oh, he's pissed with my answer--I guess I haven't scored an ace. 

"You expect me to believe this was a random robbery?  When are you 
going to start leveling with me?" 

Now, we're both pissed. Michael's accusation is accurate, but I'm
only trying to protect him.  I don't want to fight, so I then lay
the truth on him.  

"The guy found what he was after when he fell over my bag spilling
the contents.  He found a stash of coke or heroin, I don't know 
which, I assume was planted on me at your sister's house.  That's 
what I believe happened.  Is that what you want to hear?!" I 
yell.

"Fuck!  I don't believe this," he yells back, uncontrollably. 

Rage and a wildness that I only witnessed when he was about to 
beat the pulp out of his brother rolls off him in waves, and I'm
afraid.  Not =of= him.  Never that.  But =for= him.  For us.  He
grabs his jacket, blazing a path to my door.

"Where are you going?" I call desperately, following after him.

"To make sure nothing like this ever happens again."

When I wrap myself around him from behind, his intentions to flee
begin to crumble.

"Michael, stop.  I'm not letting you leave here like a raving 
lunatic.  Stay with me.  Just hold me.  Please," I plead softly.

He turns around in my embrace, tenderly caressing my cheek.

"I don't know what to do, what to say. Except that I am so very, very
sorry."

"There's nothing to do.  Nothing to say.  This is not your fault.  We
forget about it, and we move on."  

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Yeah, you can.  You have to.  For me.  And mostly for yourself.  
There's nothing to gain by feeling guilty or exacting revenge."

Michael shakes his head, not agreeing with my conclusions.  "God, 
Dana.  Look at what he did to you.  I can =never= forget."

This cloud of tension we are under starts to take its toll on me.
First the lying, then the arguing and now this . . . impasse. I feel
a tad dizzy and nauseous again and return to the couch, hoping that
if I sit down and relax the feeling will pass.  A concerned Michael 
comes to sit by my side, rubbing my back in a soothing manner.  My 
hand clamps over my mouth in anticipation of vomiting but thankfully, 
I don't embarrass myself in front of Michael.  We sit quietly, and 
the feeling does indeed pass.

Once I'm feeling better, he takes my hand, saying, "C'mon let's
get you to bed.  You need your rest," he says slowly leading me to
the bedroom.  

He tucks us in under the covers, holding me close and lovingly
stroking my hair.  When he speaks, his voice is soft and caring.

"You need anything, sweetheart?"

I've never been a clingy female, and I'm not one now; I never
usually say lame, needy things like what I'm about to say but I'm 
worried.  I'm worried Michael's going to go off and do something 
crazy. I know him; and if there is a breaking point to this
whole mess with his brother, I know for a fact that my assault 
will be the final straw.

"Just you.  Only you . . . in one piece," I stress, hoping he 
gets the message.  He smiles slightly in response but says 
nothing in words; and his eyes are unreadable in the dark of our 
room.

"Sleep, baby."

"You'll stay, won't you?" I ask with sleep already creeping into my
voice.  

"I'll be with you, Dana.  I'll always be with you," he responds.

His words sound cryptic to me, but I don't have the energy to call 
him on it.  I'm so tired.  

So very tired.  

Despite my best efforts, my eyelids have become heavy and all I want
to do is sleep with Michael right here beside me, holding me safe and
secure.  I hope he is able to rest, but I honestly don't think he 
will.  He'll probably watch me all night long and torture himself 
over what has happened. He's very much like Mulder that way.  

We don't speak any other words for I practically fall asleep soon 
after my head hits the pillow. I don't mean to.  I want to talk to 

Michael some more, assure him that I'm okay, that we're okay; but I 
cannot keep my eyes open despite the nap I took earlier.

I promise myself we'll talk more in the morning--there will be time
enough tomorrow.  

Everything will be fine tomorrow.    

XXXXXX

Morning arrives.

The alarm clock sounds, waking me from a restless slumber to ready 
for work.  All through the night, my mind fretted about the 
situation we find ourselves in, creating all sorts of Michael revenge 
scenarios.  It's telling how I don't think much of what was done to 
me, only Michael's possible reactions and the repercussions for him 
and the two of us.  

I blindly reach over for him, but he's not there.  Furthermore, 
his side of the bed is very cold, like he's been gone for some time.
A chill runs down my spine as I glance around my empty bedroom.

But I will not panic.  He's probably in the shower I tell myself.  
When I check, however, the bathroom is as empty and cold as my bed.   

C'mon, Dana.  Think.

Okay. Okay.  

He probably just went for a run or to the gym to lift weights 
before work.  He does that quite often.  But when I go through the
drawer, all of his workout clothes are still there, untouched, as
are his sneakers on the floor.    

This is not good--I do not have a good feeling about any of this.  
I have to find him, make sure that he's all right, that he hasn't 
gone and done something crazy.  

I grab my phone and dial his cell.  I pace the floors of my apartment
as his cell rings and rings.  It's then that I realize there's a faint 
ringing in my apartment that corresponds.  Sure enough, I trace the 
sound to a partially open draw of my dresser.  Michael's cell phone 
lies inside, purposefully placed there; and I curse aloud.  Just for 
the hell of it, I try his house and then his office with no answer at 
either.  

Damn it, Michael.  Where are you?

I madly search for my book of phone numbers.  His partner's number is 
in there somewhere, and I pray that he'll know where the hell Michael 
is, although I'm not betting on it. And just as I suspected, Brian 
doesn't know a blasted thing.  

Now, what the hell do I do?  The panic and dread within me is at a 
fever pitch as I pace my apartment like a woman gone mad.

What the hell am I supposed to think?  I know what I feel and that, 
coupled with my dreams of last night, are frightening.  Sometimes I 

think I'm freaking psychic.  

When I go into the kitchen, my worst fears are confirmed.

There on the table lies a sheet of paper with a rose from my
bouquet on top of it.  It's a note from Michael that I read with 
trembling hands even though I already know what it will say. 

Dana,

You know what I had to do, and I can't express how sorry I am for
everything but especially for what's been taken away from us.

I will always love you.  Never forget that.

Yours forever,

Michael

I read the note over and over a few times--for whatever reason I'm 
not certain.  It sure as shit won't change the words or the 
implication of the words written on the page.  

I stand in the middle of my kitchen almost in a state of shock, my 
hand slowly and involuntarily crumpling the note.  I need to sit 
down before I fall down; and unaware, I reach out for a chair that 
is nowhere nearby.  With much effort, I mentally shake myself of 
this state I'm in to contemplate what the hell I am to do next.  

Despite my roiling emotions, I have to remain calm and rational, 
to be of any help to Michael.

I will figure this out. I have to. I have no other choice--Michael's 

life most likely rests in my hands. And his life is my life now.    

Although I would never admit it to Mulder in a million years, I =am= 
freaking psychic.

But what the fuck good does it do me now?

Most importantly, what the fuck good does it do Michael?

XXXXXX

My head pounds.

I lie here on a cot in this godforsaken place, various memories
assaulting my mind.

<Leaving Dana and shuttling to New York.>

<<Talking with her.>>


<Tracking Sal through the old haunts.>

<<Laughing with her.>>

<Finding him and the confrontation to follow.>

<<Making love to her.>>

<"Where is he?!  I want to talk to him.">

<"No, now.  My Sig, here, says I'll talk to him right fuckin'
=now=.">

<"Sal, my big prick of a brother, how are you? Get your scumbag of a 
friend out of here . . .  Get out!  Get the fuck out!">

<All because of you, we've been through hell.  All because of you, 
Dana has been emotionally and physically hurt.  A black eye here.  A 
split lip there. Now, I'm gonna split your fuckin' head open.">

I cornered him.  Terror in his eyes.  Fury in mine. Then fists 
against flesh.  Over and over and over again.  Pounding. Beating.
Punishing.  

He fought back as best he could, even damaging the brow of my eye 
with his bulky ring, but he was no match for me.  Certainly not 
physically.  And mentally, I think I was on a different plane.

Vaguely aware was I of the commotion on the other side of the door.

My hand ached, my knuckles split open and bleeding from the 

punishment I reigned on him.

I was out of breath. The adrenaline coursing through my body so
furious, so strong, urging me forward.

I continued to pound him, and he seemed unconscious.

I could give a fuck.

My gun was at his head.

My finger twitching on the trigger.


Would I do it?  Could I do it?

I may have hesitated, but I would never know for sure.  

They took me away before I had the chance. 

Pulled me off him. 
 
Dragged me away.  

The police.  

On the take.  

In his pocket.

The fuckers.

XXXXX

Without a lawyer of my own, the Big Apple appoints me one; but I've
refused.  I had come here specifically to harm Sal.  No, that's not
entirely accurate.  I had come here specifically to kill him. 

Attempted murder charges no doubt await me, but I will face the 
consequences of my actions head on.  Sal's hatred of me and my love
for Dana have made her an object to be used against me, a pawn for 
revenge.  She's been used one too many times, and I won't allow
her to be hurt again. 

I make my allotted phone call to Dana but she's unreachable both at
home and on her cell.  And I won't leave a message; there's too
many feelings to express, too many things to explain, too much to 
apologize for. I can't remember her number at work, so I call
Brian.  He will get in touch with her for me, let her know I'm 
okay but that I desperately need to see her.   

Turns out she had already contacted him, deeply concerned about me 
and my whereabouts. He assures me he will assuage her fear and that 
the two of them will do everything possible to get me out of this 
mess.    

I'm not holding my breath.  

XXXXXX

Early morning the next day, I'm told someone is coming for me.  A 
couple hours later, the door opens, and I jump up from the cot in 
anticipation of Dana's arrival.  Mulder files in, and she's nowhere 
to be found.  My throat suddenly goes dry with surprise, 
disappointment, and confusion.  

"What- What're you doing here?  Where's Dana?"

"In DC.  She tried her damnedest to be here but couldn't get out of
a court date.  She asked me to come here and take care of things. . .
Just so you know, she was worried sick about you, not that she would 
admit it though.  You didn't handle this too brightly."

"Thanks, I really feel like hearing that right now," I say, sarcasm
creeping into my voice. 

Mulder drops my clothes and the rest of my personal belongings on
the large table in the center of the room.  I pull out a chair and
slide into it, Mulder doing the same.  

"Well, Scully and I both called in a few favors, and you're brother is 
dropping the charges.  Basically, you're free to go."  

That's good, but I'm not worried about that right now; there are
other pressing matters at hand.  I'm very curious why he's here
doing what he's doing and call him on it.  "Why are you helping 
me?" 

"Because Scully asked me to."

"It's as simple as that?"

"Yeah," he says and shrugs.

"You came all this way just to help =me=," I say incredulously.  
"Why?"

"Scully asked me to," he repeats, annoyed.  "All she needs to do is
ask."

"All she needs to do is ask, and you'll do anything she wants," I
conclude.  "Even help your rival.  We are rivals, aren't we, 
Mulder?" I prod him. 

He shakes his head, more annoyed than before.  "You know, I don't 
get you.  I'm trying to help you out here and instead of thanking 
me, you're questioning my motivation."

"C'mon, Mulder, you know what I'm getting at.  Dana's a big 
motivator; that's why I'm here.  Now, you're here; and I'm assuming 
our motivation is one in the same. . . You're in love with her, 

aren't you?"  I ask outright.  He hesitates, staring blankly at me;
but I wouldn't let it drop.  "I have a right to know.  This effects 
me, too," I add, hoping to persuade him.

"I think you know the answer to that, but I'll spell it out for you.
Yes, I love her.  More than you can imagine. And I think things
are going to change."

Change?  Change how?  Meaning Dana with him and not with me?  Fat
fucking chance if I had any say in the matter.  If he really believed
things were going to change then there was only one thing to 
conclude.  

"You think she's in love with you," I said.  It wasn't a question.  

He took the easy way out.  "That's not for me to say."

I continued on, however.  "If there was a choice to be made, you 
think she would choose you."  Again, not a question.  He was oozing
a confidence I could only envy.  

"I don't know, but I wouldn't exactly bet against me."

"And why's that?"

"C'mon, Mike, enough.  If you want to get out of here sometime today,
we need to get back to business." He removed some papers from the 
inside pocket of his suit jacket and tossed them in front of me along
with a pen.  "Sign these," he instructed.

I did as told after I skimmed each page.  For all I knew, I was 
signing my name to papers ordering me to stay out of Dana's life.  
Mulder would just love that. 

I scrawled my signature multiple times with effort.  Something as 
simple as that drained the energy I had left which wasn't much to 
begin with.  Mulder eyed me the entire time and then broke the
silence.  

"You know, Mike, you might want to clean up a bit before you see 
Scully; you look like shit."

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"Look, I'm just trying to help.  I have nothing against you except
for the shit Scully's been put through because of you."

I shook my head, struck by his audacity.  "You should talk."  I
was silent again for a moment until I asked him what had been on my
mind the entire time.  "I want to know why it is that Dana would 
choose you exactly."


There was no hesitation this time.  "We have a history, been through
stuff you couldn't possibly understand.  We have a rare connection.  
If I hadn't have fucked things up some time ago, I'd be the one 
making love to her every night."

"Well, I think you underestimate the love that Dana and I share.  I
understand plenty of what she's been put through with you, and I've
helped her deal with it.  She and I have our own connection.  And if
you think I'm going to pack it in because she suddenly realizes she's
in love with you, too, you're sadly mistaken.  I won't let her go 
unless that's what she wants."

"I wouldn't expect any less of you."

"As long as we understand each other."

I gave Mulder a long look and rose up from the table gathering my 
clothes while he pressured the guard outside the room for a key to 
the phone on the wall.  Sure enough, he was calling Dana.

God, I needed to talk to her.  I needed to explain.  

"Scully, it's 12 pm.  I hope you get a chance to check your voicemail.
Everything worked out in NY.  We have a shuttle flight in 2 hours and
15 minutes, #809.  See you at Dulles."

XXXXX

Thank God.  The flight from hell in what felt like a tin can was 
finally over. Mulder hadn't said much and neither had I, lost as I 
was in my own thoughts.  This is so ridiculous.  I had almost killed
my own brother and been sent up the river for it, but my thoughts 
were of Dana and her dutiful partner.  

Though I had guessed some time back that he was in love with her, 
having him actually say the words had caused my heart to ache.  Like
she herself had told me that she loved him and wanted to be with him.
I felt totally defeated.  I knew it was only a matter of time before
this game they were playing with each other was over.  Before the jig
was up and I was left the odd man out.  

I let everyone exit the plane ahead of me, not having the energy to
fight my way through the crowd.  Mulder is patient and doesn't
comment.  I trudge slowly towards the gate, my limbs feeling stiff 
and weak.  Mulder keeps pace about a step behind me.  

People rush past me in a hurry towards their destinations and 
their loved ones. I'm glad no one accidentally bumps into me 
because I think I would fall flat on my face.

My loved one stands there impatiently, checking her watch, pacing a 
short, tight line.  When she looks up again, she catches sight of us
though we are still a ways away.  As we near, her worried eyes 
dart between the two of us; and then focus solely on me as she
takes in my appearance.  She looks horrified.

I can't blame her.  I look nothing like the man by her side a 
few days ago. I'm disheveled; my hair is a mess, I have a full 
beard, my eyebrow is cut and decorated with dried blood, and my 
white shirt adorns a fair amount of Sal's blood.
  
She runs up to me, and I mutter a quick "Thanks, man" to Mulder who
then moves off to the side about ten feet away, waiting for his turn
with her.  My hands land on her strong shoulders, her hands 
supporting me on my waist.  The compassion and concern on her face 
and in her eyes makes me feel extraordinarily wanted and loved.   

"Jesus, Michael, you're sick," she says tight with emotion as her 
hand feels my forehead. "And hurt," she adds when she notices the 
cut at my brow.   

She's right.  I feel sicker than I ever have in my life, but I 
swear, just touching her makes me feel better.  My hands jump to 
the sides of her face, my fingers tracing her immensely kissable 
lips. 

"I'll be fine.  You're here now."  But for how long I secretly
wonder.  

"Michael, you'll be all right for a minute?  I just want to thank
Mulder and tell him we can manage from here. I'll take care of 
everything," she vows.

I nod and watch her go to her partner, who has been watching us

intensely the whole time.  I maneuver myself against the nearby 
wall feeling I need the support, especially with the little 
spectacle I'm about to witness.  Just seeing them do something as
mundane as conversing bothers me.  With them, nothing is ever
simple.

The air about them crackles as soon as they look at each other.
He moves into her personal space, hanging on her every word like 
she's explaining all the mysteries of the universe. His hand 
automatically pokes back some unruly strands of hair behind her ear, 
neither of them surprised by the action.  At the same time, their
hands reach for the other's, squeezing waves of thanks and support.    

Dana then returns to me, and I catch Mulder glancing over his 

shoulder at her as he departs.  She threadd her fingers through 
mine and says, "C'mon, let's get you home."

We walk out of the airport hand in hand.  With her hand enmeshed 
in mine, her body supporting me, I already feel 10 times better. 

XXXXX

I take Michael to my apartment so I can care for him properly.
From what I gathered at the airport, he was running a pretty high
fever and was suffering not only physically but emotionally.

He collapses into my couch, and I make him lie down.  I force some
aspirin into his system and try to cool his skin down with a cold
compress to his face and neck. The wound on his brow concerns me so
I clean it along with the other cuts and scrapes on his face.  I 
instruct him to sleep but as I leave to give him some peace and 
quiet, he grabs my hand, asking me to stay.  He wants to explain 
what he's done and why and assure himself that I'm was not angry with 
him.  

After we sort everything out, I busy myself with chores as he 
sleeps soundly.  About three hours later, my prince awakens and 
greets me.  


"Hi," Michael says, rather shyly.  

I look over my shoulder and see him standing in the doorway of 
my kitchen, his shoulders slumped and his hands buried deep in his 
pockets.  A shower and a shave have served him well, however.  

"Hey, baby.  How are you doing?"

"Better," he remarks without much feeling and pulls out a chair at 
the kitchen table, plopping into it heavily.

I carry a sandwich and a bowl of soup to the table.  "Here, I fixed 
you something.  Why don't you put some food in your stomach."

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," he replies and pushes the food away.

Well, he's a big boy.  If he doesn't want to eat, I'm going to 
force him.  I change the subject.  "How's that eye?"

"Fine."

Whatever you say.  I'm going to check it regardless. My fingers 

gently inspect the area and his forehead for traces of fever.  

"You probably could have used a couple of stitches, but I think it 
should heal okay."

He's quiet for a moment and then looks up at me with the saddest,
sweetest face I've ever seen.  His arms pull me close, wrapping 
around my waist, his head pillowing lightly against my abdomen.  I 
hold him tightly, thankful that God has heard my prayers and 
returned him to me relatively unscathed.  When he doesn't let go, I 
ruffle his wet hair and look down at him.  

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."   

"Don't give me that.  I know you.  Something's still bothering you.
What is it?"

He finally releases me, apparently ready to reveal what is upsetting
him.  He begins to trace invisible patterns with his index finger 
along the surface of the table as he speaks.  

"I don't know.  Sometimes. . . Sometimes I think I'm a fool for 
having come anywhere near you."

"Uh, okay," I practically choke.  "You really know how to charm a
girl."

"No, I don't mean it like that.  Part of it is the pain you've
been put through because of me.  But we talked about that, and we 
talked about what I did.  Even though you don't necessarily agree 
with how I handled it, you understand why I did what I did.  Mostly,
I'm talking about partnerships. I know what they're like, what 
feelings they involve, what they come to mean.  And still I pursued
you.  Because I couldn't help myself."

I sigh.  "I think I know where this is going, and I don't know why
we keep coming back to it."  

"I just tried to tell you why.  I think I may have made a mistake in 
overestimating what you could feel for me and underestimating what
you must feel for your partner."

"No.  You've made no mistakes.  If the two of us loving each other is
a mistake, I'd gladly make that mistake over and over again.  Look,
Michael, I take it you and Mulder had some sort of talk; and that's
why you're feeling threatened by him.  But there's no reason to. 
I already told you I spoke to him about us. He's fine with it; 
it's not an issue.  But apparently, it's an issue with you; one you 
won't let go of no matter what I say."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to after what I learned," he groans.

"And what's that?"

"He loves you, Dana.  He's in love with you," he announces matter of
factly.  

"He told you that?"

"Yes.  He did.  And that you love him."

"Oh?  And I suppose he told you that, too?" I ask coldly. What the 
fuck is Mulder thinking?   

"No, but he inferred it . . .  You do, don't you?" he asks with a 
disgustingly pained face.  

"Michael," I sigh, my fingers sweeping across my eyes and then 
pinching at the bridge of my nose, my frustration evident.   "we've 
already been through this.  I love =you=.  What else matters?"

"You're avoiding the question, Agent Scully."

"And you're badgering me, Agent Anzotti."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"Yeah.  You obviously want me to say something or admit to something.
Have I given you reason to mistrust me?"

"No, of course not.  But I wonder how Mulder can see it all so 
clearly, how I can see it but you can't or won't."

I shake my head in bewilderment.  

"I don't understand.  Are you deliberately trying to make things 

harder for us?  Haven't they been hard enough?"

"I would never do that, Dana.  I'm just being realistic.  I'm waiting
for you to wake up one day and realize that you should be with him, 
that you want to be with him."

"Why, because of what Mulder said to you, what he believes?  I 
honestly don't care about that.  I only care what you believe.  I 
don't know why you're letting him put these doubts in your head."

"Dana, as much as it pains me to say it, you and Mulder are like two
halves of a whole.  The two of you exist in your own world when 
you're together.  I see it and so does everyone else."

"And anyone with eyes sees how crazy I am about you, how much I 
love you.  Don't you believe me when I tell you that?"

"Yes.  I see it in your eyes, and I feel it.  I feel it in your 
body whenever you make love to me.  But I don't know if it's enough."

"In comparison to =what?=" I ask, my voice rising, completely 
exasperated.

"Your feelings for Mulder."

For what seems like the millionth time, I wonder how to get 
through to him and pull up a chair beside him, grasping his hand.  

"Michael, you spoke of the relationships between partners.  Mulder 
and I have, I admit, a relationship that is inexplicable. But he is 
my work partner, my friend; that is all.  We are guarded with one 
another, our capacity for sharing things, sharing feelings, limited. 
But that's not the way it is with you.  I like to think we share 
everything because you are my partner as well.  My life partner.  At 
least, I want you to be.  We have spoken of a future together, a 
commitment, be it living together or marriage and the possibility of 
adopting a child. I don't take any of that lightly.  The bottom line 
is that I want that. I want you. I love you so much."    

After my declaration, he looks at me, looks into my soul.  I can

see the thanks in his eyes for reassuring him of my feelings. And I
can also see his vulnerability, the fact that I hold his heart in
my hands. If I can help it, I will never hurt him or disappoint
him again like I have in the past.  

I kiss Michael then with every once of the love and passion I feel 
for him. It starts out slow and sensual and gradually deepens and 
intensifies, to the point where we are both breathing heavily. I 
break the kiss, wondering if he can feel what I'm trying to
convey.

He breaks out into a broad, satisfied smile.  "mmm.  That was . . . 
amazing.  =You're= amazing."

"You liked that, huh?  I can give you so much more if you'd just
believe me, believe =in= me, in us."

"I do, Dana.  I'm just scared, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.  I've 
always believed in =you=, and I always will."

"No more doubts?"

"No more doubts."

"Good because I want to show you the truth in my words . . .  if 
you're up to it . . . in your weakened condition and all. Is =he=
up to it?" I asked suggestively, my right eyebrow shooting towards
the sky.   

"Always where you're concerned," he answers seriously and with a 
hint of amusement at the same time.

I smirk at the affirmative reply I =knew= I would receive and 
start to undo the buttons of my blouse.  "Then I'm going to slip 
out of these clothes.  I expect you to be waiting for me in bed, 
stripped naked, in less than five minutes," I instruct and drop 
my blouse to the floor for good measure as I depart for the 
bathroom.  "Well?" I called out from the hallway.  

"I always follow Doctor Scully's orders."

Yes, you do.  And you will tonight.  To the letter.  It's my turn to 
be in control again.  

I poke my head back into the kitchen and see him still sitting there 
with a shit-eating grin I imagine has been there since the subject 
turned to sex. But =why= is still sitting there?  Did I have to 
light a fire under his ass?  I want him =and= that ass, and I 
want them =now=.

"Snap to it, Michael.  Precious time's a wasting.  Sex time that is."

With that, he must have launched himself out of the chair for the
next thing I know is that "rocket man" has darted past me for the 
bedroom, already stripped of most of his clothes.  

XXXXXX

I lie in bed watching her sleep on a Sunday morning nearing 11 am.  
Her faint snore makes me smile, and I finger the beautiful strands of 
her soft, silky hair.

It's not unlike other Sundays we've spent together.  Sometimes we lie
in bed till noon reading the paper, talking, or eating breakfast.  
She rarely sleeps late but I woke her twice last night to make love.
Yeah, I'm a bastard; but even after nearly a year of being together,
I still can't get enough of her.  And from her enthusiasm last night,
even after I woke her from a sound sleep, I think it's the same for
her.

I love to watch her like this when she's unguarded with no mask or
facade to uphold.  Most of the time when she's with me, she's not an
FBI agent or a doctor; she doesn't have to be strong, unbreakable, or
infallible.  She's just a wonderful, feminine woman with an endless
capacity for love and compassion when you get through her protective
walls.  I understand why they are there, being an FBI agent aside-
she's been through some hellish shit. Breaking through those walls
may have been arduous, but the reward was absolutely, positively
worth it.  I love her more than I ever could have imagined.
 
Luckily, I'm lying on the side of the bed where the phone is when it
rings.  I snatch it up on the first ring, hoping it doesn't disturb 
her.

"Hello?" I ask, trying to keep my voice low.

It's not a voice I particularly want to hear.  

"Let me speak to Scully, it's important."

"Yeah, Mulder," I sigh.  "Dana's sleeping.  What do you want?"

"I need to talk to her now."

"I said she's sleeping."

"C'mon, Mike, let me talk to her."

"Is it a matter of life or death?"

He hesitates, so I take the opportunity to call his bluff.

"I didn't think so.  I'll wake her up and you can call back in ten
minutes."

I hang up before he can utter another word, and though I know it was
kind of mean, I can't help the pleasure it gives me.  Despite how 
much he helped me a few months before, the guy pisses me off.  He
calls here on a Sunday demanding to speak to Dana without any
explanation.

I take another minute or two to look at her before I decide to rouse
her.  I say her name softly and place light kisses on her neck and 
mouth.  I think my morning stubble has scratched her face; but she
doesn't seem to mind as she mewls, "mmmm.  You're here."

"Where else would I be?"  I return.  It's unnecessary, but I
still want her to know.

I continue to place chaste kisses on her lips, but she wants more,
opening her mouth and inviting me in.  When I don't comply, she 
lightly grabs at my lips with her teeth and plunges her tongue inside
again and again.  I can't resist any longer, and we're kissing madly
as her hand snakes into my boxers to take hold of me.  The familiar
heat between us is about to burn out of control as my hand aches to
touch her clit but I don't want to start this right now.

She's knows something's up.  "Michael, touch me."

I pull back from her wonderful touch and say in almost a strangled
voice, "Baby, wait."

She shoots me a questioning look.  "What is it?"

"Nothing.  Mulder called while you were asleep.  He's going to call
back in about five minutes."

Apparently, she doesn't give Mulder another thought as she smiles and 
pulls me back into her embrace.  "Then get over here.  I don't want 
to waste five seconds let alone five minutes with you." 

Things start to heat up yet again as she makes love to my mouth with
hers. 

Then the dreaded call finally comes.

"That's for you," I grumble into her neck.

I try to disentangle myself from her as she reaches for the phone, 
but her hand grasps mine, holding me in place.  I'm only trying to 
give them a moment of privacy.  

"Don't go," she pleads.  Her gesture is nice, welcome.  She doesn't 
want there to by any secrets between us.

She peers right in my eyes with a sweet smile on her face as Mulder
begins to talk to her.  As he goes on, though, the look on her face
plummets; there is nothing there now but fear and a terrible sadness.
Her eyes begin to tear up, and I have to look away from her.  The 
connection between us remains, however, as my hand stays firmly 
grasped within hers.

God damn him.  I want to kill him right now for doing this to her.  I
want to rip that phone from the wall so she can't hear another word,
so he can't hurt her anymore.  I don't want to see that look on her
face ever again.

Dana finally speaks to Mulder again, quelling my unproductive 
thoughts.  "Where?  What's the address? . . . I'll be there."

She hangs up the phone and stares after it for a long moment.  Her 
hand squeezes mine, and we finally look at each other again.  I don't 
like what I see in her eyes, the tears still poised to fall.

"Baby, what is it?" I croak out, fear taking over my voice.

"Umm . . . Mulder was contacted by a man who wants to meet with him.  
This man knows about me . . . about my abduction, the chip, the 
cancer. He says . . . this man says that I may not be in remission 
much longer. . . We're going to meet with him in about two hours."

No.  God, no.  This cannot be true.  This is the worst possible news
there ever could be. My heart feels like it's been ripped from
my chest, but I have to be strong for her. 

Just as I'm about to tell her that she cannot believe this character,
this bastard with his own agenda to serve, she gathers her strength 
and realizes we'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.  
Certainly not now, not before we know anything for sure.  

In front of me, she lets her tears fall; and I wipe them away.  

"I know, Michael," she says softly.  

"Know what?  I didn't say anything."

"I know what you're thinking, that I can't jump to conclusions based 
on what some . . . stranger says.  You're right, and I will not do 
that again.  I'll get myself checked out, and we'll deal with it,
if anything, then.  Not now, not before we know.  Together. We'll 
deal with it together, right?" she says as her chin juts upward
confidently and defiantly.  

"Absolutely," I say without a moments hesitation.  "I'm always there 
for you no matter what.  Your mother and . . . Mulder are, too." 

I add Mulder's name, but I don't know why exactly.  I guess I want 
her to remember that everybody important in her life loves and cares 
about her.  And as much as I want to deny it, I know Mulder is 
important.

I take her into my arms, and we hold each other.  At this point, I 
don't know who's the strong one, who's comforting whom; but it 
doesn't really matter.  After everything we've been through, we're 
always there for one another now.  

Dana leaves the comfort of my arms to shower. I don't move and 
continue to sit on the mattress lost in my thoughts of her and
everything that we are to each other.   

By the time Dana is showered and ready, it's time to go.

XXXXXX

We arrive at the appointed location, what appears to be an
abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of D.C.  Dana notices Mulder's
car, but there is no other vehicle in sight.  We stand around 
looking for some sign of him as she calls out his name, but it's 
eerily quiet.  I tell Dana I'll check around back to see if 
anything is amiss while she waits for me in the front.  

When I came back around, I shake my head and mutter, "Nothing."

Her face is unreadable to most, but I know what she's thinking 
and feeling. She immediately pulls her gun from the holster at her 
back and checks the clip.  Her words echo in the cold, damp
air.  

"Something's wrong.  I can feel it."

I imitate her movements with my own gun.  I trust her instincts
implicitly.

We move as one to the door of the warehouse, guns cocked, at the
ready. I try the door which is locked of course.  My days as a 
high school football player touch my memory as I attempt to bash
in the semi-rickety door with my shoulder.  But it's to no avail.

"Michael, stop.  Let me."

I'm ready to question her-she would have to think I'm nuts if she
thinks I'll let her smash her shoulder into the door.  Then I 
realize what she has in mind as she stands in a perfect shooting 
stance, aiming at the lock with an uncanny precision.

I move aside and sure enough, after one shot, the lock is history.   
  
I looked at her, mild astonishment evident on my face.  She quirked
an eyebrow and a smirk at me as if to retort, "I'm good; what can
I say?"

She joins me at the door, her left hand momentarily rubbing at my
throbbing right shoulder. She flashes me her "make it up to ya later"
grin, and I flash her my "you're on" grin.  

We enter the warehouse cautiously and alertly.  There is no sign
of Mulder or anyone else in the main part of the structure, so we 
continue our search onto a row of what looks to be old offices. I
fling open the door of the first one, and there he is.  Dana pauses, 
a look of horror overcoming her beautiful face when she sees 
Mulder's body lying still in the corner of the empty room.  

"Oh, God.  Mulder?"  she murmurs and runs to his side.  She kneels 
down beside him and begins to assess his condition. 

Immediately, I pull out my cell phone and dial 911.  With a 
federal agent down, they will be here as fast as humanly possible.


She begins to speak to him, the tone of her voice close to 
desperation.  "Mulder, can you hear me?  Mulder?  Wake up.  Stay with 
me."

I look on as she examines him, pressing and palpating his chest 
area.  She isn't letting on what she knows, and I'm getting 
restless.  

"What can I do?" I ask, hoping I can be helpful in some way.    

"Nothing," she replies mildly and continues her task.  

"Dana, just tell me what to do," I insist, feeling totally
useless and really wanting to help Mulder.    

"I'll handle it.  I'll take care of him," she states with irritation
as she looks up at me.

I don't deserve that tone but I know she's under duress. "What's 

going on with him?"

" . . . He's got some facial and possible rib injuries.  What I'm 
worried about is this head injury.  He's conscious but barely," she 
replies without taking her eyes off Mulder.  

I then watch her attend to him with such apparent love and 
compassion that it scares me.  It scares me because I feel as if that

is how she would be if I was the one lying there.  I'm supposed
to be the man that she loves, not him.  She wiggles out of her 
trench coat and places it over his body.  Then she removes her blazer 
and folds it up into a makeshift pillow, placing it carefully under 
his head.  


I start to feel like I'm intruding on them; so I inch my way 
into the hall just outside the room, watching them intently.
I think Dana has even forgotten I'm here; she's totally focused 
on Mulder.  

"C'mon, Mulder.  It's me.  You've got to stay up.  Please wake up
for me," she practically coos and gently taps at his face.

"Sc . . . Scully?"


"Yeah, I'm here. Hello, sleepyhead."


"Where . . . What happened?"

"Shh, just relax," she soothes.

"I feel like . . .  absolute shit . . . I think . . . I'm dying."

"=I= think you're being melodramatic, but I would never let that 
happen."

"No . . . No you wouldn't."

There is a long pause and then the conversation continues.    

"Scully . . . there's something I want to make sure you know . . . I 
want you to believe me when I say it."

"Shh, Mulder, it can wait.  Just rest now."

"No . . . Scully . . . I want you to know that. . . that I really do 
love you . . . I want you to believe me this time. . .   You do don't 
you?"

Oh, God, help me.  I don't want to hear this.  I don't want to hear
her reply.  Dana's mine, but I'm the outsider here.  It's like I 
don't exist, and it's been like that since she saw him lying there.
Before she answered him, I knew what she was going to say.  I
knew and even braced myself but it couldn't help the ache inside me
as she utters the words.

"I do, I do . . . I love you, too."

"Scully, . . ."

"Shh Mulder, just rest now.  The ambulance is on its way."

And it can't come fast enough.  

After Dana's little revelation, I lose track of their conversation.
She's leaning into him, into his face, whispering sweet nothings
for all I know. And the truth is, I don't want to know.  I know
far too much as it is.  At this moment, I wish for some divine 
force to happen upon me. Maybe the floor can swallow me up whole 
and take me out of my fucking misery.  

Along with their conversation, I also lose track of time; and when 
the ambulance finally arrives, it jerks me from the funk I've been 
ensconced in.  I lead the EMTs to Mulder, and they practically have 
to pry Dana off him to load him into the back of the vehicle.  Maybe 
they should load me into the ambulance as well--I'm a man dying of a 
broken heart.  

The EMTs listen with mild annoyance as Dana barks out her orders 
for Mulder's treatment.  I try to calm her but succeed only
minimally.

She shivers in the cold air as we haggle out who will be riding
with whom.  I take off my jacket and place it around her shoulders,
and she accepts it with genuine gratitude.  I had meant to give it
to her in the drafty warehouse, but I'd been just a tad preoccupied.
 
As you can guess, I'm on my own.  Dana decides to ride in the 
back of the ambulance with Mulder.  Neither surprised nor pleased 
with her decision, I follow along in my truck.  

XXXXXX

At the hospital, Dana flashes her credentials and states her case.  
The hospital staff is less hostile than most and agrees to keep her
apprised of Mulder's condition as well as their plans for treatment.  

She plants herself in a corner, keeping mostly to herself as we 
wait.  She seems more closed off than I would like, but I'm not 
exactly engaging her in thrilling conversation.  I'mselfishly 
plagued by my own problems, specifically the state of her
health and our relationship.  Will we even have a relationship 
after today?

More waiting.  I buy a couple of bagels and cups of coffee in
the hospital coffee shoppe hoping Dana will put something in her
system since the last time we'd eaten was the night before.  In the 
span of an hour, all she manages is one bite and a few sips before 
I throw the food away.  I haven't fared much better myself.  

She continues her stance in the corner; and after I haven't stirred 
from the chair opposite her in quite some time, she comes over and 
crouches down beside me, grasping my hand.  We engage in some small 
talk, and she even tells a joke that I find to be very amusing.  
Unfortunately, it cannot shake the feelings of despair that reside
within me.  Ordinarily, I would have been trying to comfort her in 
this trying time; but I don't have it in me. We need to talk this
thing out, but it's not the proper time.

A couple of hours after Mulder was initially admitted, Dana receives
word that his CAT scan is negative.  He is going to be okay, but it

will be a little while before he can have visitors. She tells me
the good news over a turkey breast sandwich that I brought to her
from a local deli.  I had pulled her into an empty conference room to 
force her to sit down and eat since she was looking pale and shaky.  
Her spirits are up over the good news, but she notices I'm still 
not myself.  I shrug off her concern with effort, and we speak of inconsequential things once again.

At this moment, we stand outside Mulder's room waiting for the go 
ahead to see him while the nurses breeze past us busy with their 
work.  This waiting is making my predicament worse; I need to be 
busy doing something, not sitting around thinking about Dana and 
Mulder.  And now (when he is about to receive visitors)is the time 
to make my getaway.  

"Dana, I'm gonna take off for awhile," I inform her.  

"Michael, wait.  Mulder can see us in a minute."

It's true enough as a nurse then gives us the okay to go inside his 
room.

"No, I'm out of place here.  I can assure you that I'm not the one 
Mulder wants or needs to see."

As if to confirm my observation, Mulder calls out loudly for her.  
She doesn't react other than to go over and pull the door to his room 
partly closed.

"Are you going home?"

"No, no.  I wouldn't leave you alone for that.  Brian and I are gonna
go back to the warehouse to see if we can lift some prints or blood,
see if we can get a handle on who did this."

"Sounds like a good idea. Thanks."

"You never have to thank me.  I would do anything for you."

"I know you would, but thanks just the same.  Don't be gone long."

She then plants a kiss on my lips that I don't really respond
to. It's not that I don't want to; I love kissing her, and she
makes me weak in the knees.  But I don't want to give in to my
hunger for her when I face the very real possibility of losing her.
She shrinks back, confused, her brow furrowed.   

"You okay?" she asks with concern.  

"Honestly, no.  No, I'm not," I admit.  

"Why? What can I do?"

"Dana . . ."

"Are =we= okay?" she asks, her voice sounding like a frightened 
girl.

"I don't know.  You tell me.  Are we?"

She looks to me, perplexed.  "Michael, I have to admit I don't  
understand what's changed between us since this morning."

Oh, Dana.  How could you not know?

"We'll talk about it, but now's not the time."

Mulder calls out for her again, but she doesn't react to his voice.

"Then when? I don't want you to leave like this.  Tell me.  Tell me
what to do."

"Go see Mulder.  He's waiting."

"Michael," she sighs, not wanting to leave me with this uncertainty
between us.  

"Go ahead," I lightly encourage.  

She shakes her head slightly and turns for Mulder's door, her gait
slow and leaden.  When she looks back at me, her hand poised for
the doorknob, her face and eyes are full of sadness.  She is
terribly torn and confused.  Mulder is calling her, he needs her; 
and I am encouraging her to go to him while expressing in not so 
many words that things are wrong, we're falling apart.  How is 
that for a little angst?

But instead of disappearing into Mulder's room, she glides back to
me, invading my space with her heat.  She looks up at me, eyes dark
and intense, my eyes mirroring her own.  With one look, this look, 
she turns me to jelly, and I want nothing but to crush her to me.  
She wraps her arms around me and brings my head, specifically my ear,
to her mouth.  That mouth, that tongue licks and kisses and suckles
my neck and my earlobe, sending arousing chills up and down my body.  

When she blows her warm breath into my ear and whispers between
kisses, "Love you . . . Love you, Michael.  Never forget that" I
nearly lose it.  Her ministrations stop, and we cling to each other. 
I want to tell her I love her too but the words will not come.  

We let go, staring into each other eyes.  She reaches up and 
straightens the collar of my jacket and pulls the leather around
me.  It is chilly outside but hot as hell in here with her.


"=Go=," I urge softly, motioning with my head. 

Without another word, Dana turns and slowly makes her way to Mulder's 
door again.  Once there, she looks back at me, waiting.  I hold her 
gaze, hers never wavering. I need to concentrate on the task ahead, 
and I can't do it with her looking at me like this.  I couldn't do 
it anyway with all that has happened, but the point is mute.

Staring is getting us nowhere, so I turn and start to walk,
glancing back at her over my shoulder, her eyes still fixed 
on me.  I continue to walk away and leave her, knowing I can never
do so in any real sense of the word.


XXXXXX

God, help me to do what needs to be done.  I pray that this shall 
not consume me.  Help me to think of something else besides Dana
Katherine Scully  . . . I don't know if I can do it, but I have to.  

This is so hard . . .     

So damn hard when all I can feel are her eyes burning into my 
back every single step of the way. 

So damn impossible when all I can smell is her perfume, her 
essence, =her= lingering in the folds of my jacket.  It is there
everywhere I am, everywhere I go. 

Despite the cold, I shed my jacket in an unsuccessful attempt to 
banish her from my thoughts.

XXXXXX


Mission accomplished and my emotions still ajumble, I return to the
hospital only to find the source of my swirling emotions puffing away
on a cigarette outside the ER.  She has been carrying around that 
pack of cigarettes I bought when we first made love, and I figure
she finds them useful at heightened times of stress.  Today more
than qualifies.  

"Hey," I greet her without much enthusiasm.

"Hey, you.  I was just taking a few drags.  You want?"

"No, thanks," I reply and she stubs out the cancer stick.

"How'd it go?"

"Well, we lifted prints and blood, but I suspect they're our prints 
and Mulder's blood, naturally.  

"Naturally," she sighs.

"We'll have to wait and see what the lab boys have to say though," I 
offer, trying to give her some hope.  I don't want her to dwell on 
the bad news, the fact that we will probably never know who did this 
and why; so I ask about the only good thing I can think of at the 
moment.  "How is he?"

"As well as can be expected.  He has to stay overnight for 
observation because of the concussion, but he should be fine.  He 
just needs to rest, which I think we could use as well.  Michael, 
will you take me home."

Dana, I want to take you home, take you home with me more than 
anything; but I don't think you mean my home.  You want to go home,
home to your own apartment. I know this.  I know you want to be
rid of me.  So I, being the glutton for punishment that 
I am, again encourage you to be with him.  What the hell is wrong 
with me?

"What about Mulder?  I would've thought you would want to stay with
him."  
  
"No, I called his mother, and she's going to stay with him tonight. 
She's in with him now."

"Oh," I remark stupidly, not really expecting her reply.  I don't
say anything else because I'm at a loss. I thought she would jump at 
the opportunity to be with Mulder.  No matter.  She probably spilled
her guts to him while I was gone, and they plan on living a long,
happy life together.  

My cell phone sounds in the inside pocket of my jacket, mildly
startling me, but I'm thankful for the interruption. I just don't 
know what to expect from Dana. 

"Anzotti . . .  Brian, yeah, I said I'd pick up the file . . . I 
just have to drop Dana home first . . . Georgetown . . . Right,
later."

Before I even click off the phone, Dana is speaking to me.  

"Michael, I think you misunderstood.  By take me home, I meant your
home.  Take me home to Rosslyn."

Oh, I get it.  You want to tell me to get lost but you want to do it
in private.  Ensure that I don't =go= crazy, that I don't =do= 
something crazy, that I don't hurt myself by driving into a ditch 
over this heartbreak.  

I never meant to love you this much, Dana.  I never meant for you to
be the center of my world.  But you are, and I can't change that.  
And when I lose you, I'll go on even if I really don't want to.  I 
will, however, be forever miserable and alone because I am positive
that I will never know another love like yours. You are my one and 
only.  

Since I really don't want to face the truth that lies ahead, I 
inquire if that's what she really wants.  That's right.  Delay the
inevitable.

"Are you sure that's where you want to be?"

"Of course."

"You ready to go then?"

"Yeah, let's get out of here," her voice rasps from the emotion of 
the day.  

She closes a few of the buttons to her trench coat to ward off the
evening cold and then wraps her arm around my waist as we stroll
to my truck.  I'm a little surprised by her action since she's about
to cut me loose; but I can't help from touching her back, draping
my arm around her shoulder.  Eventually, her heads falls to my chest 
as we go.  

Physically, we are closer than we've been in many hours; but 
emotionally, I feel that we are farther apart than we've ever been.
Even farther apart than when we were separated for five months--if 
that's at all possible.

XXXXXX

The ride home is disturbingly quiet, save for Michael asking me how
I'm doing, how I'm feeling. Surprisingly, that's about the 
extent of our conversation.  His body language is different, it's
off, telling me that something is still very wrong.  He had just 
about said as much at the hospital, but after the hours that had
passed in between, I didn't have the energy to get into it. I am 
tired and drained from the day's events and had hoped he would get
over whatever was troubling him despite how worried I remember 
feeling about us at the time.  

Once we arrive home, he unlocks the door to his house and allows 
me to enter first.  Since I plan on spending the night, I hang up 
my coat in the closet and then ease out of my shoes to get more 
comfortable.  


Michael throws down his leather jacket on the couch and immediately 
heads for the liquor cabinet.  

"You want a drink?" he asks abruptly.  

"No, I'm fine."

"Well, I want one.  I =need= one," he sys as he looks at me 
pointedly. He throws back two large shots of Jack Daniels, one right 
after the other. 

Oh, yes, something is very wrong. He never does this unless he is 
about to lose it usually over an emotional case. I know he is 
worried sick about me, and frankly, I am, too, but there has to be 
something else.  It seems like his anger had grown steadily from a 
slow burn this afternoon to a rapid boil now. 

I have to try and put out the fire.  "What's bothering you?  Why are 
you so upset?"

He laughs, throws back another shot, and then slams the glass down
on the kitchen counter.

"You really don't know?"


"No, I don't. Why don't you enlighten me."

After he takes the time to finish off his fourth shot, he broaches 
my question.  

"Oh, maybe it's because I asked you time and again if there was 
anything between you and Mulder and you told me no over and over.  Do 
you even realize what you said back at the warehouse?"

I wrack my brain for a minute and then it hits me.  Oh my God.  
How can I be so fucking oblivious? Yes, I do realize it =now= but 
how can I even attempt to lay this on him?  I don't know what to 
say, so I don't say anything at all.  


"Think of something fast, Dana, because I'm dyin' here," he pleads,
his voice breaking my heart.  

"Yes.  Yes, I do realize what I said; but it doesn't change anything.  
Not one thing.  I'm sorry.  I swear to God I haven't been lying to 
you."

"Is it possible you were . . . caught up in the moment or . . . do 
you really love him?"

I don't want to give him my answer.  

"Dana?"
  
As much as I can't bear to hurt him, I can't lie to him either.  
He deserves so much more of me, least of all the truth.  

". . . I think . . . I think I've known . . . I loved him for a

long time subconsciously, but it just hit me consciously at that
moment and I verbalized it."

"That's just =great=," he responds and chucks the shot glass into the
sink, shattering it into a million shards.  I jump at his sudden 
outburst, the loud crash of glass against porcelain shocking us both 
into a moment of silence.  I then walk over to the sink intending 
to help him clean up the mess.

"No, Dana, just leave it.  It's not important now . . . What are you 
going to do about Mulder?"


"Nothing," I shrug.  "There's nothing to do."

"=Nothing?= You realize you're in love with your partner and nothing 
changes?  Nothing changes between us?"

"No, I already told you that.  I loveyou=; that has not and 
will never change . . .  Do you want things to change?"  I look at 
him with fear evident in my eyes.

"No, I don't  . . . but" 

"You don't? But what?"

"Dana, I've spent so much time agonizing over this and you assured me
that I was being ridiculous. Now, I'm right back where I started, 
wondering where I fit in or if I fit in at all." 

"How can you even think that?  Michael, I'm sorry.  I never intended 
this to happen.  I love you and nothing and no one else matters to me 
the way that you do," I say with certainty.  

He stares at me for a moment and then is quiet for a long while,
but I can tell the wheels are turning in his head.  We are far from 
done with this.  He is still very upset and doesn't seem to 
know what to say next or what to do with himself. He then starts 
the clean up of the broken glass as I stand off to the side.

When he speaks again, his voice is low but holds an edge of 
hostility. "Tell me something, Dana, did you the two of you ever 
think of fucking each other just to get it over with?"


I stare at him in disbelief, angered by his callousness, that he 
would think that I could just have sex with anyone to get it out of 
the way.  Mulder isn't just anyone but that is besides the point.  
I turn away from him, not even attempting to dignify that question 
with an answer.  

That seems to really agitate him. He stalks over to me and roughly
turns me around to face him.  He shouts now and it startles me.  

"Huh, Dana?  Did you?  =Answer me= . . . Why don't the two of you 
just fuck each other till your blue in the face, till you've both got 
it out of your systems!"

Man, he is angry.  I guess I can't begrudge him that, but he is 
making my blood boil with his assumptions and insinuations.  

I fix him with one of my cold, hard stares usually reserved for
the interrogation of a suspect.  "You know, I expected more of you.  
Leave it to a man to think that a quick fuck or two will solve 
everything." My voice is as cold as ice.  

I slip my shoes back on and gather my coat and bag.  I am not
going to stand here and take this. He needs some time to sort 
through this situation and his own feelings.  We will talk then and
hopefully work everything out.  Mulder won't come between us
unless Michael lets him.   

"Dana, where are you going?" Michael asks in a panicked voice.  

"Home.  I'm calling a cab," I say as I fish out my cell phone 
from my bag.  "I think you need a little time to think things 
through."

"No, don't leave.  Please.  I'm sorry. You don't understand what
it's been like for me, wondering and waiting for this to happen.  You 
know I've suspected something for a long time, and it's been eating 
away at me. I just don't want you to regret the choice you've made or 
resent me years later because you really wanted to be with Mulder."

"I want to be with you, plain and simple."

"You aren't going to wonder what it would have been like to be
with him?"

"To be honest, I used to wonder about it a lot.  But that was a long
time ago, before you came along.  Since we've been together, I don't
wonder about Mulder or anyone else."

"Dana, I apologize for getting rough and upset with you like that 
before.  The truth is, if you told me you wanted to sleep with Mulder
to see what it was like and if you followed through with that wish, 
it wouldn't be the end.  Not for me.  I wouldn't leave you."

"You want me that much, huh?"

"I do.  I love you that much. . . What do you want, really?"

"You," I say simply and see the elation in his eyes.  He cannot
leave it at that however.   

"What about Mulder?" he asks.  

I smile at his inability to leave Mulder out of the equation even
after I've laid my cards on the table.  "Michael, I love you, truly, 
madly, deeply.  The time for Mulder and I has passed, I know this.  
Just as I know, you and I, our time is really just beginning."

He melts into me then; and he will be mine, and I, his, always.

XXXXXX

Epilogue

Time has passed so fast.  

Michael and I are strong, solid while Mulder and I remain close,
respectful, united in a way that we were at the strongest times in
our partnership.  

Believe it or not, I don't regret the choice I've made.  And despite
Michael's fears, I never will.  You know much about Mulder first-hand 
but you only know about Michael from what's been relayed here. 
Hopefully, that is enough for you to understand where I'm coming 
from, why I've made the choice I've made. I know it is harder for you
to like Michael. I can understand that, but let me assure you that he 
is a wonderful, special man, one that is very good to me and for me. I
hope the following can explain it better for you.   

I love Mulder in a unique way, but I will never know what is like to 
be with him physically.  I no longer fantasize about his hands 
touching me, his body filling mine. After the bee debacle in his 

hallway and especially after the incident at the Gunmen's lair, I 
was resigned to the fact that Mulder and I would never be more than 
partners or good friends.  But that's okay.  It allowed me to let go,
move on, and find love with Michael.  He will always be a close 
friend and a part of my life, and I just want him to be happy.  

As skeptical as I still may be, I honestly believe that I was meant
to be with both men.  Just at different times, different stages of my
life.  I know you are probably disappointed that Mulder and I did not 
find our way to one other.  But there is always hope.  By that I mean 

if soul mates existed and if I believed in such things, I would say 
that Mulder is my soul mate in the next life. We were just not meant 
for the here and now.  I would also say that if soul mates existed 
and if I believed in such things, Michael would be my soul mate in 
this life.

Earlier, I'd wondered if I was ready for a relationship, if I could
function in one, and the answer was no.  But Michael and I are where 
we are today because of him, because of the exceptional man that he 
is.  Any other man would have been scared off by the things 
perpetrated against me.  And any other man would have been chased 
away by the little stunts I'd pulled.  He was patient and/or 
persistent when he needed to be.  He allowed me to work through my 
problems and become whole and strong again.  I'm finally able to see 
the admirable things he sees in me, and it took me a long time to get
that back despite the good I tried to do on a daily basis. =He= gave 
that back to me. And what I see in him is everything.    

I love Michael.  I love Michael uniquely and completely. He is 
the most amazing lover I've ever known, pleasing me in every way 
imaginable.  With him, I have finally found happiness, contentment, 
and a peacefulness in my life that I longed for for years.  In all 
the good times and bad times, he is my confidante, my champion, my 
rock. He is my best friend as well as my lover, and he makes me 
happier than words can express.  That is all I can ask for.  

It's what I want.

It's what everyone wants.  

END