Obligatory disclaimer: I am not Chris Carter nor do I ever want to be. I own nothing. I just like to borrow his characters for a little while, play with them , and then give them back. Seeing as GA wrote this episode I suppose I should say I am not her, do not pretend to be her and think she wrote/directed one damn good episode. Carry on.

-

She is floating in a dark abyss. Warm and comfortable. Content. She begins to feel the air as she moves toward the surface. She fights it, the warmth and darkness calling to her, but a sharp white light invades. She takes in a sharp breath and her eyelids flutter open, her body pulling from slumber. She blinks slowly, the thick fingers of sleep stroking her heavy eyelids. She breaths in the moment, willing her body to surrender once again to the comfort of sleep, but the thin early morning light is relentless. She turns her face into her pillow, her eyes blinking open. She focuses on the edge of the bed and the soft blue sheets. Blue? Her forehead knits. Fingers that aren't her own flex at her hip and she lifts her head to glance behind her. The sleep-slacked face of her partner is mere inches from her. Oh. Oh, God. They did. Her head falls back to the pillow and her fingers cover her lips to keep in the tumult of emotions. She closes her eyes as the ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. Yes. They did.

Her eyes fly open and focus on the light outside the window. It's early still. She has to go. Carefully she lifts the sheet that barely covers her. Glancing over her shoulder, she slides her hip away from his hand, his fingers grazing her flesh as she moves. She shivers at the memory of what he did with those fingers. As softly as she can, she stands from the bed, her eyes focused on his face for any sign of waking. He sleeps like the dead, thank God.

She finds her skirt and sweater first, scoops them off the floor. Her underwear next. She has to lift up his t-shirt to find her bra. Grabbing both off the floor she gazes at the shirt in her hands a moment before pressing it to her nose. The feint scent of sweat and his cologne mixed with the saltiness of sunflower seeds fills her nose. Her eyes start to close and she stops herself. This cant be how this goes. She can't get this close. She has to leave. Dropping the shirt to the carpet, she crosses onto the tiled floor of his bathroom, the cold contrasting with the roughness of the carpet giving her a small jolt of awareness.

She hears the rustle of sheets as she flicks the light switch and the dim light of his bathroom goes on. She freezes, listening for more movement. Nothing. She glances over her shoulder and smiles. He's on his back now, arm stretched over where she had lain, the peace of sleep on his face. She can't remember a time when his face has been this peaceful, this carefree and expressionless. He is so still in this moment. There is no running, no hurrying off to the next big adventure. There is only this moment. Quiet, still. She lets out the breath she has been holding and moves to the sink on silent feet. She drapes her clothes over the towel rack before donning her undergarments. As she slides her bra strap into place she catches her reflection in the mirror. Her fingers pause at her collarbone and slide over the red and purple mark on her flesh. She stares at it through the mirror for a moment before her eyes flutter at the memory of his mouth on her. She hadn't exactly meant for this to happen. Had she? When she had woken up on his sofa last night she had been intent on freshening up and heading home. Where had that changed?

-

She had woken with a start, the scratchy wool of the blanket covering her scratching at her chin. The familiar smell and coolness of the leather sofa reminded her where she was. She took a deep breath, running a hand over her tired face. The passed few days had been emotionally draining. Why she had gone in to see Daniel in the first place was beyond her. There was still such a pull between them, even all these years later. Something exciting and dangerous.

She shook her head at herself in the darkness illuminated by the fish tank that bubbled in the corner. Enough. She pushed the blanket off and got to her feet. Her ankles protested the position they had been left in, propped up on the coffee table, as the coolness of the hardwood hit the soles of her nylon-clad feet. She grimaced and rolled first one and then the other. As quietly as possible, she entered his bedroom intent on visiting the bathroom. She paused when she saw his sleeping form on his back on the bed. So silent. So still. Her feet lead her to the side of his bed of their own will. Her head tilted as she studied him. His face slack with sleep, hair slightly more rumpled than normal. His skin looked dark next to the white of his t-shirt. So peaceful.

Daniel laying in the hospital bed when she had first walked into his hospital room flashed before her. Her breath caught. It was over. All over. Why couldn't she just let it go? Why did the loneliness feel so oppressive tonight? What was it about him? They had never had a physical relationship, so why was she so attached? Even now when she thought she had made peace with it all, why did it invade her thoughts?

Mulder stirred in his sleep and she glanced down at his sleeping face. His eyes began to flutter and she turned for the bathroom. She took a step before his hand grabbed her by the wrist.

"Scully? You ok?"

His voice was thick with sleep. She turned apologetic eyes to him.

"I'm fine, Mulder."

He sighed a sleepy sigh before rubbing a hand down is face.

"You sure?" he asked as he pulled the covers back and swung his legs to the side of the bed.

"Don't. Don't get up," she insisted.

He paused as his feet hit the floor, blinking up at her. His grip loosened on her wrist and his fingers slipped down to envelope hers.

"Scully ... What is it?"

She stared at him for a long moment. How could she word this? How do you tell someone that your life of loneliness which you chose was suddenly so overwhelming that you simply want someone to share it with you for a few minutes? She squeezed his fingers.

"Mulder, I ..." she sighed as she looked into his sleepy eyes. Errant fingers reached up to brush his hair off his forehead, her fingers lingering in his hair before trailing down the side of his face. He caught her hand in his, now holding both captive. Curiosity replaced the sleep-slacked look on his face. She was taller than him like this, his head even with her chest as he sat in front of her. She stared at him a moment longer, her lips parted and eyes pleading. Her heart pounded in her ears as she begged him with her eyes to please understand. Her head inclined toward his, their eyes never leaving the other. His hands released hers and wrapped around her elbows, guiding her to him . His knee slipped between hers as he pulled her closer and their noses brushed. They breathed together for a moment, eyes closing and fingers gripping the other.

"Scully-"

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she whispered, her fingers curling at the back of his neck.

His hands slipped inside the blazer she still wore, winding around her back to pull her closer. Her lips met his with a sigh, her fingers snaking into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. Her knee found its way onto the bed beside his thigh, the angle making her break the kiss. His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, pushing at her blazer. She dropped her arms and let him remove it, tossing it to the foot of the bed as he did, his hands returning to her hips. His face turned up toward her, eyes searching hers for any hint of regret or hesitation. Her fingers brushed his jaw, hand winding behind his ear to the back of his skull. She bent over him intent on kissing him again, but the angle forced him to lay back. His hands gripped hard at her hips and brought her with him, her chest colliding with his, lips missing and finding his chin. She rested there a moment, her breath fanning his chin, eyes closed in mild embarrassment, before she pushed herself up to look at him.

His eyes smiled back at her, teasing her in the way she had come to tell herself was his way of showing her that he cared. His hand slipped beneath her sweater, fingers spread wide on the skin of her back.

"Are you-"

"Yes," she interrupted before pressing her lips to his again.

-

She blinks at herself in the mirror as her hand falls away from the bruised skin. He had rolled her then, his hand fumbling with the zipper on her skirt and the rest ... well ... She sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She won't call it a mistake. It wasn't. She had asked him. She had wanted him. If she was honest with herself, she had wanted him for a while. She had asked him to be the father of her child, for Gods sake. Not exactly in this way, but, invitro or no, it was still a very personal request. And he had said yes then too. She reminds herself of her conversation with Colleen. Daniel had been at the front of her mind during that conversation, but everything about releasing shame and embracing the truth ... that was this moment. She isn't ashamed and that is the truth. She had wanted him: truth. She is in love with him ... she locks eyes with herself in the mirror. Truth. If only life were so simple.

She reaches for her skirt and suddenly remembers her nylons. She begins to turn before she remembers they were pretty much ruined. Hm. God only knows where they had ended up too. She hears Mulder stir in bed and reaches for her skirt, stepping into it quickly. She grabs for her sweater before she has her zipper all the way up. An awkward morning after is not what she needs. She needs to go home, take a bath and lay in her own bed. She needs to get herself together. She needs to accept the truth of all of this so that tomorrow things can be normal between them at work.

She pulls her sweater down, finishes her zipper and runs her hands through her hair. The steady drip of the leaky faucet catches her attention and she slows her movements. She needs to slow down. Colleen had told her she needs to slow down after the almost-car accident. She had thought it was all about Daniel at the time, God telling her to slow down and leave the FBI to have the life she might have chosen as a younger woman. A life with a man who had no idea who she was now. No idea what she wanted for, what she had seen and done, who she loved, who she had lost.

She places one last stray strand of hair before turning back to the bedroom. She shuts the light out as she goes, her bare toes curling into the carpet as she pauses at the bottom of the bed. His hands rest on his chest now, face still slack with sleep, hair mussed from slumber and her fingers. She reaches for her blazer that somehow managed to stay on the bed and slips it on as she watches him. Memorizes him. The way his lips part just slightly. The way his eyes move beneath his eyelids, clearly dreaming. The shadows cast on his face by the early morning light. The slopes of his cheekbones, his nose, his chin.

She pulls her hair from under her collar and forces herself to look away, to leave. This isn't the life she chose either. She finds her heels under the coffee table and hooks her fingers into them to carry them. She palms her blazer pockets in search of her keys and ID, finds them and tip toes for the front door. She won't let herself look at him again as she passes his bedroom. Home. Go home, Dana. The door knob is cold to the touch, the hinges creak in protest as she opens the door just enough to slip out. As softly as possible, she clicks the door closed, her hand resting on the wood a few seconds too long. Time to go.