Remember me? It's been a while. Well, a long while. And (sorry, folks) this is not "Bones", this is about Mulder and Scully. Seeing the first show I've ever loved back on TV was special, writing about the one couple that sucked me into fanfiction back then in the 90s an honor. Thank you Michala (sourissouris) for beta and encouragement!

PER ASPERA AD ASTRA

The X-Files

1. Her Struggle

Time passes in moments, moments which, rushing past, define the path of a life just as surely as they lead towards its end.

One day, Dana Scully woke up knowing that she had to leave. It was an almost Kafkaesque experience, even though she had not turned into a giant bug. And neither had the man sleeping next to her, at least not literally.

The alarm clock on her nightstand said 4 am, even too early for the morning shift at the hospital, and from the outside, she could hear rain knocking at their window.

Why had she woken up? Instincts as old as her Quantico training kicked in, listening for intruders or anything else that might be wrong. Aside from the rain, the house was quiet, but the satin of her nightgown felt slightly damp around her midsection.

Had it been that dream again?

Dreams had been haunting her for the better part of her adult life, even though they had changed over the decades. White light, mind-searing pain. Her sister's blood. A baby's cries. Sometimes Scully was afraid that, in addition to everything else, she had lost a piece of sanity along the way. Or maybe it was just living with Mulder that made it feel as if the madness was never coming to an end.

How rarely do we stop to examine that path, to see the reasons why all things happen; to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed.

Mulder.

Turning around, Scully looked at the man stretched out beside her. Silvery moonlight illuminated his features, and in his sleep he looked young and at peace. He had been brilliant once, a promising FBI rookie with a bright future. Then he had discovered the X-files, and the rest was history. At the age of 50, he was still brilliant, Scully knew that, but he was also...

Yeah, what was he?

A nut job, if you believed some. Gullible, that's what others said. Stubborn and single-minded, that's what she knew for certain. Mulder saw patterns where nobody else could, or maybe he only wanted to see them. Of late, she had found him believing in one too many UFO stories that had turned out to be a hoax.

And it was burning him from the inside out, had turned the man she had fallen in love with into a shell of his former self. Consumed by his quest, Mulder had failed to notice that it was burning her as well.

But what if we could stop, pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes?

Scully couldn't undo the past, couldn't unsee the monsters, couldn't unmake the sacrifices. But she wanted to put it behind her, wanted to forget. Needed to. She was not young anymore, but she was still young enough to move past the pain... even if she had to do it alone.

Might we then see the endless forks in the road that have shaped a life?

He shifted in sleep, moving closer.

"Scully?"

His voice was raspy, tugging at her heart strings, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck. Somewhere between wake and dreams, his arms found her, encircling her, pulling her even closer. Mulder's scent, Mulder's warmth, Mulder's strength. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder. He was everywhere, woven into her life, a fiber that couldn't be untangled from herself anymore. Could it?

She loved him, oh yes she did. Scully couldn't imagine a world where she didn't love Mulder anymore.

"Shh, I'm here."

Her voice was a caress in the night, lulling him back to sleep.

Love wasn't enough, not anymore. Tears pricked behind her eyelids as she imagined packing her suitcase. Biding farewell, leaving their home, taking off her ring, moving on. How could she live without him? Scully didn't know. She only knew that she could not live with him anymore. Not like this.

And, seeing those choices, choose another path?

In the wee hours of the morning, nobody but the rain saw her crying.

To be continued...