The Fires of Babylon

The sky was singing. Looking down upon him alone, ready to bestow upon him a gift of mercy and forgiveness. The sound of bellowing trumpets reverberated through his being, reaching out from the heavens, looking to crawl inside every pore and atom and molecule of his body. His heart was laid open, like a flower thirsting for the sunshine that trickled slowly down through the dark and empty clouds, waiting patiently to drink it in. He was prepared to receive whatever message the universe had to grace him with.

"Mulder, what?" Scully tilted her head at him, curious what his ears were hearing that hers could not.

"Nothing." Mulder chuckled. "Must be the wind." After his recent parade into an apparently self-induced fantasy land, the last thing he wanted to do was concern her with what could possibly be construed as an auditory hallucination.

Scully smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, silently reaffirming their togetherness. "Is the sky singing you its praises?"

He responded in kind by playing with her fingers. "I am the one who should be singing it my praises, Doc."

Scully grinned, silently questioning whether the glow that seemed to halo his entire body was purely her imagination, or a trick of the sunlight. "Why is that?"

Mulder looked down at their adjoined hands, pausing to reflect on the possibilities of his next words. Even as a the warm breeze tussled and swept at his hair, he felt a stillness in the air surrounding him, like the world had softly decelerated. His thumbs gently caressed the back of her hands, marvelling at how they fit so perfectly into his own. After all these years, and through all the cuts and scrapes and breaks and bleeding, their hands still looked beautiful like this, scars and all.

He could feel her eyes searching for his, wanting to crack him open and peek inside his soul, the way they always had. Long before he had realised she was his sun and his moon and everything else in the sky, he'd found a sanctuary within those eyes. Those watery pools of hers were calling him home, pulling him in, and he followed helplessly to meet her gaze. Scully smiled up at him, a real smile, and it was heartbreakingly beautiful. After all the tears he'd seen spill down her cheeks in recent weeks, he felt blessed to know she was somehow feeling the same tranquillity of this moment.

Since her mother's passing, something in their relationship had been shifting, and now they were on the cusp of reconciliation. He'd felt her drawing closer since they had first walked down into that musty basement that they'd once called home. When he'd entered that office to see her tacking up his poster, which over the years had become their poster, it spoke to him a silent promise. She hadn't given up on him… on them.

It was strangely surreal to return to the same job, same office, and same partner after so much time had passed. It was even more bizarre to discover himself in that same despondent position with that partner. He'd returned to that wretched universe of longing, wanting, repression and unspoken words he'd somehow endured with Scully for seven long years. Looking at her now he had no clue as to how his younger self withstood such torture. He couldn't fathom spending years without tasting and touching her. But then, it had been years. Though his hands had trailed the landscape of her body so many times, it was impossible for this familiarity to be forgotten.

Mulder was amazed that she was here with him once more, sharing her presence with him. His eyes traced over her face, walking the path of splendour they had relished in a million times over the past twenty-three years. While she was lost deep in thought, or contemplating the wide and unending expanse of his ridiculousness, or wrapped up musty motel room blankets, or slicing apart the putrefying flesh of a cadaver… she was forever beautiful. But in this moment, beautiful couldn't even begin to describe the vision before him. The way the golden sunlight swam through her hair was positively mesmerising. The flaming wisps of her locks were like crackling embers, igniting the fires of decades of beloved memories. Memories that for so long were lost to him. Buried and asphyxiated by a merciless depression that wrapped itself around his heart and mind and squeezed until there was nothing left but a heavy, undulating pain. Until all he could see was darkness. Even his beloved Scully, his guiding light that had forever shone so brightly on his bleak little universe, was reduced to but a flickering pinprick in the sky. She was so far away that he had lost all hope of ever reaching her again. The overwhelming and insidious blackness twisted and disfigured him, slowly suffocated him for years, before it finally decided to swallow him up completely.

But now, bathing in the earnest depths of her shimmering blue eyes, he couldn't recall the last time he had felt so warm, so at peace, and so filled to the brim with love for her. He swallowed deeply, fearing that speaking the words in his heart could turn his world cold and dark once more. But he knew, somehow, that it was time.

"Having you here with me, like this... It's more than I could have dreamt about. More than I had any right to ask from this world, or the heavens above it." He said, gently caressing her hands in thanksgiving.

Scully could see the flicker of remorse in his eyes, and while she understood its innocuous nature, she also feared it. She had whispered countless prayers for this moment, where the currents that swept them so devastatingly apart would finally carry them back to each other. Now that moment was unfolding before her, and she was anxious. She worried that like so many times in the past, the happiness she grasped at her fingertips would be ripped away, leaving her emptier than if it had never chanced her way at all.

She felt as though she was beholding the man she once knew. The boy she once loved so irrepressibly that it left her breathless, broken and bleeding and not caring at all about the fact that she could perish at any moment. Following him through the darkness, blind, yet unafraid… knowing his hand was always in her reach… ready to pull her out of harm's way with his strong and loving arms… that was the only time she was truly alive. She would sacrifice her last breath just to keep him in this moment with her, smiling and whole, not the beaten and hollow shell she was forced to walk away from but a year before.

Leaving him, curled up and broken, was one of the most difficult things she had done in her life. It synchronised perfectly with the pain of losing her son, whom she still loved and longed for with her every breath. Like with William she had fought, and held on, and clung to Mulder as long as she possibly could. Ultimately she was confronted with a truth she had no hopes to outrun… it wasn't within her power to protect them. She could not protect William from those who would harm him, and she could not protect Mulder from himself. But miraculously, here he was, standing before her. Not lost, but living, and breathing and so very alive, she could almost swear he was glowing.

"I've missed our walks." She confessed, hoping to lead the conversation in a carefree direction and far away from the painful regret she could feel slinking beneath the surface of his radiating skin.

When they had first purchased the house, some 13 years earlier, they walked down this path every day. Evenings spent savouring the freedom of just being together and basking in each other's presence in a way that they had been denied during their working relationship. They were finally able to share all the parts of themselves they'd kept hidden from each other, and found that their love unbound was more potent and all-encompassing than even they could have imagined.

"I've missed you, Scully. I can't fathom what I have done to have you back here, even if it is just for this moment. I'm not sure it's a gift I am quite worthy of." The passion of his words hung in the air. He was bearing his soul to her, and she loved him impossibly for it. Fox Mulder, much like herself, was not one to voice his emotions. "There's no amount of apologizing that could even begin to broach the scope of my regret, but I need to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Scully."

Scully could have sworn he was trying to bore his apology into her soul through his eyes. There was such a loving intensity there that it was almost hard to bear. She did not want to lose this perfect moment to the pain and darkness of the past, but she also knew this conversation was necessary for them to have if they were to move forward. It may have been foolish, but somehow she felt protected, standing here in the cascading sunshine on a path that had always lead them home. The light washing over them was so pure and bright, she knew it could chase away any darkness that tried to slither out from the cracks in their hearts.

"Mulder, as much as your words mean to me, you have nothing to apologise for. I'm aware of how hard you tried. When you had no will of your own to go on, you tried, and you kept trying, and I know that was for my benefit. You sought to hide your struggle from me because you wanted to shield me from it. You pretended to feel, even when you couldn't feel anymore. If I'm to be honest, that broke my heart, but in some strange way it caused me to hold on longer. To know that you could no longer love me, but that you could recall that you once did… that you could remember as I did, what we once meant to each other. All I wanted was to bring you back from that dark place. I felt as though I had failed you, Mulder. As your partner and as a medical doctor, it was devastating to realise that I couldn't help you." Tears prickled the corners of her eyes, but she was not yet ready to surrender herself the flood. There was a surging river of pain and love and longing pressing against her insides and she was not quite ready to throw herself into the waters. Not until she could be sure he would be there to pull her out.

A look of sorrow and incredulity etched itself into Mulder's features. After twenty-three years, how could she not know? It seemed unfathomable that she could say these words to him. His love for her was absolute, eternal and immovable. It was there from the moment he woke, until he closed his eyes at night, and for good or for bad she usually trespassed upon his sleep.

"I've never stopped loving you Scully, not for one moment. Even at my lowest point, you were still there. Even after you left, you were still here… with me. It's been a year, and the house still smells like your damn perfume. The memory of you is etched into every square inch of this place. At times I could almost swear I hear your voice whispering to me through the walls. You're here with me now, and you'll be with me until the flames of Hades consume me, or your God in his infinite mercy welcomes me home. I have always, and will always love you." Mulder paused, hoping to impress upon her the absolute sovereignty with which she ruled his existence. "I just… I wanted you to leave, Scully. I wanted you to leave me. I couldn't take what I was doing to you. I couldn't hear you cry at night any longer. I wanted to crawl into your arms and take your pain away, but how could I? How could I possibly, when I was the bastard who was hurting you? I couldn't survive it one more day."

Scully was shocked. She had always tried so diligently to hide her pain from him. It was something she had done since the very beginning, and a well-ingrained trait she'd exhibited with everyone in her life. But those last few months together, when she spoke to him, he'd barely looked at her, barely acknowledged her presence in his life, or in his home. Perhaps that had left her with the false impression that he was too far gone to notice. "You heard…"

Mulder winced, as if touching a gaping wound deep inside himself that was too painful to address. His chest heaved, and his breath quickened, and she sensed he was collecting his strength for what was about to follow. "If that glass had hit you, Scully, I know that I wouldn't be standing here today."

She scrunched up her brow, confused by his words. "What do you mean?"

"If... If I had crossed that line, there's no way I could have lived with myself. After you left, I found myself, night and day, begging repentance from four empty walls, and rightly so. You were right to leave me when you did. I only wish you had gone sooner, so you could have been safe from me and all the grief I put you through."

"Mulder, what are talking about? You would never hurt me, not deliberately." Scully assured him.

"Please don't make excuses for me, what I did was unforgivable." Mulder slipped one of his hands away from her grasp and brought it up to caress her cheek. "Yet here you are, forgiving me, the way you always have... Inexplicably."

Scully ran her now free hand along the length of his arm, over his wrist, and nestled her hand over the top of his. Gently pressing his against his palm and nuzzling her face into it. "I'm trying to understand what it is you're telling me. Are you saying you believe you threw that Yankees glass at me?"

"Scully, I..." His voice trailed off in a note of despair. She could feel his hand flinch and begin to pull away, but she held it firmly against her, not willing to relinquish the intimacy of his touch.

She had bought that glass for him as a birthday gift, long ago. Back when he smiled at her and stroked her hair behind her ear, just because he could.

The night before she left, she had come home late from work. She always worked late. She showered and ate and sometimes even slept at work, only sending a text message that she wouldn't be coming home, which she wasn't sure he would even care enough to read. She was only really home to sleep in their bed, and to restock the fridge in hopes he would remember to eat something. Her nights were spent almost always by herself, but she couldn't feel any pain while she slept. The level of exhaustion she drove herself to ensured that she wouldn't remain conscious for very long.

But something this night felt off. She was completely drained and her body weary, yet she couldn't fall asleep. As much as she dreaded opening his office door and being met with a wall of silence, she needed some hope of releasing the throbbing ache of loneliness beating relentlessly within her chest. Perhaps tonight he would look at her, and actually see her. Actually speak more than few hollow sentences to her. But he didn't see her, didn't even seem to hear her as she rushed to his side calling his name. He remained transfixed on the computer screen as his arm hung limp at his side, the crimson puddle of fresh blood had pooled on the carpet beneath, steadily accumulating drip by drip. There were no splatters or traces of blood except in that one expanding lake, telling her he hadn't moved for some time, possibly hours.

"Mulder, you broke that glass in your fist. I wasn't even in the room. I wasn't even home for that matter. You smashed it against your desk, and the glass had splintered into your hand." Scully lifted his hand away from her face and turned Mulder's palm over, holding it up for them both to examine. There was a silvery-red scar that ran jaggedly across the length of his palm.

His entire body was plagued with blemishes, and he didn't care to remember where most of them came from. Most belonged to some trauma or another that was probably best left forgotten. Although seeing the way Scully was momentarily caressing his skin with her soft fingertips he might consider himself feeling grateful for this one. But in searching his mind, he found he had no recollection at all of its origins. "You were bleeding, and when you refused to go to the hospital with me, I was forced to put stitches in your hand without any anaesthetic. Don't you remember?"

Mulder's mouth hung open in disbelief. Having extensive knowledge of criminal psychology he was well aware that the extensive amount of trauma he'd faced in his life had the potential to leave significant psychosomatic scarring. Perhaps he was not as resilient as he had believed. He was simultaneously horrified and yet hopeful at the promise of redemption that was being dangled before him, for if what Scully was telling him was the truth, he was both obviously crazy, yet also washed clean of one of his greatest sins. But then, he'd always known he was a little crazy. His crazy in recent days had dismantled a major terrorist organisation, possibly saving the lives of hundreds of people. He'd take being crazy, Spooky Mulder a million times to be free from the torment of that memory.

"I remember... I remember... Yelling. Screaming at you. Your tears. Glass smashing inches away from your head... And... The way you looked at me... The way you looked at me... Like for the first time in your life you finally saw the real me… The monster I've always tried so hard to hide."

Scully's chest seized and grew tight with anguish. The tears building and threatening to spill from his eyes, made her own grow wet with moisture. She knew he had been suffering from some level of delusion, but that he could completely fabricate a false memory of this nature, and of this intensity, shocked her. After all the pain, and mental torment he had endured in his life, she wondered what could possibly bring him undone the way he had been. But as the first tear began to slide down Mulder's freshly-shaven cheek, she realised that she didn't care. She didn't care what had caused it, only that he, by some grace, had escaped its clutches and was now standing in front of her aching for forgiveness for a transgression that had never occurred. Aching for her forgiveness. All she wanted to do now was kiss that tear away, that shimmering droplet of his pain, which glistened so beautifully under the light of the sun.

So she did.

His vision was clouded by saltwater tears, making the world around him seem even hazier and dream-like than it already had. Perhaps even more obscured by the rivulet of emotion coursing through his body, leaving little room for other senses to be fully noticed. So many confused thoughts and feelings… shame, relief, love, peace, longing, fulfilment. It was overwhelming his body. But as soon as she moved into his space, his senses reignited. He was alerted to her proximity by the crunch of her shoes at his feet and her hands clasping at fabric of his shirt. Mulder could feel her breath press against him as her mouth hovered above his skin. He closed his eyes completely, preparing for her touch.

The sunlight shone through his closed lids, so all he could see were murky shades of black and red. But then there was the soft caress of her lips, and her tongue soaking up the streams of anguish that fell from his eyes.

Then there was white. The most brilliant shade of white light he had ever seen. Unlike the cold, menacing rays of a UFO wanting to suck him up and carry him away from her, this light was tinted with warmth and mercy. He opened his eyes, but the light didn't fade, and Scully didn't appear before him. There was only more light, pressing into him and illuminating him until his body no longer existed. He was pure energy, melting and floating. Grey shadows began to appear before him, slowly morphing and saturating with colours of green and black. Like a camera coming into focus as the aperture was shifted, the swirls of nothingness formed recognisable shapes before his eyes.

Trees. Hills. Sky. UFO. I want to believe.

He blinked and the world was tangible again. But there was no sunshine, and there was no Scully with her sweet lips pressed against him, only his office at the bureau and his poster. But, wait. That wasn't his poster. He had had one like it long ago, but it had been destroyed and replaced several times since then.

Mulder surveyed the room, and in an instant knew exactly where, and more importantly, when he was. 1993. If the absurd amount of clutter, the floppy-boot computer, the corded phone and a large variety of outdated 90's knick-knacks weren't enough to tip him off, the calendar on the wall would have provided an answer quite proficiently.

Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Did he invent that conversation in the sun, where he was given the impossible hope that Scully would one day come home to him?

Mulder ran his fingers across the surface of his desk. It certainly felt real. He reached out to pick up the nearest object, which just happened to be his old, metal stapler. It had been his best friend in the age of never ending paperwork, before digital technology reduced the massive stacks of documents that usurped every available surface in the room. He clasped his hand around it, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath his fingertips. But when he tried to pick it up, it was as if it were glued to the surface of the desk. It didn't move, or yield no matter how much force he used against it. He reached out to grasp a manila folder sitting just beside it, and found the paper was fixed in place, like razor-thin, immovable lead. The back of his office chair, though he could feel the smoothness and the ridges of the fabric, felt as hard as stone when he pushed against it. Nothing was soft or pliable, everything around him was static. Even the plastic globe that hung from the ceiling on a thin piece of string, was forged in place enough to hold his weight when he tugged at it.

He gave the filing cabinets a swift kick, to be rewarded with absolute silence. Though he felt the force of contact repel against his limb, not a sound was heard.

The door to the office was closed. He had already deduced that he was trapped in a world that he could feel but that couldn't feel him. Still, never the one to back down to adversity, he had to test out his theory. He tugged and pulled at the door, but found the slide of his skin against the doorknob became painful before there was any sign of give. After what felt like a good ten minutes, of hitting and pulling and kicking and pushing and even at one point, licking the surfaces of the room, did he accept there was nothing he could do but observe and wait.

For the record, he could feel the paper, rough and dry against his tongue. But his saliva refused to absorb into the paper, hovering just above it as if protected by some invisible barrier.

Not moments after he had resigned to his ghost-like fate did he hear a noise resounding through the door. He needed little more than a second to recognise what that sound was. After twenty-three years of listening to Scully's heels clickity-clacking against marble and wood and tile and earth, it was as familiar to him as the sound of his own breath.

He heard a shuffling at the door as the knob rotated and opened with a gentle screech. Mulder stood back in awe. It had been such a long, long time since he'd seen her like this. Wrapped up in the shoulder pads and woollen polyester that had always forced his imagination to work it's hardest. Now he knew her body even better than he did his own. Every scar and mark and blemish and freckle of her skin from the top of her head to the tips of her toes – he'd known and worshipped all of them. But for seven long years that skin was a glorious mystery that kept him up at night, and moreover gave him the will to face another day.

He gathered from the way her eyes skimmed right past him that Dana Scully, much to his dismay, was one more thing in this dreamland that was sure to resist his touch. Damn.

She crossed the short distance of the room, brushing right by Mulder, who had he not stepped aside would have been standing right in her path. She placed the files she was holding on the desk, and lowered herself into the office chair. Mulder had not taken his now gleaming eyes off her, nor had he stopped smiling that mischievous, half-smile of his. God, she was beautiful.

"Scully?" Mulder ventured, although he expected no answer. Just as well, as he would have been sorely disappointed by her lack of response.

Mulder moved closer, perching himself on the corner of the desk just beside her. Scully unclasped her glasses case, polished the lenses with the square piece of fabric within, before she slid the frames onto her face. It must have been almost two decades since he'd seen those glasses. The fondness was swelling in his eyes as she tilted her head to the side and began reading the paper in front of her.

It was so long ago that he'd almost forgotten how round and plump her cheeks once were. Her hair had been so many different shades of red over the years, from deep scarlets to blushing coppers, but he'd always loved this natural shade of ginger the best. He could remember how much he savoured the touch of it on those rare occasions he got to brush his fingers through it. Much like those moments when she would place her hand on top of his. Supporting him. Breathing life into him. Guiding him home. Mulder looked down at his hands in remembrance. How rough and creased they had become over the years. They'd likely feel like sandpaper against her soft young skin.

Mulder having his back turned to the door and currently preoccupied with basking in the rhapsody of his young soulmate, failed to notice as his younger self walked in.

"So, Sherlock, is the game afoot?" Scully quipped, not taking her eyes off the paper until she finished the sentence she was reading.

"I'm afraid so, Watson. But you're off the hook on this one."

Mulder spun around where he sat to see his twenty-three years younger counterpart.

"What do you mean?" Scully asked, removing her adorable, owl-like glasses.

"I mean I'm not going to put you through this." Young Spooky rifled through the filing draws to remove a yellow folder.

"Put me through what?" Scully asked curiously.

Anticipating his approach Mulder shifted to the front of the desk to avoid a collision and better observe their interaction.

"Phoebe's little mind-game."

Phoebe? Oh, God. It had been years since Mulder had thought of that name, and he wasn't too glad to be reminded of it. Mainly because it evoked such a violent wave of debasement in the deep trenches of his soul. There was much Mulder had done in his life that he was ashamed of, but scarce were things that truly embarrassed or humiliated him. The memory of Phoebe, and the person he'd been when he was with her, was one of those things.

"What are you talking about?" Scully questioned him gently.

"There's something else I haven't told you about myself, Scully." Young Spooky was now rifling through another filing cabinet looking for another folder. "I hate fire. Hate it. Scared to death of it. When I was a kid, my best friend's house burned down. Had to spend the night in the rubble to keep away looters. For years, I had nightmares about being trapped in a burning building."

Mulder hoped his voice was not so deadpan, whiny and monotonous as it was back then… or now… whatever.

"Wait, and Phoebe knows about this?" Scully sounded almost surprised, unaware as Mulder had once been about Phoebe's generous capacity for duplicity.

"This is classic Phoebe Green. Mind-game player extraordinaire. Ten years it's taken me to forget about this woman, and she shows up in my life with a case like this." Young Spooky moaned.

"Oh, please, just stop talking." Mulder threw his hand up in the air. He knew he wouldn't be heard, but he had to say it anyway. He scrubbed his other hand across his furrowed brow in remorse and embarrassment. This delirium was a lot less fun than his western party with The Lone Gunman, or at least it would have been if Scully had been there in skin-tight denim.

"So she shows up knowing the power she has over you and then she makes you walk through fire, is that it?" Scully ventured.

Oh, Scully, my perceptive sweetheart.

"Phoebe is fire." Bequeathed Young Spooky.

Mulder silently cringed. He knew he had a penchant for dramatic declarations, but with ears twenty-three years wiser he sounded downright pathetic. He felt all the more grateful for Scully. How could she possibly have listened to this for decades, when he couldn't take it for two minutes?

"Mulder? Are you sure you don't want me to help you out on this one?" Scully offered.

Ever my saviour. But let the fool burn. It's what he deserves.

"Sooner or later, a man's got to face his demons."

Mulder watched as Young Spooky left the room. He was grateful for his departure and happy to have Scully all to himself once more. He returned to sit on the desk beside her, a little closer than he had been previously. While he wasn't pleased about being delegated to nothing but an onlooker in this strange world of yesteryear, he was pleased about the opportunity to examine young Scully uninhibited. It was something he rarely took the time to do back in 1993. So much of his vision was blocked out by his one-focus, obsessive nature that he hadn't taken nearly enough time to observe and appreciate this beauty that would become the love of his life.

Scully was staring at the door after Young Spooky, and thinking, thinking. He could feel her thinking. She gave a slight shake of her head, and closed her eyes as she gently shifted back against the chair. Mulder could sense her unrest.

"What's on your mind, Doc?" He smiled at her with the utmost affection. "Considering what may have caused me to become the colossal jackass that I am? So many potentials on that list. Perhaps that's the greatest X-file of them all."

Scully opened her eyes and what Mulder recognised there left him bewildered, with a hint of anger and dismay swirling in the depths beneath it.

She was sad. It was subtle, but it was definitely there. There was often a delicate waver in the indent below her lips when she was trying to push away sadness. He'd seen enough of her repressing pain though the years to detect it on its slightest note. His head was like a radio and Scully was the only station he knew how to tune into. Mulder intensified his gaze, as if, if he scrutinised hard enough, he'd be able to bury right inside her and see where the hurt was coming from. But he knew, already, somehow, that it was because of him. Because of that jackass.

Fuck. She loved him. Already? How? How could she? Why did she? That guy was an absolute joke. Surely there was something else going on here, it couldn't have been me.

But then, he'd loved her too at this point, hadn't he? At least pieces of him had. There was never one moment in his life he could say that he fell in love with Dana Scully, but rather a myriad of moments too numerous to quantify. Some small, like the brush of her skin against his as he handed her the latest case report. Some grand, like the first time he had tasted her skin and her tears. Over the years she'd chipped away at his heart, taking pieces of it, fragment by fragment. She'd taken that first piece the moment she first stepped into his office. Another when she'd thrown herself into her arms, shaking and vulnerable and in want of comfort. Another when she'd stood there wet and dripping and laughing at him in the rain. She'd been amused by his seemingly crazy theories, but underneath all of that scepticism he'd seen something in her eyes, something that he'd never seen in anyone else's… a belief in him. The Scully sitting before him had already stolen so many pieces of his heart.

One day he'd woken up to realise that she had taken all of it, and he had no clue as to how to get it back. His only hope was that she'd reassemble all the pieces with her diligent hands and keep it safe and harboured away from danger. Which amazingly, astoundingly, she did. And though he thought that heart was full and complete, twenty-three years later he still found her reaching within his chest to pull out something more, adding it to the sculpture she had meticulously crafted.

In recent years she'd spent her existence trying to fix all the cracks that kept forming, sometimes frantically trying to rebuild from the all the fragile pieces he'd tore from her most prized possession. Worried if she wasn't vigilant enough it would fall apart completely, which inevitably it had. Defeated, she left it in a pile at his feet, and she departed, determined that if it were to be fixed this time it was up to him to rebuild it.

Scully picked the file up from the desk and commenced reading where she had left off, shaking off whatever thoughts she'd momentarily let overtake her here in her solitude. Mulder was having a difficult time accepting that Scully could be hurt over Young Spooky's abandonment. She was far better off without him, and away from that woman. But as he revisited his memories, he could feel the guilt and the shame begin to claw its way into his heart. Because he knew. He knew the real reason he didn't want Scully on this case was because she'd get in the way. She'd get in the way of him… She'd be there to witness the shameful way he intended to behave, and he hadn't wanted that.

Mulder stood up from the desk and began pacing back and forth, trying to push down all his self-loathing and shame. That darkness that had overwhelmed his heart and driven Scully away from him was snaking, slowly and insidiously to the surface. He could feel it gripping at his ankles, trying to pull him under and drown him. Angrily he kicked out at the office door. The silence of the impact only served to increase his agitation. He spun around from the door to see Scully, lost deep in her report.

"Why? Why do you stay here? You deserve so much better than this, Scully! Why?!" He was yelling at her, but the anger all belonged to him. Mulder had always felt a duty and a need to protect Scully. But with 23 years now between them, that want to protect her, to save her and her innocence, was amplified to a need so desperate and potent that it was agonizing. To see her sit here, peaceful and whole, completely unaware of all the losses she would soon suffer and the terrors that were going to befall her… was unbearable. "Please. Please just get out of here, Scully. Forget about him. Go be a doctor. Have all those little babies you could have had before those monsters got their hands on you. Go visit your sister. Go meet a normal guy who can take you away from all this darkness. Don't stay here for him!"

He stood before her, looking on, with just the short distance of a wooden desk between them. Dismayed by her uncomprehending ears, he grew solemn and still, lost in the quietude. His breath still heavy from emotion and sense of helplessness. All he wanted to do was pick her up and carry her out of this basement, never to return again… like he should have done so very long ago.

"Do you know what it's like, Scully? Do you know what it's like to look at somebody you love, someone you live and breathe for… the only good thing that ever happened to you in your entire life, and know that all the pain and suffering and despair they carry inside is because of you and your failures?"

Scully's eyes lifted from the page and set directly onto Mulder's face. He was left breathless as her eyes locked with his, in all their pale-blue splendour and youthfulness. Scully smiled gently at him as she sat the report she held in her hands back on the desk.

"Do you remember once, I told you, that not everything was about you?" She asked softly.

He did. He did remember. He remembered being angry with her, for getting hurt of all things. Mainly he had been angry with himself. Angry that the last time he'd spoken with her, when he'd been such a selfish bastard, could have been the last conversation they ever had. Angry that another man had touched her. Angry that she could have been killed. Angry that he hadn't been there to protect her. Angry that she could have been tossed into a fiery furnace and burned to cinders before he ever had a chance to tell her what she meant to him.

"I do." Was all he could muster in reply.

"Apparently that message didn't sink in. Do you really believe that there is nothing in this for me? That I would stay here if there wasn't? I do this for the same reason you do Mulder." Scully stared up at him through her auburn lashes.

"Which is why?" His voice was deep and gravelly.

"Love." She pushed herself away from the desk and rose from the chair, smiling sweetly at him as she did. "Family. Fulfilment. Passion. Excitement. Joy. The pursuit of a justice. A justice and truth that is far more profound than I could ever have conceived. You showed me things that I would never have seen with my own eyes. Things that I never could have even imagined before I met you."

She made her way around the side of the desk, edging closer to him.

"Terrible things, Scully." Mulder looked at her forlornly.

"Truth is beauty Mulder, no matter how stark and ugly. This shared belief ties us together more profoundly than anything else. That night in your motel room, when you told me of your sister's abduction and of your painful pursuit, your quest became mine. Because I wanted to believe too. In a world where little girls stolen could be returned, where pain could be ended, and where hope could flourish in the face of an overwhelming darkness. You were never given a choice, Mulder. Your fate was sealed and your path was set the night your sister was taken from you. But, I… I chose this life."

"It's not worth it Scully." There was almost a plea in voice.

"You don't get to decide that for me, Mulder. You don't own me. I'm capable of making my own decisions, and I choose this life. I choose you. If you can't accept that then that's your obstacle, and it's tasked to you to overcome it." She came to a stop an arm's length away from him.

He shook his head at the thought. "How? How can I possibly accept your pain? It plagues me."

"Perhaps you could face a truth that I was confronted with long ago. A truth that I couldn't escape, no matter how desperately I desired, or how relentlessly I tried. You can accept that you don't have the power to protect me from all the evils of this world, Mulder." There was such a look of abandoned love in her eyes. How innocent and young she looked at twenty-nine, and yet he still felt her wisdom and authority exceeded his.

"I don't think I can do that, Scully. It's not in my nature. It's not in my nature to just accept things. Especially things looking to harm you. You're asking the impossible."

"Because accepting that truth, that subjection, would mean accepting that I could be stolen from you in an instant? Just as Samantha was."

"Yes." He answered, heavily.

"Facing that truth meant losing our child. But I was given no other option, I had to stop running from it in order to do what was best for him. I had to let go. I had to accept my own weakness, and trust that there was a greater power out there that designed him and would watch over him. We came together in an act of pure love and comfort, and somehow that resulted in my greatest hope and wish being granted. You filled me with life and somehow that created life. You told me to never give up on a miracle, and in that moment we came together, I believed Mulder, I believed utterly and completely, and then came our son. I have to believe he was given to us for a reason. I have to believe someone heard that prayer I whispered against your skin."

Mulder was overcome with a desperate desire to reach out and touch her, but was too afraid of what might happen if he did. He was fearful of shattering this dreamworld into pieces. She showed no such fear though, and without hesitation brought her hand up to rest against his cheek. She gazed at him tenderly, softly caressing him with the stroke of her thumb. Her skin sliding against his seemed as real as anything he had ever felt. Her love was flooding him, healing him, and it was beautiful.

"When you look inside yourself, what do you see?" She asked earnestly.

"Regret. Pain. Darkness." Mulder allowed his eyes to leave hers for the first time, falling towards the basement floor and settling on his feet. "Overwhelming shadow… sprayed with a galaxy of stars... But that galaxy of light inside me… it's not me, Scully, it's you. Only you."

"When our hearts are closed there's no way for the light to get in. I'm the only one you ever answered the door for. You let me seep through the cracks. But if you were to let go of your fear, truly open your heart, you make way for the real light." She let her hands drift, sliding over his chest and settling to grasp the sides of his waist as she closed the distance between them.

"How? Just tell me how." Mulder begged. Her lips were just a whisper away, and he could feel her soothing breath mingling with his own.

"You stop wanting to believe… and just believe."

She pressed her lips against his and for one precious moment he tasted the heavens on his tongue. He had just enough time to pull her closer and savour the feel of her pressed against him before the light took him away again.

The brightness swept at his eyes, leaving him blind, but he could still sense her. He could still taste her tongue, tangling and massaging, and healing his tired soul. He could still feel her lips pressing and humming against his own, as her sweet breath washed over his cheek. He was undone with want. Want to stay here in this light, immortalised by her love for all eternity. He could feel it slipping, shifting. The light pulsated and crackled in front of his eyes, before fading away to a dark grey. But by some mercy, she was still there. She came into focus as she pulled away from him. The sunshine was back, shrouding her in an angelic light. How miraculously beautiful his Scully was.

The magical mystery tour part two had ended, but the after show looked just as promising.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm not sure if we were ready for that." Scully said, doubt clouding her mind.

"For the record, I vote yes, yes we were." He grinned, playfully. He could feel some of the remnants of her lipstick adorning his mouth, something he hadn't experienced in years.

"Do you want to know what I think, Mulder?" Scully asked, bringing her arms to fold across her chest. Mulder could sense she was transitioning into her doctor mode. She had always switched her clinical skin as a defence mechanism, it's what's she donned when she was feeling vulnerable or a need to retreat from intimacy. Mulder was disappointed that she felt the need, but he understood it, and supported it as he always had. He wanted her to feel safe with him.

"Always." He said reaching out to take her hand into his, unfolding her arms in the process.

"I think that after spending so many years wandering through the dark chasing monsters, that perhaps you don't know any other way to be. After so much time spent running around in circles, being misled time and again, playing games of cat and mouse, you weren't sure what to do after the cat went home." Mulder gave a gentle nod of his head in understanding. "Perhaps after all of the close calls, and after so many years watching our backs, being constantly vigilant about our safety, when no monsters could be found your mind turned yourself into one, to fulfil that need and that pattern. When you couldn't find that threat lurking in the shadows of our home, wanting to harm us, you persuaded yourself that the monster must be you. You turned your voracious instinct to protect us against yourself. Perhaps the delayed exhibitions of post-traumatic stress disorder in addition to your depression."

"You see? Who needs a head-shrinker when I have you?" Mulder grinned.

"I'm serious, Mulder. Seven years ago you told me that you'd take me away from the darkness, and you did. I feared that I'd lost you… lost what we had, but I was mistaken. I'd never seen you so happy and full of life, and I know you Mulder, there was no subterfuge on your part. You were truly happy, like I hadn't seen you since we'd first made our home together. But when we came back to that home, you began to change. It was as though a switch was flipped and the light had gone out. You went away again." Mulder could hear a slight break in her voice as she finished and it made his heart pine for her even more. He'd never wanted to leave her.

"I know, and I'm deeply ashamed." Mulder's eyes fell to their joined hands. "I was afraid, Scully."

"Of what?" She asked soothingly, lovingly.

"That I was going to let you down. I didn't want to drag you back into that darkness, my darkness. You were so happy, and I felt like we were us again, more us than we'd been in a long time. I felt that by some miracle I had gotten you back, I'd convinced you to stay… and I was terrified. I was terrified I was going to fail you, hurt you, cause that sadness in your eyes again, and that fear stayed with me."

"And it took on a life of its own. I've never needed you to be anything other than you are, Fox. Through all those years we worked together, through all the pains we both suffered, and all the obstacles we had to overcome, the most difficult part of the journey for me was dealing with the walls that separated us. It's still the hardest part."

"There may be a remedy for that, Doc." Mulder gave her a slight raise of his eyebrows as he brought her hand up to his mouth to gently kiss her knuckles.

Scully laughed and shook her head at him.

"Stay for dinner?" He whispered against her hand.

"Pizza, I presume?" Scully chuckled.

"Anything you want." He said nuzzling her fingers with his chin.

"I like pizza." She said, grinning.

Mulder smiled.

They walked, hand in hand, back towards the house. No words were spoken, but everything between them was understood. Her palm pressing against his expressed everything that needed to be said.

"Something's on your mind." Scully said as they reached the top of the porch steps.

Mulder turned to face her, standing a few feet away from the front door. He took the opportunity to capture her other hand again, deciding one was simply not enough. "I was just thinking about these reports we've been getting - the music from the heavens. Theoretically speaking, if we are all doomed to perish and God has already sealed our fate, why give humanity warning? An act of malevolence? To instil fear?"

Scully tilted her head and adopted that far-off look she usually acquired when she was contemplating. "Christian eschatology claims it to be a forewarning for sinners to beg repentance before the end of days. The Book of Exodus tells how Moses used the ram's horn to summon the attention of the Israelites before delivering a warning from God to his people. Perhaps it's because our fate is not yet sealed? Maybe that's the point. Maybe we are being offered a chance for salvation. Personally, I'd like to believe it to be an act of mercy."

"Mercy?"

"Giving us absolution to survive, or in the least say goodbye to those we love." Scully squeezed his hands a little tighter. "But the seas have yet to turn to blood. There have been no reports of hail and fire plummeting from the sky. No plagues. I think we're safe for now." She beamed at him.

Mulder smiled back at her gently before she released his hands to open the front door. He paused for a moment, wanting to tattoo the image of her coming home permanently into his psyche.

He breathed in deeply, gratitude overflowing his once broken heart. He refused to acknowledge that in a small spot just above that heart, he could feel his skin beginning to sear and blister with pain.

He'd shouldered enough pain in his life, it would have to wait until tomorrow.