Author's Notes in Chapter One


July 28, 1998

2:00 PM

For some reason, this one had caught her off guard. She knew it shouldn't have, but it did. She had forgotten it was Tuesday. It had been a rough day. Hell, it had been a rough week. She had had an appointment with Skinner on the previous day. He had wanted her in on Agent Fowley's briefing. Scully hadn't slept the night before, but that was getting to be commonplace. She showered and attempted to dress. The difficulty of that task was severely increased when she found that nothing fit. Not one skirt, suit, not one pair of chinos, not one single solitary pair of jeans fit her. Finally, she found a belt she could slip around her waist to make her pants fit…well, sort of. The suit had hung on her and she felt like a scarecrow. She had noticed that whenever she got together with Karen and Sydney, food was often included at some point of the visit. Food just had not been an option for her. Every time she ate something, she'd be sick and end up vomiting.

She had gone to the meeting and felt all eyes watching her. The sympathetic look Agent Fowley had given her did nothing but anger her. The fact that there had been little success in the investigation did nothing for her mood. While Agent Fowley had listened to Skinner and included Scully's suggestions, nothing had come from her ideas. They were staking out golf courses and investigating huge lists of suspects. The letters had yielded no prints, no clues, no nothing. They had been printed on a common inkjet printer. Finally, Scully had heard enough. She got up and walked out of Skinner's office and went straight to her car. She couldn't go see Syd or Karen. She just couldn't.

She had been to the golf course nearly every day for the past week. Usually she would go and play a game with either Sydney or Karen but more and more often she was finding herself needing to be alone. She would go and hit the driving range, looking closely around her for any clues. Her theory on the white van was dissipating since every time she went there she saw at least five of them. Some had logos others did not. She recorded their license numbers and ran them through the FBI computer. The search brought nothing though. She had also acquired a list of contractors the course had hired within the past three months. The list was enormous, consisting of dozens of names and phone numbers. Some of the numbers were out of service, other numbers led her to answering machines and voice mailboxes. Again, she had run the phone numbers through the FBI computer and found nothing. Most belonged to legitimate businesses and the others brought up nothing. No data found. Scully had taken to talking to her computer by this point.

"What do you mean, 'no data found'? This is supposed to be the FB frigging I for chrissakes." She had been more than slightly irritated.

While she was driving home from the briefing, her mother had called her on the cell phone. Stifling a sigh, she told her mother to meet her at her apartment. It was obvious to her that she was worrying about her. Scully was willing to do anything to prove to her mother she was still holding on and being strong. This was bound to be the performance of a lifetime.

She had wanted to beat her mother to her apartment. She wanted to change into leggings and a T-shirt. Something that would hide her emaciation. She didn't have that kind of luck though. Maggie Scully pulled in at about the same time her daughter did. Dana smiled and waved to her mother as she got out of her car. She watched as her mother walked to meet her. If she had noticed her daughter's weight loss, she said nothing of it. She came up to Dana and hugged her fiercely.

"Why don't we get inside out of this heat?"

Dana only nodded her assent. As they walked into the foyer of the building, Maggie noticed that the mailman was stuffing the small metal boxes full.

"Dana, why don't you get your mail? You never know, you might have won one million dollars!" She was trying to ease the painful look that had settled over her daughter's eyes lately. For a second, the sadness lifted only to return soon after. Dana shrugged. "Okay."

Now as she stood in her living room, the letter in her hands, Dana Scully felt things crackle within her. As much as she didn't want to read it, her eyes scanned the page involuntarily.

7/26/98

Dear Agent Scully,

I know someone and he called your name, either your first or your last, a million times and still you never came. He ignores me now, whether on purpose or because of the fever clouding his mind, I don't know. He just curls into a ball – for such a tall man it is incredible how small he can make himself – and whimpers quietly as I play with him. Each time my hand or foot comes in contact with his body, he whispers your name, as though drawing strength from the very thought of you. How touching.

I'm afraid that the infection in his leg has spread to most of his other wounds and the resulting fever spiked at 106 degrees. I have never seen a seizure before but it looked agonizing. It was beautiful. Though it probably didn't help his broken ribs or collarbone any. Yes, I fractured at least seven ribs, maybe six, I can't be sure without X-Rays. Well, after his seizure subsided I decided I had better cool him down or else my fun would be over fairly quickly. Dumping him into a tub of ice water woke him up like a bat out of hell. He actually made it out of the tub and on top of me before I could jab him in one of his sore spots. Definitely a remarkable man.

At night he lays in his cell, shivering miserably and calling out to you, begging you to come and find him. Rescue him. You would think that he would realize that you've abandoned him by now. But no. He doesn't resent the fact that you haven't come, that you cannot end his pain. You could probably kill him yourself and he would go on loving you just the same.

You heard me. Loves you. The man hasn't said it in so many words, but I can tell. You think it is impossible for a monster like me to recognize love? Any fool could see it. You are soul mates, you two, I envy you. Yet, I pity you too. Without each other, you are only half of a whole, a dismal echo of yourselves, incomplete. He is your strength and your faith, your believer. You are his guardian angel, his protector and partner in so many things, but you couldn't protect him this time, could you?

Her knees gave out just then. It was too much. She saw the floor rush up at her, but didn't feel it when she hit. She rested her head on her arms, willing her weak body to pick itself up. Her brain was sending the message to her legs, but her legs weren't responding. She felt herself get to her feet, only half aware of the strong hands that guided her.

"Come on Dana. That's my baby girl. One step at a time…there you go…"

Scully was coherent enough to know her mother was guiding her to her bed. Her mind protested, but her mouth couldn't form the words. No! No, I can't go to bed. I have to find Mulder. Mulder! MULDER! Mulder, dammit, answer me!

The voice she had been hearing so often lately, had fallen silent.

Maggie Scully eased her daughter out of her ill-fitting suit. Carefully, she slipped a sleep shirt over her head. She was instantly reminded of when Dana was a little girl and would fall asleep with her father in front of the television watching the late, late movie. She blinked away the tears that gathered at seeing her daughter, who was usually so strong, fall to the floor in an exhausted heap.

She wanted to know why.

Once Dana was sleeping soundly in her bed, Maggie went into the living room and picked the letter off of the floor. She found a few others on the coffee table. Setting them with their counterparts, Maggie Scully set about straightening up her daughter's apartment. Dana was usually so neat, the current state of disarray was unusual to Mrs. Scully. She had every intention of reading the letters, she just didn't want to just yet.

It wasn't until about 2 hours later that she sat down and arranged them all by date. The other two were photocopies, but were clear and easy to read. She almost wished they weren't so clear. Sheet after sheet her eyes scanned the words. She almost didn't believe what was happening. Her Fox, her adopted son, her daughter's best friend was being submitted to things she couldn't-or didn't want to-comprehend. The thought of him laying somewhere hurt or dying enraged her. She covered her mouth with her fist and fought the tears that were inevitable. This excuse for a man wasn't only tearing Fox's life apart, but everyone who Fox's life touched as well. For a moment, her thoughts spun to Teena Mulder. She couldn't imagine what the woman must be going through. If she even knows. I'd be going crazy…oh thank God it wasn't Dana. She knew it was a selfish thought and chastised herself for even thinking it, but she had already lost one daughter. Losing the other would have been too much.

Hold on there Maggie. Fox isn't lost yet. He's still with you. Dana's a smart girl and I'm sure Walter has all of his best agents combing the city looking for Fox. He's a strong boy, he'll survive this. You just be strong for Dana because you know she's having a rough time of it now.

She steeled herself and put the papers, which had grown to be as heavy as lead weights, back on the coffee table. She looked around and decided that if there was any time for her to be there for her daughter, this was one of those times. She knew Dana hadn't been taking care of herself. It was painfully obvious to her that she had lost a significant amount of weight and probably hadn't slept a full eight hours since Fox was taken. She would let her daughter sleep while she did more straightening up around the apartment. She turned the ringer down on the phone so that she could still hear it whereas it wouldn't wake Dana. Then she went to work.

She felt warm, safe. Without opening her eyes, she just knew. She was laying back on something warm and soft, a familiar sound resonated in the background, Curiosity became too much; she opened her eyes.

Hawaii.

At least, she was pretty sure it was Hawaii. The white sandy beach stretched out as far as she could tell and the water ahead of her was…magnificent seemed too weak a word. The dark blue horizon morphed into turquoise water that came to a white foamy end as it crashed into the shore. The air smelled heavenly, tropical, the light scent of coconut laced with the salt water. She was so engrossed, the next thought that came to her mind jarred her.

What the hell am I doing here?

She looked down at herself and saw she was, aptly enough, decked out in a simple navy blue bikini. She looked around and saw no one, nothing for miles. She got up off of the thick, plush towel that was spread out on the ground and surveyed the area. If she didn't know better (and she supposed she didn't) she would swear that it looked like she was on a deserted island. Well, deserted except for a…cabana?

Raising her eyebrow, she stepped carefully into the shade of the bungalow. The change in the light made her blink but eventually she adjusted. There, sitting with his feet up on a lounge chair drinking a margarita, was her partner clad in baggy khaki shorts and…was he shirtless? Indeed he was. He looked lean, tanned and healthy. He also looked a little buzzed.

Exactly how one is supposed to look on vacation, she thought.

Mulder looked at her and smiled. He swallowed and set the glass down on a nearby table. "Quite a spread, isn't it?"

"Mulder, what are we…"

"Doing here? Well, my guess is your subconscious is giving you a break. A well-deserved break, I might add. I can't believe you're killing yourself over this." He relaxed in the chaise as a familiar smirk crossed his features.

"What?! You're kidding me, right? Tell me you're kidding. Mulder…do you know what I'm going through? I know what you're going through, but do you have any idea what it's like to lie awake at night thinking about all that you're going through? To not be able to do a damn thing about it? I can't do anything, Mulder. I can't do anything and…I can't find you. Mulder, I need to find you."

"Yes Scully, I do know. I know the pain you're feeling when you wonder whether you'll ever see me alive. I know the emptiness you feel when, for some silly reason or another, something reminds you of me. I know. You'll find me, Scully…actually…I think your subconscious wants me to start calling you Dana. So…You will find me Dana. I know it. I know it deep within the fiber of my being that you will find me and I'll survive this. Though I still don't know if I've forgiven you for your little slip earlier." Again, he smirked. "I'm not dead, Dana. Really, I'm not. Trust me on this one. Now, on to more pleasant tropics…er topics. This is your dream and you have a stocked bar. What would you like me to make?"

"What is this? Some warped fantasy of mine where you're my cabana boy?"

He shrugged. "Hey, it's your dream. Whatever."

"Well…I guess…no! No. Mulder, I need to wake up and I need to find you. I can't sleep any more. I need to find you." She turned and headed toward the door. Just as she was about to step out of the cabana, she felt hands on her shoulders. They gently turned her around and embraced her, pulling her into him; the shelter of his arms within the shelter of this little house.

Tears slid down her face as she tucked her head underneath his chin. She wrapped her arms around him as they stood there silently. She couldn't get over the sensations she was having. This dream was far too real to be a dream. She could feel his sun-warmed flesh against her cheek, she could smell the mixture of salt and cocoa butter on him, she was aware of him nearly crushing her with his arms. She pulled away from him and looked up at his face. His cheeks too, were stained with tears.

"You're going to find me, Scully." He looked down at her and touched the ring that was still hanging from her necklace. A smile quickly graced his lips. "You've got a part of me here with you right now."

A thought entered her mind and as quickly as she thought it, she began to feel him getting closer. She could feel his uneven breathing coming out in short bursts against her face. His cheeks were flushed, whether it was with alcohol, sun, or something else; she wasn't sure. His eyes were closing and then it happened. Their lips met. Finally after time after time of near misses, their lips finally met in a kiss. She savored the feeling of finally connecting with him on a physical level. The taste of tangy lime and tequila on his lips made her close her eyes and pray that this dream never ended.

She heard his voice in her head, yet again. It whispered to her, invitingly. "This is your dream Scully. All yours. Whatever you want…it's yours. So what do you want?"

Again, as soon as the thought flashed in her mind the action followed. Mulder pulled away and took her face in his hands. "I know you'll find me, and I have faith you'll find me because I love you."


10:00 PM

Mrs. Scully walked hesitantly into her daughter's bedroom. In the dark she could make out the still lump that was huddled under the covers. She was sleeping on her side, curled into a tiny ball. She looked so cozy, so comfortable she didn't want to wake her. She knew, though, that it was time for the girl to eat. She had fixed some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. These items along with a glass of iced tea were balanced on the tray in her hands. She set the tray down and gently shook Dana's shoulder.

"Dana, wake up. Come on Dana, rise and shine. It's time to get up."

Mulder vanished. The cabana vanished. Hawaii vanished. She was in her bed in her apartment and she had been sleeping for nearly eight hours. She looked up and heard her mother's voice. Instinctively, she reached over and switched the bedside light on. Something smelled good. "Mom, what are you still doing here? It's late."

"I'm aware of the time Dana. I wanted to stay with you. To…to make sure you'd be all right. I also wanted to make sure you ate something. You're not looking well Dana. In fact, you look quite ill." She picked up the tray and set it on Dana's lap.

The mingled smell of grilled cheese and tomato soup did wonders…it actually made her mouth water. She picked up the sandwich and bit into it greedily. As she ate, her mother looked at her, smiling.

She was glad to see her eat. Not only that, but she was glad that she was eating with relish. Maggie had to talk to Dana. She had to talk to her about everything going on.

"Dana…I…I read your letters."

Scully stopped in mid-chew. She swallowed the last bit of sandwich, which was in her mouth and nodded slowly. She wasn't sure what to say to that. She hadn't told her much of what was going on with the investigation and she certainly hadn't told her about the letters.

"Now, I want you to know that…I understand why you didn't tell me. Now, that doesn't mean that I'm not…upset that you didn't tell me, it just means that I know you had your reasons. Now…now Dana…how are you doing?" She didn't know how to ask her daughter what she really wanted to know. She really wanted to know…well, everything. She wanted to know how things were going in the search for her adopted son. She wanted to know how her daughter was taking everything. She knew Dana was strong, but she tended to take everything on her shoulders, thinking herself strong enough to handle the load alone. She wanted her to share that load with her.

"I'm doing…" She didn't know what to say. I'm not doing fine. I can't lie to her. "I'm getting by. It's hard…harder than anything I've ever done; but I'm…surviving."

Her mother nodded.

Scully chose that time to take the steaming mug of soup into her hands. She was feeling chilled at the moment and she took a deep drink of the liquid in order to warm her insides. Ignoring the scalding that was inevitably going on in her throat at the moment, she continued to drink the soup. When she set the mug down, it was half gone. She brought the glass of tea to her lips and took another big drink.

If there's an iced tea in that bag, it could be love.

The Mulder voice had piped up again at a most inopportune time. The tears rushed to her eyes and her throat constricted. She forced herself to swallow as she set down the glass on her nightstand. She could feel her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at her mother. Scully leaned into the older woman's waiting arms.

The protective shell she had been working so hard to construct shattered into millions of pieces. She had shut off all emotion since that night when she got the second letter. Had it only been a week ago? It felt like a year.

"Mom, I just don't know what to do." She whispered. "I know he's still alive. I know it. I can feel it. But I don't know where or how to find him. I don't know if I'll be able to save him. I don't know if I'll find him in time. And every night as I sit out there on that couch trying to find some clue as to his whereabouts, some mistake that this psychopath has made that will lead me to him, I sit there and I wonder why not me? Why him and not me? And then I wonder what I could have done to keep this from happening. If I had only listened to him that night when he told me to back away from the case then maybe things would be different. If only I had gone home that night rather than stay at your house, maybe something would have changed. If I had called him earlier, I could have kept this from happening. I keep thinking about all the things I could have done differently that would have kept this from happening. I could have changed it. I could have saved him before all this. Why didn't I?"

Hearing her daughter say these things twisted Maggie's heart. While she was well aware that Dana would willingly give her life for Fox, she had a hard time hearing her say so. She stroked the top of her daughter's head, smoothing the sleep-tousled hair. "Dana, it's not for us to ask why these things happen and it's not for us to wonder how we could have changed things. It is only for us to try and survive the trials we encounter through our lives. We have to go by day by day and live. I know that in a time like this, just living is probably the most difficult request you can make of yourself right now. Promise me you'll try though. Don't let this guilt rule your life. What happened to Fox isn't your fault and you couldn't have stopped it, short of being his shadow for 24 hours a day. And even in that case, all you would have done was put yourself in danger with him."

"But at least if I were with him…we'd be able to get through this together. Together we can get through so much. But when we're split up like this I feel so powerless, like I need him to complete me. He makes me whole." She realized as she said the words, she was echoing a sentiment he had shared with her some time before. Damn bee. Her mother sat there, looking at her with an expression she couldn't read. "What? What's the matter, Mom?"

"I always thought so, but now I'm sure. You do."

Scully bit her bottom lip. She knew. She had never vocalized it, but she knew. Now her mother knew. She took a breath with which to better communicate the words that were forming in her brain at the moment. "Yes. Yes I do." It was time to say it. If not to him, then at least to someone. "I love him."


July 31, 1998

9:00 AM

Sydney Dawson's office

"Okay Syd, give. What's the deal? Why are you sitting there with that look on your face?"

"Do you know what you're looking at? Do you have any idea?"

Scully raised an eyebrow. "I have an idea, but you wouldn't like it."

"You are looking at your new best friend."

Scully wasn't sure how to react to that. She started to feel nauseous. No, don't tell me I'm assigned to be her partner. Don't tell me Mulder's dead and she's my new partner. Oh God…now hold on a minute Dana, she looks far too happy to want to tell you that. Jeez, calm down will ya? Scully gave herself a mental shake. "Elaborate, please?"

"Guess who AD Skinner wanted in his office first thing this morning?"

"Oh let me guess."

"And guess who is now your own personal covert liaison to this investigation?"

"What?"

"That is correct. C'est moi. I don't know why, but I'm sure he had his reasons if you catch my drift. He told me he wanted a fresh set of eyes looking at the forensic data they've collected. However you know as well as I do that there are plenty of pathologists here. The man had his pick of the litter. Any coincidence he picked the one who happens to play the links with you?"

Her mouth was dry. "So, what does this mean?"

"This means that…you've got ears everywhere Dana Scully. This means that you can start to put a degree of trust into this investigative team. This means that if you have any theories, you'll have someone to come to." Her usually intense friend had softened. "Dana Katherine, I won't let you down."

She swallowed the lump that was taking up residence in her throat. "So," she took a deep breath. "any good gossip to share?"

"Well, believe it or not Fowley is handling this quite competently. I'm almost impressed. However, she's stubborn. She focusing on something and I just don't think it's the right track. But, she's disagreeing with my little theory—well, our little theory actually."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's compiled a list of potential suspects based on common perps Mulder, Murphy and Donovan have investigated in the past. A short list as you can imagine. She totally gung-ho on the theory that this guy's got a hankering for some revenge. Now, she's trying to cross reference that list with another list of potential suspects who might have something to do with golf courses." Sydney shook her head. "I told her what I thought. You know what she said? She said that she was the profiler here and I had best stick to my slicing and my dicing. Apparently she doesn't think very highly of the idea that this guy has it in not for the men, but their female partners. She said it was too 'theatrical', 'unreasonable', 'unlikely', and 'improbable.' So there, you see what I'm working with." She rolled her eyes. "I've got the case folder here. I'm going to comb over it tonight. I should think with all that you've found and shared with Karen and me I would be able to piece something together. This is…it's so like a puzzle, you know? I mean, we know the pieces all fit together somehow. The trick is making them fit. I really feel like putting all you've found with all they've found together, we'll have ourselves a regular Reece's Peanut Butter Cup: two great tastes that taste great together."

"Good analogy. Well," she sighed, "if you find anything we haven't found yet…give me a call."

"You know I will."


10:45 AM

It had been an interesting talk with Sydney. It restored her belief that sometimes even Skinner was on her side. She stopped by Karen's office on her way out but noticed the office door closed and locked. Probably out of town again. Scully figured for a moment that Karen and Sydney were probably, like her, on a first name basis with the girls at the travel agency. She sighed and for a moment wondered what her life would be like if she had never joined the Bureau. It wouldn't have been nearly as eventful, was the only thought her mind could produce at the moment. As she got in the elevator, Skinner had stopped her.

"I just thought you should know that Agent Mulder's apartment is…no longer off limits. If you feel the need to go there…" He had trailed off, uncomfortable. She had managed a smile and thanked him for letting her know. It was no longer a crime scene.

It'll be his apartment again when he's in it safe and sound.

She got into her car. It was a cloudy, stormy day and for some reason, she was actually feeling good. She wanted to do something. She laid back in the car seat for a moment and allowed her mind to wander. She contemplated millions of things. She couldn't go to the golf course to look for the mystery psycho, that was certain. She didn't want to go back to her apartment. She couldn't sit in the parking garage all day…

I bet my place could use a good cleaning…

The Mulder-conscience had become a permanent fixture in her mind. She stopped wondering about it, stopped questioning it. She just heard it and imagined him saying such a thing, that damn smile teasing his damn lips. Her mind decided to torture her a bit by flashing Mulder upon her inward eye. Fox Mulder, tanned cabana boy teased her with that damn smile. Fox Mulder, FBI agent, standing in his hallway with every intention of kissing her. Fox Mulder, injured, his head in her lap as she sang "Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog" (off key, no less.)

"Okay, I guess that settles it." She said out loud to no one in particular.

She didn't expect it to be easy, but her hand was absolutely shaking as she tried to get the key in the lock. It took a few times but she steadied herself and took it very slowly. The key slid in, she turned it; the lock clicked open. The noise seemed to echo in the deserted hallway but she turned the knob and eased the door open quietly.

The sight of the demolished apartment hadn't failed to affect her yet. Her breath still stopped, her throat tightened and she felt like she was going to be sick. She closed the door and leaned against it, sinking down to rest on her heels. She surveyed the scene for what was actually the third time, though it felt like so much more.

There were boxes deposited in the middle of the living room floor. Upon further inspection, they were filled with things that the investigative team probably considered evidence until they dug deeper. The pillows on the couch were still ripped open; his television had fallen to the floor and was lying on its side. The computer was thrown to the floor as well and every book, magazine and newspaper the man might have owned was strewn about the floor.

Not exactly impeccable, but that's not the "I" in "FBI" now, is it?

As she chuckled, she felt herself sinking further into lunacy. "Okay, it looks like I have my work cut out for me." She went into the kitchen and got several big garbage bags. She attacked what was obviously trash. The pillows were unsalvageable; most of the newspapers were ripped to shreds. Carefully, she chose to pitch things she was sure Mulder would have no use for. Two hours later, she lugged bag after bag down to the trash. She also threw out the television. She was sure he'd be devastated, but she had one she could lend him in the interim.

She returned to the apartment after the final trip to the Dumpster. The place looked a little better without all the crap littering the floor. She put all of his important papers as well as any books and magazines that hadn't been destroyed in a pile. The next order of business was the shelves. Scully worked tirelessly putting every book, knick-knack and miscellaneous object back on various shelves. It was a long, tedious process, but she was sure he'd appreciate it. The longer she worked on it, the more sure she became that she was going to get Mulder back, in one piece and breathing. By the time she had put everything back on the shelves, she was whistling.

The third thing she tackled was his clothes. Everything in his closet had been ripped from the hangers and all of his drawers were pulled out of the dresser. Methodically, she hung everything back up, occasionally letting her fingers trail along the material of his suit coats. She noticed for what wasn't the first time, what a great dresser he was. He had long since ditched the goofy ties he wore when she first started working with him. He dressed to kill and she as well as nearly every other female in the building had begun to notice. As she hung up his heavy black wool trench coat, she got an idea. Looking around as if to make sure no one was looking, she tried it on.

It was absurdly big for her. The jacket pooled on the ground due to her lack of height. The sleeves went far past her fingertips. She couldn't help but chuckle, knowing how utterly ridiculous she looked. Scully returned it to the closet on a hanger. She then focused her attention on the collection of clothes dumped from the drawers. She was glad to see that the laundry she had folded the last time she was there remained untouched. Getting down on her knees, Dana picked up the drawers that had been taken out of their slots and returned them to their rightful place. Afterwards, she carefully returned every stitch of clothing that had remained on the floor as well as what she had folded in the laundry basket. She looked around to survey her work. She felt she had done a pretty decent job of tidying up. There were things that she wasn't sure what to do with and she had stored those things neatly in a box for Mulder to go through when he was able.

Did you hear that? Did you hear that thought? You said 'when' and not 'if.' I must say, Dana Scully, you're beginning to sound like you're expecting him.

It was nearly 7:30 by the time she was done. She had fed his fish (though she suspected that Frohike, Langly or Byers had been feeding them in the meantime), checked his mail, and cleaned out his refrigerator. When she had cleaned out the bathroom she made a mental note to pick up some more shower gel for him as well as a new can of shaving cream and some new razors. The bathroom had been conspicuously void of those items. Satisfied with the job she had done, she grabbed her purse and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. She felt strangely optimistic as she walked out to her car. It felt as though restoring Mulder's apartment had brought him to her for at least a little bit.

On her way back to the apartment, she stopped at the grocery store and picked up some milk, raisin bran, antibiotic ointment as well as some razors and shaving cream. The gel would have to wait. She wouldn't be able to get to the bath store in the mall anytime soon. As she walked into the apartment, the feeling continued. Usually this was the loneliest time for her. She would sit and work until fatigue overcame her. Tonight, though, was different. She took a long bath, bathing with what was left of Mulder's gel. Again she donned the black boxers and gray T-shirt and again she fingered the ring on her chain. She knew the final letter would be coming soon. She knew that it was going to be a race to find him before it was too late. She knew that the next few days were bound to be rough. But tonight the voice that had been resonating through her head for so long seemed to insist that she relax. So insistent was it, she actually found that she couldn't resist. She headed for her bedroom with the black and white journal and the packets of photos. Poignant though the entries may be, she knew there would be no tears of sorrow for Fox Mulder tonight.

She settled in bed, the photos to the right of her and the journal lying in front of her. Taking an invigorating breath, she picked it up and flipped toward the end. She had not read it in its entirety and was in the mood to get inside his head tonight. She was curious as to what the final entry in the journal was dated. There was no date, but Scully remembered the day vividly.

Scully leaves for a weekend vacation tomorrow morning. This bothers me for some reason. It's not like we spend every minute of our days off together. In fact, we rarely see one another on the weekends unless we are working on a case. So why is this any different? What am I going to do with myself for two whole days? 48 hours. 2880 minutes. 172800 seconds. A whole lot of nanoseconds. Maybe I'll call her. Yeah, I'll do that. She said to only call if it were an emergency. I'm sure she wasn't being serious though.

Well, I guess she was serious. I can't believe she hung up on me though. Scully hung up on me! She never does that. She's not supposed to do that! I was just trying to be helpful with that decapitation remark. After everything we have been through together it would be just our luck for her to pull a Jayne Mansfield. I just want her to come back to me in the same condition she left. Is that really too much to ask? Apparently she seems to think so.

Scully, Scully, Scully. I thought you were on vacation? I thought you weren't making or receiving calls? I know what she was thinking when she called. She heard something in the background and called me on it. I'm sure she thought I was watching one of those videos that aren't mine. While I concede that the title is rather suggestive of a certain genre that she seems to think I have a penchant for, I must state for the record that "Alien Probe" is nothing of the kind. It's actually a documentary shot during the late '60s documenting a series of mysterious and unexplained abductions, and the scientific methods that were used to investigate the case. I will have to share it with her some time. I think she will get a real kick out of it.

Who exactly am I trying to kid here?

Jeez, what kind of a pervert am I anyway? Not only was I watching a cheap pornography tape in our office, but also I didn't even bother to hit mute when the phone rang. What if it had been the Attorney General? Oh, that would have gone over real well with Janet. "What is it exactly that you do down there in the basement, Agent Mulder?" "Well, you see Janet, may I call you Janet? The work I do is stressful. I don't get a lot of respect from my peers. My family is non-existent. My social life is hanging by bare threads. Every once in a while, I just like to untuck my shirt, kick back, put my feet up on my desk, and pop a porno in the old VCR. It helps me unwind. I think you should be grateful I get off on sex and not by pulling a disgruntled postal worker move on you."

And did Scully really need to do that to me at that moment? I'm talking about her spiel on witchcraft, of course. As if I weren't horny enough already. Wonder what she would have done if I had asked her what I really wanted to know instead of asking her to marry me? "Scully, want to help me solve the mystery of the horny beast?" She probably would have reached through the phone line, ripped my balls out and then squished them with her tiny little feet. Ouch. Not much more to say to that.

You know you are leading a pathetic excuse for a life when the only food item in your refrigerator is 4-month-old orange juice.

I'm starting to see some things that I never really noticed before. I respect Scully. I know that she has saved my ass more times than I care to remember. I know that she is an intelligent human being who is a great asset to the X-files. I know that she keeps me grounded. She keeps me sane. She makes me whole. She validates my existence by accepting me. In many ways, she is my wife. (And Scully, if you ever read this I mean it in a totally figuratively way) I know all these things. I have known all of these things for a very long time. What I didn't know, what I am just now starting to understand, is that she has become such a part of my life that I cannot function without her. Is this what a normal marriage is like? I have heard stories of wives going away for weekends and leaving the husbands to hold down the fort. I have also heard of the same wives returning home to find their husbands buried alive on the recliner under a pile consisting of dirty laundry, dirty dishes, potato chip crumbs, and the occasional dog or child. I always just assumed these tales were myths; stories told by women to scare men into behaving while they were gone. I'm beginning to wonder. It's a good thing I don't have a recliner…or a dog for that matter.

I can't believe Scully is doing an X-file without me. And she keeps hanging up on me! When did Dana Scully suddenly turn into…turn into…well, turn into me? She's just NOT supposed to do that!

Okay, I have watched naked women gyrating and twisting into anatomically impossible positions for two days now. I have done some work in the office. I cleaned my refrigerator. I went outside and played a little b-ball with the guys. I came inside and played a little b-ball by myself. I spackled the hole I made in the wall whilst playing b-ball by myself. How many more hours until I see Scully again? I never thought I would look forward to a Monday so much. That still leaves me a half a day tomorrow before she is due in at work, though. We don't have any cases to work on anymore. What to do, what to do. I have some pencils that need sharpening. That should hold me over for a few minutes.

For the first time in nearly a month, Dana Katherine Scully was laughing. Hard. So many of her suspicions were validated on those final pages. She wiped a tear from her eye and cradled her stomach, now sore from the giggles. Once they subsided, she allowed her eyes to linger on his writing. She smiled and ran her fingers over the ink. She took a deep breath and closed the journal. She was actually feeling almost good. Her eyes wandered over to the packet of photos on the bed next to her.

Now, what on earth…?

She pulled out the thick collection of glossy photos and began flipping through them.

"How did he…?"

At first, she couldn't remember where she was in the pictures. Then, slowly it came back to her. That stupid seminar she and Mulder were railroaded into going to. This was after the Mothmen incident and Scully could only wonder why they weren't so lucky the second time around. She would have rather battled camouflaged predators with glowing red eyes than eternally perky FBI agents. These photos were from that seminar. She tried to remember who had a camera since Mulder most certainly hadn't. She gave up though; figuring Frohike was somewhere in the crowd doing Mulder's dirty work. Instead, she flipped through the pictures. Most of them were only of her, though there was one she particularly liked. They were sitting down and Mulder was resting his arm on the back of her chair. There was nothing special about it other than the fact that they two looked so comfortable with each other.

Do we look this comfortable to everyone? Or is it just to me because I miss him so much?

She missed him with a funny feeling in her heart. She took a deep breath and expelled a sigh. She had promised her mother she'd at least attempt to take care of herself. That meant trying to get a little sleep. Restless though she was, it was time for her to rest. Time to recharge the ol' battery. She settled back into bed and switched off the light. Before she closed her eyes, she looked at the clock: 11:02.


11:48 PM

Scully hovered somewhere between slumber and awakening. Distantly, she became aware of noise. Pounding. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at the clock. Not even midnight yet and someone was at her door. She got out of bed, not bothering with her robe, and stepped silently to the door. She looked through the peephole and immediately opened the door.

"Sydney? What's wrong?"

Her friend was at the door, her face pale except for her cheeks, which were very bright. Her eyes were wild and her hair was plastered to her head from the storm raging outside. She sounded breathless, like she had sprinted all the way up to her apartment. When she spoke, her voice was urgent, her tone not one to argue with.

"Get dressed and get your gun. We need to go."

She calmed the rising panic with a lift of her eyebrow. "Exactly what the hell is going on here?"

Sydney pushed past into Scully's apartment. For a moment, the agent's behavior was reminding her of Mulder. "You need to get dressed and we need to leave now." She pulled her cell phone out of the inside pocket of her nylon jacket. She stabbed at the numbers and waited impatiently. "Goddamnit to hell, where the fuck is she?!" She hung up and looked at Scully. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. "Scully, we were wrong. There was a pattern to those letters but not what we originally thought. We paid too much attention to Francine Taylors letters and not to Elizabeth Morris'. Her final letter was dated June 30th. Murphy was found on June 1st which was the same day the letter was postmarked. He made a little mistake there. But that's the pattern. He's going for the last day of the month. We need to get moving. Now." She spoke rapidly and it only took a second for the words to register in Scully's brain.

"Oh my God." She ran to her room and emerged minutes later clad in jeans and a gray FBI T-shirt, sneakers on her feet, shoving a clip into her Sig Sauer. "Let's go."

The two women hurried to Scully's car. Once inside, Sydney kept trying to call Agent Fowley. Scully could tell that she was having no luck given the blue streak she was swearing. She hung up the cell phone and looked at Scully, who was driving through the deserted streets like a madwoman.

"You know where we need to go." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Fox Run."

"Dana, tell me you're sure of that."

She looked at her friend in the glow of the dashboard light. "Surer of that than anything else."

Sydney only nodded.

Within minutes, they were pulling into the parking lot of the golf course. Scully felt a burning sensation flow through her body when she saw it: the white van. The same white van from her dream. She didn't know how she knew that since so many white vans looked alike, she was just sure of it. She pulled up next to the van, which was void of any life.

"Call an ambulance. Get Skinner and keep trying Fowley. I'm in pursuit." She got out into the driving rain and ran into the darkness of the course.

She ran hard, for a brief moment she was reminded of chasing after Mulder in Chaney, Texas. This time though, she was saving Mulder from a killer and not the other way around. She stopped for a moment atop a hill. She needed a second to get her bearings. She looked around; wishing the place was lit. Then, a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning answered her prayers, if only for a moment. She could see everything almost like in daylight. In those few seconds, she could see where she was and where she needed to be. The water hazard was about 250 yards from where she was.

Then her heart stopped. She could see him clearly if for only a moment; he had Mulder thrown over one shoulder. The lightning subsided and she was thrown into darkness again. Guided only by her memory, Scully bolted in the direction of the water hazard never pausing to catch her breath. She slowed slightly after going about 100 yards. She jogged along; straining to see what was ahead of her when lightning flashed again. She could see how much closer she was now. He had only just reached the water hazard. Mulder was on the ground in a lifeless heap. Scully felt recharged with a newfound energy. Heedless of any potential danger in the situation, she sprinted the rest of the distance, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She felt the secure weight of her gun at her side, her hand reaching for it when she was only 50 yards away. Weapon in hand, she continued running getting closer and closer. Finally, she was only 20 feet away. She squinted to see past the rain and darkness in time to see Mulders nearly lifeless body being tossed into the deep water.

Rage spread through her entire body. You sonofabitch. "FREEZE, FEDERAL AGENT!"

The man whipped around and saw her. Surprise registered over his features. Slowly, he smiled. It was an eerie, empty smile that disturbed her deeply. From the corner of her eye she could see Mulder begin to sink. The smile widened.

"It's him or me. Make your choice."

She could feel her jaw clench and her heart race. "Both." Before she was aware of it, she had already fired four shots into him. Once she was aware of it, she fired off another three. It all happened so fast, she was heading into the water, the gun empty and hot in her holster. She swam out into the water. She couldn't find him on the surface so she had no choice but to go under. Holding her breath, she submerged and felt around for his limp body. Her fingers came in contact with something-his shirt presumably. She grasped at it and grabbed on to the arm and body that came with it. Finally she felt his solid weight in her arms and she kicked ferociously for the surface. She knew she wasn't very deep but it seemed to take ages to reach the surface.

Scully gasped once she broke the surface of the water, filling her lungs up with fresh air. She struggled awkwardly with her unconscious partner, half dragging him, half carrying him to the grassy shore. She lay him down on the grass and checked his neck for a pulse. She didn't dare breathe as she waited for the tell-tale thump under her fingers. There it was. So faint, hardly even there, but definitely existent.

"Come on, Mulder…come on…" She urged the pulse to get stronger but it didn't. It weakened.

Scully pressed her mouth to his, filling his lungs up with air. Then she pumped determinedly at his chest. She counted along as she pressed. "One…two…three…" Again she breathed for him. "One…two…three…" She continued the CPR growing more and more frustrated. "Where the FUCK is that ambulance?!" Scully pumped his chest for seconds that felt like hours. The strain of the month caught up with her and she felt herself getting very, very mad. "GODDAMMIT MULDER YOU DO NOT HAVE MY PERMISSION TO DIE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!" This time as she went to press her mouth to his again, he began to cough weakly, finally breathing on his own.

Relief enveloped her and made her shaky. She sat on the wet grass and gathered Mulder into her arms. She held his head in her lap, rocking back and forth, whispering to him.

"I've got you Mulder. I've got you. You're going to live partner. You are. Come on Mulder, for me…live for me. Come on, just keep on breathing. That's it Fox, inhale and exhale. That's it." She hadn't heard the ambulance arrive but soon she was surrounded by paramedics and FBI agents. The men and women went about their work, carefully strapping Mulder onto a gurney. Before she could blink it seemed they already had an IV in him and a mask on his face. Someone helped her to her feet. It was Skinner.

"Why don't you go and get cleaned up, then meet us back at the hospital?"

Scully nodded absently. It had all finally come to an end. The nightmarish month had drawn to a close, the killer dead on the ground only a few feet away and Mulder on the way to the hospital. She started walking to her car when she felt someone next to her.

"Care to give a fellow agent a ride to her car?"

"Not at all."


10:45 AM

Mercy Hospital

Intensive Care Unit

It had been another sleepless night for Dana Scully. Somehow she had made it to her apartment where Sydney convinced her to at least get a shower. Scully hadn't seen the logic to that seeing as how she had been soaked to the skin already. She had, however, relented and took a quick shower. Sydney was gone by the time she had gotten out and she got dressed swiftly in the silence of the apartment. She had tugged on a dry pair of jeans and a black polo shirt, slipped her feet into a pair of black loafers and sped off into the dark morning. When she arrived at the hospital, Skinner met her to tell her that Mulder would be in surgery for the rest of the night and well into the morning. He encouraged her to get some rest.

She waited.

It had been about 1:30 when Mulder got to the hospital. He wasn't out of surgery until nearly 6:30. She had been waiting when he got out. While she was only too familiar with hospital regulations, this time it was her turn to use her badge to gain access somewhere she might otherwise not be allowed. She stayed there by his bedside watching him take breath after breath, amazed at the miracle that was Mulder.

There hadn't been good news for her once Mulder got out of surgery though. The doctor who had operated on him asked to speak with her in the hall. He had seemed more than just a little perplexed.

"Agent Scully, I understand that you are a medical doctor."

"That's correct."

"Then you understand the delicacy of Agent Mulder's situation."

"Yes."

He nodded. "First and foremost, he's suffering from severe malnutrition. He's got a concussion that's been left untreated, several fractured ribs, first and second degree burns over much of his torso, I'm not sure what's been done to his back but I can only surmise that it was done with something wire like…"

"…A coat hanger." She choked.

He nodded. "Probably something like that. His clavicle is broken, he'll have significant scarring over much of his chest due to the depth of some of those cuts, and he had a pretty nasty infection spreading through him as well. We were able to treat the infection with antibiotics and pretty much everything is treatable. Don't get me wrong though, he's nowhere near being out of the woods yet."

"What about his leg?"

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then took a deep breath. "The bullet passed through, which in this case was a good thing. However, the tibia and fibula are both shattered. We'll have to put pins in it. The…unusual thing though is…any symptoms of gangrene were limited to the surface. I've never seen anything like it. It's like his body had built up immunity to it. I was afraid that we would have no choice but to amputate, but upon further inspection…it's truly a miracle that…that happened. I have no explanation for it. Had he been treated with anything? Any experimental drugs of any sort?"

Scully shook her head slowly, thinking. "Could a virus have stepped up his immune system?"

"No virus I've ever seen."

But maybe a retrovirus? "So, his leg will eventually be okay?"

"Yes, it's his head I'm most concerned about right now. Luckily, his skull wasn't fractured. That boy must have a hard head to withstand what he did. Anyway, from what I can gather, he probably suffered several small concussions in succession. I can only judge by the superficial injuries to his head and guess that there was at least a day between them, maybe more. I don't know what the damage will be until he wakes up though. It's possible that he might be fine or he might not remember anything. He'll probably suffer from headaches for a while, that's a given. Worst case scenario: muscular weakness, temporary paralysis, difficulty in speech…these symptoms will disappear with healing but there's always the possibility of permanent effects such as depression, decreased mental alertness or permanent paralysis. He's very lucky he didn't hemorrhage and that there were no fractures to the skull or else we'd be looking at a pretty severe case of meningitis."

"There's nothing to do now but wait?"

"That's about the long and short of it. I just want you to be prepared. He might not know you when he wakes up."

She knew that. She knew the things that come with brain injuries. She just hadn't wanted to think about that. She could only nod her head and walk slowly back to Mulder. She sat in the chair she had pulled up next to his bed. She could only hold his hand and pray.

She stayed that way for another three hours.


2:00 PM

He moved.

At first she wasn't sure, then he moved again. His fingers twitched and gently grasped her hand. Scully's head shot up. His breathing had gotten stronger and his eyebrows began to twitch. Scully watched him closely, her heart pounding in her ears. She hadn't been aware that she was squeezing his hand so fiercely until she heard him.

"I might be needing that."

It might have been no more than a whisper, it might have been hoarse and strained, but it was the most welcome sound to Dana Scully's ears.


July 4

One year later

Fox Mulder rubbed at his eyes, blinking in the semi-darkness. He was restless and it was time to get up. He sat up and stretched, massaging the stiffness out of his calf. The scarring had faded, if only slightly. He got off of his couch, continuing to rub his face in an effort to rid his brain of the last vestiges of sleep. He moved about his apartment, first showering, then getting dressed, and then grabbing an onion bagel from the half dozen he had picked up the morning before. It was 6:00 by the time he was on his way. It was time for him to open some old wounds.

The past year had been trying for him. He had pins holding his leg together and he couldn't remember why. He had faint scars all over his body and he couldn't remember why. He had horrible nightmares about being tortured in the dark, and he couldn't remember why. He was missing a month from his memories and it was killing him. He had tried everything from conventional therapy to hypnosis and still the month of July 1998 remained repressed. He had even tried to talk to Scully about it, but couldn't get the details he had wanted. She only told him that the man they had been searching for turned the tables on him and kidnapped him. She wouldn't or couldn't tell him any more. The scars on his body told him that she was holding something back.

Scully. Her very name evoked an emotion that was getting harder and harder for him to pinpoint. He would never have survived the year had it not been for her. Her constant presence in his life eased his frustrations. She was with him every day during his stay in the hospital. She brought him into her home and watched over him while he struggled with the cumbersome plaster cast on his leg, driving him to and from physical therapy and staying there while he struggled to walk again. She had been there soothing him when he woke up with terrifying nightmares, stroking his damp forehead and whispering to him that it had only been a dream. She stood by him in silent resolve, giving him strength and hope. She had helped him get back to his old life in his old apartment, helping him move back even though neither of them wanted him to leave her home. She had gone there and fed his fish, watered his plants and kept the dust from piling too high. She had, during the past year, become more of a part of him than she had been before.

So he was patient. He remained patient for a year. He went through his physical therapy, ignoring the doctors who said he'd never return to the field. He did his deskwork, pushing his luck with everyone in the bureau to insure that he'd be able to get back to the X-Files. He had made a miraculous recovery stunning everyone from his doctors to Scully herself. Now, it was the weekend before he returned to the field. He had something he had to do if he were ever to attempt to get back to his normal life.

He wasn't surprised to find the building empty. Not only was it a Sunday, it was also 6:30 AM on a Federal Holiday. He'd have the privacy he was craving. He parked the car and made his way to VCS. After a few minutes of searching, he found the case file he had been looking for. He brought it down to his desk in the basement. He was sure he'd need comfortable surroundings for this. He sat down and opened the file folder. He found letters to Francine Taylor. He remembered those. He remembered reading them and compiling a profile for her. He met her and gave her the profile…and she was found dead several days later. He found letters to Elizabeth Morris regarding Agent Eric Murphy. They were similar to Francine's letters. A knot began to form in his chest. He rifled through the rest of the papers until he came to another set of letters. These were addressed to Dana Scully. Dawning comprehension settled over him as he realized what must have happened. Hands trembling, he picked up the letters and began to read.

By the time he had finished the third letter, tears were pooling in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. Reading the words brought the memories back to him in such a violent manner he could only compare it to slamming into a brick wall. Six simple typewritten sheets of paper did what hours of hypnotherapy couldn't. Recollections flooded his brain with such an intensity, he felt physically ill. He had nearly died and the only person to hear his deepest secrets was a bloodthirsty lunatic. His emotions had been as wide open as his wounds and there had been no one there but his would-be killer. He had a vivid memory of laying on that cold stone floor after vomiting while trying to stand. He had passed out on the floor and began to either dream or hallucinate; he couldn't remember which. He'd had a warm, safe dream about Scully in Hawaii. That had become his safe place, the place he'd retreat to within himself.

He put the third letter down, perplexed. There should be four here…then he found it. It was still in the envelope and sealed. No one had read it yet.

Someone was about to.

Slowly, deliberately, he opened the envelope. He held his breath while he read the typewritten words.

7/31/98

Dear Agent Scully,

I know someone and he died with your name on his lips. His confession of love for you the last words he uttered. How tragic. If he had told you before any of this had ever happened, would htings be different now? Perhaps you would both be safe and sound, happily married with a house, dog and 2.5 kids. Perhaps not.

I'm not sure what finally did him in, whether it was the internal bleeding or the fever ravaging his body, but it was a very slow and painful process, I assure you. He moaned and groaned for hours, his arms wrapped around himself as though that could alleviate the agony, praying that you would come. Finally he gave up. He rolled onto his back and cried the first tears I have seen since he arrived here.

He cried for about an hour, until his weakened body couldn't take it any more and force him to stop. The tears left him gasping for breath and soon he began coughing up blood, his insides convulsing with each spasm. What little strength he had remaining fled with his hope. He knew you wouldn't come. So he lay on the floor, his eyes closed, blood dribbling down from his mouth, and he whispered "I love you Dana."

Then he died. Died because you couldn't save him.

I know someone and he forgave you.

He wasn't sure what he was feeling after he read the letter. Upon delving further into the file, he found out that the perp had taken him to a golf course to dump him in the water hazard like he had done with all the other victims. He had been close to death by that time and would surely have drowned had Scully not arrived just in time to shoot the killer (seven times, he noted). She had then rescued him from the pond and administered CPR to him, saving his life. He also found out that the guy did contract maintenance work for golf courses all over the DC and Alexandria area including the one he and Scully had gone to once. It was this same one they had played at that was to be where he would have been found. He sat there for nearly an hour and a half reading, absorbing what had happened to him. A lot of events in only one month. He couldn't say he was surprised that his brain had wanted to protect him from such a traumatic event.

Finally, he closed the file and swiped at his eyes. That final letter had proclaimed him dead, but that's not how it had happened. Oh, it was pretty damn close, he was sure of that. It just hadn't happened in exactly that manner. He had been so close to death, and several times he had wanted to give in and die. He had wanted to rid himself of his broken and battered body and immerse himself in an eternity without pain or suffering. He couldn't. He couldn't make himself do it. He couldn't leave Scully without at least saying good bye. He had tried to say his good byes to her in his dreams but instead he had found himself wanting her to not give up, to find him. The amazing thing was, she had.

"Mulder?"

That voice was the last one he had expected to hear. Her voice, the voice of his champion, his protector, the reason he was still drawing breath to this day. He turned to see that the expression on her face matched the tone in her voice: shocked.

He gestured to the file on the desk, "Doing a little recreational reading." He tried to smile and hide behind his wit. "I…" He trailed off, unable to finish. His throat had tightened and he swallowed hard to rid himself of the sensation. "I couldn't…remember. So I read the file." He took a steadying breath. "I remember. Scully, I can remember everything."

Scully closed her eyes. She had known that being the way Mulder was, he wasn't going to settle for her abbreviated synopsis of events. She had suspected that he would have come here to read the case file. She just hadn't guessed he would have gotten there before she did. Tears constricted her throat as she tried to speak. She cleared her throat.

"And…?"

He looked overwhelmed. He got up from his swivel chair and approached her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in to him. "Thank you. Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for standing by me through this. Thank you for everything. You're the reason I'm standing here right now Scully. You realize that, don't you?"

She looked down, focusing on a button on his shirt. She felt moisture fall on to her cheeks and she buried her face in his shirt. "God Mulder, I don't know what I would have done if you…" She found that she couldn't say it.

He tilted her face up to look at him. "But I didn't. I didn't die Scully. And you know why?" His lips had begun to form a half smile through the tears.

"Why?"

"I didn't have your permission."

The sentiment echoed what her Mulder-Conscience had been telling her. She hadn't told him about that. She hadn't told him much about that time, much less about her dreams. She was still trying to comprehend as he started to speak again.

"One thing I have to know…I have to know this." He let her go and went to the desk where he picked up the final letter. "Why was this sealed?"

She looked at the letter and envelope, taking a cleansing breath before she spoke. "I got that while you were in the hospital. I hadn't checked my mail for a few days, so I don't know exactly when I got it. I knew what it was though. I knew what it was and I knew what it said. I didn't have to read it. I didn't want to read it either so, I gave it to Skinner. I presume that he put it in the file."

He nodded, absorbing all of this. There was still one thing he needed to know. "How did you know? You know…that he would have gone to Fox Run?"

"He was there that same day we played, Mulder."

"What?" His eyes widened as a door leading to new possibilities swung open.

"Do you remember us going there and playing?" He nodded. "He was there that day."

"How did you know that?" He just couldn't grasp the possibility…

"I don't know…I just did."

His only response was a raise of his left eyebrow.

"So, did you find…what you were looking for?" She hadn't wanted him to read the letters, but she knew in the long run that she couldn't stop a headstrong Mulder.

"I found what I needed, yes."

They stood there in uncomfortable silence. They both had so much to say, and nowhere to start.

"You want to know how I got through it."

"Yes."

"You." One word, so simple…

Scully found that she couldn't speak. He looked down at her, green eyes locking with blue.

"You got me through every day. You were there with me, urging me to live, helping me see any glimmer of light. You were there with me doubting yourself, but I had faith in you Scully. I had faith that you could find me because you're a damn good agent and I had faith in you…" Scully experienced a distinct sense of deja vu as she felt his hands come to rest in her hair, cradling her face. "I had faith in you because…because I love you."

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to absorb the emotions raging within her. "Oh God Mulder, I love you too…" The choked whisper caught him off guard, but Mulder continued.

"You were my one thought when I got shot, and when I woke up later. My first thought when I opened my eyes and the only thought when I closed them to sleep. I found comfort in the thought of you as I felt my bones break, you brought me comfort when I couldn't turn my head without vomiting. You were there, Scully. I could see you, feel you, hear you, smell you…" He trailed off long enough to wipe the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. "There is one thing I couldn't do." Without waiting for a response, he lightly touched his lips to hers. What started out as an innocent, chaste kiss increased in intensity as a scenario both had contemplated actually played out.

The kiss ended and Mulder found that all he could do at the moment was hold her tightly to him, afraid if he let go she'd disappear. He tucked her head under his chin where it seemed to fit so neatly and ran his fingers through her hair. They stood like that for a few moments, two as one. Then Scully spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

"We have a cookout to go to you know…Mom's expecting you."

He opened his arms and released her, still holding tightly on to her hand. "Can't let Mrs. Scully down…come on, let's get some potato salad. Then…fireworks?"

"Absolutely."

They headed up to the parking garage in companionable silence. They were nearly to their cars parked side by side in the deserted garage when finally Mulder spoke up.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"I've got a question."

"Shoot."

"What do you think about Hawaii?"


End