Chapter VII

They parked in the small lot by St. Francis' church and she led him through to the cemetery, which began in the walled-in confines of the church property, visible from the road, but continued far back to accommodate its large congregation, stretching along a flat grassy piece of land, punctured at neat intervals by planted dogwoods that bloomed in springtime. Now the branches were bare even of snow and the ground was wet and muddy under their shoes as Dana led him through the church cemetery and onto the wide expanse of graves behind.

Some headstones took the form of smooth, marbled stone, set flat into the ground, others stood boldly upright with ornate decorations carved into them. Angels knelt at the foot of others, holding small bouquets of fake flowers, worn brown by rain. His was at the end of the fifth row, way at the back. She led the way slowly, but didn't take his hand to give him any comfort. As Mulder approached the grave and stopped beside her he saw it.

His headstone stood up from the ground, simple grey marble, with his name carved neatly.

FOX WILLIAM MULDER

LOVING FRIEND

1961-2000

"The truth will set you free." John 8:32

No angel crouched at the bottom, but someone had trimmed the growing grass that sprouted up around the base of the headstone, and a small gathering of artificial poppies lay at the foot. She bent down and picked up the flowers, realizing they didn't serve a purpose, and moved them to reveal one of Tommy's precious pull-back racing cars, an M on the side in Sharpie that bled into the ground. Mulder crouched and picked up the wet car, turning the cold metal over in the palm of his hand.

"Leave the flowers," he said thickly. She looked at him, confused.

"But-"

"Someone is buried here, Scully." Poppies for Remembrance. He took the flowers from her gloved hands and put them back at the foot of the grave, then stood up, the car held tightly in his hand.

"We came on your birthday," she said quietly, and for the first time understood the saying 'hushed as the grave'. "Ginny wanted to clean up the leaves and weeds, and Tommy left that as a present."

It was too much. Mulder pulled her close, and she gasped at the shock of his rain-wet lapel against her cheek, his cold lips on the crown of her head, her misted brow. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and pressed her more firmly into him to the point of discomfort, but she wrapped an arm around to rest on his back. Was he crying? She didn't forgive him out loud, but part of the pain coiled inside of her loosened. The suicide wasn't his fault, she knew this now. But she had needed him to understand the cold finality of death; how, in the end, all that remained was a smooth stone with your name carved into it and a bouquet of fake flowers, a car ride away from your family. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said again, and she patted his back.

"Come on, let's go," she said, extracting her face from his coat and looking up to find his eyes wet. She reached down for his hand and squeezed, then led him away, this time walking slowly with him through the rows of graves and back to the car. Once inside, her in the driver's seat, Mulder turned to her.

"I want to see them," he said, "Charlie, Ginny, the kids. I mean, if you have time, if it isn't inconvenient."

She widened her eyes. "Uh, Mulder, do you really think you're ready?"

He started to speak, but she continued on, searching for the right words. "I mean, you're back for two days and you've already seen Skinner, me, my mom...don't you think that's enough for the first thirty-six hours? Emotionally?"

He looked determined. "I'm fine, Scully, I've been waiting two years to see you, I think that's more than enough preparation."

She tilted her head in concession. "I'll call Charlie, see if they're home."

"Hi, Charlie, it's me," she greeted after three rings, trepidation in her voice.

"Dana, what the hell?" he answered, and she winced. "Mom called this morning, explained everything. Is it true? Mulder's back? He's alive?"

She nodded, looking at Mulder in the passenger seat. "Yeah, he's back. Listen, Charlie, he wants to come see you guys today."

A pause on the other end of the phone. "Um, okay. I'll tell her. Did you guys want to have dinner or something?"

She shook her head. "No, no, that's okay, we'll just come say hi to everyone."

A small 'Daddy, who is it?' interrupted Charlie's response. "Okay, Dana. Come by in about an hour? Then everybody will be ready."

She nodded again. "Okay, sounds good."

Charlie hung up first, and she handed Mulder her phone to hold onto while she started the car and pulled out of the spot, back down to the road. It took fifteen minutes to get to Charlie's from here, but she could kill time by at least getting Mulder some new clothes. She headed toward the mall, purposefully avoiding his gaze, hoping he wouldn't say anything.

"What aren't you telling me, Scully?" he asked, and she sighed.

"Ginny had a sister," she said, flicking the turn signal on.

"Had a sister?"

She nodded. "Her name was Lucy. Identical twins. Lucy's kidneys started to fail when she was twelve years old. Ginny was a match, and got consent from her parents and the courts to donate a kidney when she was thirteen."

She felt his eyes on her, but she kept hers on the road. "The transplant failed. Lucy died six months later. I think Ginny's always blamed herself."

"That's awful," Mulder said, his voice gentle. "But it wasn't her fault."

She shook her head. "No, of course not. But I think the fact that you're back, back from the dead, might not exactly be welcome news to Ginny, who can never see her sister again. She took your death very badly."

"You think we shouldn't go?" he asked.

She sighed again. "I think you're going to see them at some point or another, no matter what. They're my family. It's never going to be less of a shock to see you."


He followed her patiently through Old Navy and took the dark jeans and shirts she handed him, all a size smaller than the clothing he was currently wearing, which was slightly too big and made him look skinnier than he really was. She sat on the bench outside the changing rooms and waited, watching other couples doing their shopping, the women picking up sweaters and holding them at arm's length before checking the price, the men nodding at whatever their wives or girlfriends suggested would look good on them, not even slightly interested.

Going through Mulder's clothes, not just his dress shirts, his suit jackets, but also his ties, his t-shirts; articles of clothing that had trailed behind them on those fragrant summer nights, muffling cries of pleasure into his shoulder or the bedclothes as they made love with open windows in his stuffy, hot apartment, the curtains moving in a flirting breeze. This t-shirt, heather grey, she'd pulled on one night when the air turned cool from a June rain, a shirt he'd pulled off so he could kiss her breasts and hold her naked in his lap as the sun came up through a primrose dawn, punctured by gasps and answering groans. This pair of socks that swallowed her feet but which he'd forced her to wear in February, when he complained her feet were like size seven icicles. She moved her fingers over the fabrics as through a field of wheat.

The last day, the day she was to hand in their keys, she stood in the center of the raped room, letting the slow stunned jumble of feelings roll down inside of her, sorting themselves out like fruit falling into holes on a sizing board in a co-op warehouse. It was not enough that Mulder was dead. Now all the things that would help keep him with her were gone too. She ran her hands on the shelf of an empty bookcase. What was she doing, protecting a dead man's privacy?

She didn't want to go, but she couldn't stand the look of the bare walls and floorboards; and anyway, the trunk of her car was open and if she wanted to keep things in storage she better get moving before someone stole them. She stopped at the door, picturing herself opening it and waking up from a dream. She often did this, focusing on a vision of Mulder leaning down in front of his fish tank, counting them. When she opened the door, there he would be, waiting to come inside again.

"Scully?" Mulder called, and she walked back to the dressing rooms, no doors, just a curtain. There he was, a little thinner, but wearing clothing that resembled what he'd reached for on weekends two years ago. "Okay?"

She nodded. "Hand me the tags, you can wear the clothes out of here."

"Well, that was easy. Should we be picking out china patterns or what?"

He took off the various tags and, like a boy buying new shoes for the school year, wore the new clothes out of the store, his other ones in a bag. "Do you want a new coat?" she asked.

"You don't like the cowboy look?" he asked, mock-wounded. The jacket just didn't fit him, and held onto water. She scrunched her nose a little. "I think we have our answer."

Fifteen minutes later they were walking back to the car, right on schedule. She wore her navy wool coat, belted at the waist, with a dark green scarf, Mulder in iron-grey, similar to what he'd worn two Decembers ago. It was selfish of her, but she wanted as much of him back as she could. She wondered if he felt the same. Did he like her hair shorter, did he he miss their trench coats?


She thought back to the Saturday they'd decided to drive to Humpback Rock, hiked to the top, where the Blue Ridge Mountains rolled in, low and long and lazy, like weary travelers coming home. The air was clear and cold, even in May, and she wore a blue Patagonia fleece over her long-sleeved shirt, while he was content in the sweatshirt he'd thrown on that morning when she'd picked him up. She'd packed some things to eat, just some cheese and crackers, trail mix, and apple slices, and sat down on a lower expanse of cold rock, opening ziplock bags and arranging them neatly, putting her water bottle on a stack of napkins to keep them from blowing away.

"Honey, look at me," Mulder had said from across the expanse of rock, and she'd looked up, puzzled at the term of endearment. He had the disposable camera she'd bought him before the Knicks game, and snapped a picture of her before she could protest.

"What did you call me?" she asked as he walked over and sat down next to her, reaching into the bag of trail mix to pick out the peanut M&Ms.

"Relax, Scully, I just wanted to document your 'annoyed' face," he said, setting the camera down between them. She raised her eyebrow.

"I see. How many do you have left? Why don't you take pictures of the mountains? We probably won't be back here before the leaves change."

He nodded. "In a minute. I wonder why they're blue."

She took a bite of a Gala apple. "Isoprene."

"Bless you!"

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "It's an organic compound. The oak and maple trees release isoprene, which goes into the atmosphere. That's why they look sort of hazy, and blue." Wind whispered over the mountain, skating along the rock and blowing through her hair. She finished her apple slice and tucked hair behind her ears. She hadn't blow-dried it that morning before driving to his apartment, letting it dry naturally as she prepared the snacks, so that now it was darker red and wavy.

"Your hair looks nice," he'd said casually. She put a hand on her hair, remembering that it was unstyled.

"Thank you." She caught him looking at her like he was going to kiss her, and she smiled with her eyes, pushed his arm with her boot. "Go on, take some pictures of those mountains."

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped an arm around them, occasionally picking up a cracker or raisin to eat while he walked around and took pictures, his own hair blowing in the wind. There were a few other hikers, some families who'd come up that afternoon. Eventually he came back, handing her the camera.

"One left. Do with it what you will," he said, tossing her the little camera. She caught it with her left hand and stood, looking through the viewfinder, panning around the cloud-dusted sky, the bluffs of plants growing stubbornly by the rocks. She took several steps away and turned, watching Mulder.

"Over here, babe," she called, and he turned toward her voice. She snapped a picture and wound the film forward, not knowing what the image looked like, wanting to be surprised.

"Well played," he said when she sat down beside him again and stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning over and touching her fingers easily to her toes, enjoying the stretch in her calves. When she sat up he was looking out over the blue mountains, and she leaned over to kiss his cheek, her fingertips in the soft hair at the back of his head. He turned his head and stole a kiss from her lips, lingering for barely three seconds, like a man and women who had the rest of their lives to fill with affection.

They forgot about the disposable camera until August, when she found it in the backpack she'd worn that day and gone to get them developed. Plenty were from the Knicks game, blurry action shots, a few from a case they'd been on, and then the ones from that day. Her makeup-free face with its raised eyebrows, auburn hair unchecked, a bag of apple slices in her hand. Several rather good nature shots, then the picture of him. He looked like a dog after hearing the word 'walk', like he was milliseconds away from jumping up and rushing toward her. They never called each other by pet names after that day, but those pictures served as a reminder of the one time they had.


She parked by Charlie's car and exhaled deeply, looking at Mulder. "Ready?"

He nodded, and they stepped out and shut the doors behind them. It had stopped raining, but was still cold. As Mulder knocked on the door of the red townhouse, they heard the sound of a stringed instrument stop abruptly inside. The door opened, and Charlie took them in, clearly trying not to stare at Mulder longer than was polite.

"Come on in," he said, clearing his throat a little. "You want something to drink?"

Dana started removing her gloves. "Maybe some tea?"

Charlie nodded and waited while she took off her coat and scarf, hung them on the coat rack. Charlie and Ginny's home decor was eccentric -nothing matched, the artwork on the walls consisted of abstract, swirling oil paintings, framed sheet music that looked ancient, and art-nouveau posters. A patchwork quilt lay across one side of the couch, along with a bulky, crocheted throw pillow. An old piano with what looked like ivory keys. Compared to Bill's naval base housing, this was a hippie den. They followed Charlie through to the open kitchen straight ahead that overlooked the living room. The refrigerator was covered in magnets from different cities across the world, children's artwork, and family photos. The faint smell of incense lingered through the rooms.

"So, Mom told us a little about what happened," Charlie said, putting some water on to boil and reaching into a cabinet for a mug. "Sounds like you've been through hell."

Mulder shrugged. "It wasn't easy for you all, either," he said. Charlie nodded.

"She said it wasn't your fault, how it all got handled."

Dana leaned against the counter and sighed. "No, it wasn't his fault."

Charlie exchanged a look with his sister. Are you happy?

Yes, she answered.

A door opened and closed down the hall and soon a redheaded boy came into the kitchen. "Dad?" Tommy, now eight years-old, looked exactly like his father. He saw his aunt, then Mulder, and went over to Charlie, leaning into him, not understanding.

"Hi, Tommy," Mulder said. "Remember me?"

Tommy nodded solemnly. "Aunt Dana said you went away to Heaven."

Dana cleared her throat, and Tommy looked at her. "He did go away, but now he's back."

Charlie ruffled his son's hair and Tommy turned back to Mulder, quietly taking him in. More footsteps padded down the hall, and soon four year-old Lucy tumbled in. She saw Dana and melted into her aunt, her head against her hip. Dana brushed strawberry hair out of her eyes.

"Mommy's crying," she announced, then looked at Mulder. "Hi." She had been two the last time she'd seen him, and it was unlikely she had any memory of him, although she'd heard his name.

"Hi," Mulder said, his voice warm.

"I'll go talk to Ginny," Charlie said, moving away from his son. "Don't touch the stove, kids," he reminded before leaving. They listened to the hum of the water in the kettle, beginning to boil.

"Do you still like those pull-back racing cars?" Mulder asked Tommy, who nodded.

"Yeah, I have a whole box of them now. Wanna see?"

"I have some, too!" Lucy piped in, her voice like a bell.

"Why don't you two get the cars out in the living room and set up the race track," Dana suggested, and her nephew and niece hurried off. She opened up the door to one cupboard and sifted through the boxes of tea until she found one she liked, then put the teabag in the mug and poured hot water over it. "Want some, Mulder?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks. Might not want to get too comfortable."

Dana sighed. "Don't worry, it's just a shock. To everyone."

"Charlie seemed okay. Tommy, too."

She smirked. "My brother has always been very forgiving and open to change. Remember how interested he was in that Big Blue case?"

"It was then that I knew I'd found my favorite Scully."

She smiled. Another smattering of footsteps as two year-old Sophie dashed into the living room with her siblings, and then Charlie appeared with his arm around his wife, whose eyes were red-rimmed. Long, dark hair fell like water down her left shoulder, and she wore a bohemian 70s-ish peasant top under loose overalls, looking as young as ever. She saw Mulder and sniffed, then rushed forward and into his arms. Whatever he had expected, it certainly wasn't this. Ginny wept a little in his arms, then kissed his cheek.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered. She pulled back to look at him again, then reached for Dana's hand, going to embrace her as well. "Oh, Dana." She stepped away from them and laughed a little, wiped her eyes as if embarrassed. "Hormones," she used as an excuse, then patted Mulder's chest again. "You absolutely have to stay for dinner," she continued. "I was going to make pasta since it's easy but Charlie could probably go get a couple rotisserie chickens. I could make mashed potatoes. Mulder, I remember you liked the ones I made that one time."

"Mulder! The track is set up!" Tommy cried, zooming into the kitchen again, taking Mulder's hand and tugging insistently. "Come on!"

The sound of tumbling blocks came from the living room, followed by Sophie's baby laugh and delighted clapping. Ginny looked up at hearing her son's voice, then smiled at Mulder. "Go on," she shooed him out, laughing a little, then sniffing. When he left she turned to her sister-in-law. "Oh, you must be so happy!" she exclaimed, trying to be quiet.

"I am," Dana assured her, "I am. It's just not...what I was expecting."

Charlie snorted and took a sip of his sister's tea. "It doesn't happen that often."

"So, what are you guys going to do?"

She felt uncomfortable. "I don't know. Mulder's got a job...offer, I guess, working at the Behavioral Science Unit here in Washington, which he's taking. The Assistant Director said there was a post at Quantico, that I could have it, if I want."

Ginny's eyes lit up. "That would be great! You guys could live nearby, one of the violinist's wife is a real estate agent, I'm sure she could find somewhere-"

"Woah, woah, woah," Charlie said, holding a hand up. "What about your job in Richmond? You're gonna quit?"

Dana shrugged. "I just...don't know, for now. I'll be at work tomorrow morning. It sounds like Mulder's going to stay with some friends up here for the next couple weeks."

Charlie put a hand on her arm. "How are you doing, Dana?"

It was the first time since Mulder's resurrection that someone had asked her how she'd taken the news. Her kid younger brother who always looked out for others. Their eyes were the same, like looking up at a spring day through cool mountain water. She smiled a little. "I'm okay."

Ginny looked down at the baby monitor on the counter as it blinked, the sound of the youngest Scully addition waking up from a nap. "I'll be right back," she said, and moved out of the kitchen and down the hall to the staircase.

Dana took her tea from her brother's hand and took what felt like a fortifying sip. He was still looking at her with concern, those mirrored eyes. "Promise you'll call if you need anything," he said softly. "Anything. You know how worried Ginny gets about you."

She nodded. "I'll call," she promised.

Mulder's voice from the front room, imitating the whoosh! of a race car. She ducked her head out of the kitchen to watch him, on the ground with Tommy and the two girls, Sophie steadying herself with a hand on his arm in the unconscious way young children depend on adults. He was completely absorbed in the game, his dirty shoes off in the entryway. Dana followed his example and shed her heels, going to put them with the other shoes as Ginny came down the hall, the baby stretching awake against her shoulder, mouth opening in a sleepy yawn.

"You want to take her?" Ginny asked quietly, looking at Dana with merry green eyes. She nodded, and Ginny completed a deft mother-of-four move, laying the baby blanket over Dana's chest and depositing the newborn in her waiting arms, then tucking the ends of the blanket over the baby's back. "I'll go make a grocery list, you just relax," Ginny said, and Dana went with Charlie to the living room. Three little Scullys looked up as they walked in.

"Daddy, watch me!" Lucy commanded, and waited for her father's eyes before pulling back a metal car and watching it whiz down the plastic track, then halfway up an upside-down loop before falling. Tommy also wanted his father's attention, so Dana went to the couch and sat down, curling her feet up underneath her. Sophie walked over and climbed up next to her aunt, tilting her head to make funny faces at her little sister.

"Baby Katherine," she whispered, and reached up a hand to brush very carefully over the baby's head. "You have to be gentle," she said, quite seriously, echoing what she'd surely heard from her parents.

"Yes," Dana said, her palm splayed over her niece's back, enchanted by the soft warmth of her niece, named after her, against her chest. A tiny fist batted at the fabric of her blouse. She pressed a soft kiss to Katherine's head and watched as Lucy dashed to the side of the room and came back with a pack of Go Fish cards, spilling them on the carpet. Mulder looked up at her, a niece in her arms and another curled up beside her; his eyes took her in, gleaming suddenly with a surprised gladness.


November, 2000. She looked at Mulder, sitting with Tommy on the floor, helping him put together the new train set they'd given him for his sixth birthday, his concentration broken by Lucy, who plucked some confetti from the floor and came over to him, stretching to put some on his shoulder. Mulder chuckled and Lucy giggled back, going back for more, leaving a trail behind her. Dana set her glass of wine down on the kitchen counter and turned, passing her mother, who was holding baby Sophie and chatting with Ginny.

Dana opened the door to the porch and stepped into November air that smelled like woodsmoke. She inhaled deeply, eyes closed, laughter and sounds of the birthday muffled in her mother's house. Her fists were clenched by her sides and her eyes stung. Breath like a wispy cloud as she exhaled. She opened her eyes at the sound of the porch door opening, then closing gently.

"Mulder-" she started.

"It's me," a voice with the warmth of viola came from behind her. Dana turned around.

"Oh, Ginny, sorry." Her sister-in-law handed her the green shawl she'd draped over herself earlier while nursing the baby. Dana smiled a little and took it, wrapping it around her shoulders. Ginny nodded, her large green eyes held concern. She sat down on the wicker sofa and patted the spot beside her, smoothing dark brown hair behind her ears. Dana took a breath and sat beside her, arms wrapped around herself.

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, her voice suggesting that she expected an answer.

Dana had known Ginny since high school, when they'd both had braces. She'd spent lots of time at the Scullys' house when they'd settled on the east coast. Dana had practiced French braids on Ginny's straight hair. When she got her period during Algebra in ninth grade, Ginny had sought out Dana at the break to borrow a pad. And yet in many ways she was wiser than her husband's older sister. Maybe it had something to do with being a mother. She knew when something wasn't right.

Dana smiled a little sadly. "Did Mom ever tell you that I can't have children?"

Ginny's eyes widened. "No, she didn't."

Something bloomed in Dana's chest, grateful her mother had kept her secret.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said. Ginny, who, at the age of thirty-two already had three children of her own. One of the kindest, most selfless people Dana had ever met. Compassion radiated from her like light off water.

Dana nodded. Her eyes were dry now. "I had a miscarriage in September, with Mulder. So I guess I can get pregnant, I just can't keep it."

Ginny bit her lip. "I've had one, too," she admitted. "At twelve weeks."

Dana looked up, surprised.

"Before Sophie," she said, her voice soft. "It happens to a lot of women, Dana. It doesn't always mean you can't have children."

Dana felt terrible. She'd never resented her brothers their families, but she'd never considered the fact that perhaps it hadn't been as easy as it looked from the outside. She didn't want to argue, to insist that her doctors had told her she would never carry a child. "God, Ginny, I'm sorry," she said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Ginny looked sad, then wrapped her arm around Dana. "I'm telling you now." She smoothed a palm over her sister-in-law's back, then cleared her throat and sat up straight, looking at Dana seriously. "Mulder loves you," she said, her voice serious. "He loves you more than anything, Dana. He loves you for who you are. He'll always love you for who you are. If you become a mother, he'll love you. If you don't, he'll love you." Ginny spoke about them as if she knew they'd always be together. There was no doubt in her mind.

Dana sniffed, then chuffed out a laugh. "Who taught you how to be so wise?"

Ginny smiled a wide smile. "You did," she said, squeezing Dana's shoulder. "Don't you remember what you told me before I auditioned for the Conservatory?"

Dana tried to think back thirteen years, when she was three years into med school and Charlie and his girlfriend were both auditioning for spots in the same conservatory out of high school. It was extremely selective. Ginny, who had practically been recruited, knew she was auditioning to check off a box. She was already in, but Charlie's situation wasn't the same. He had to beat out a hundred other pianists, most of whom had been playing longer than he had, been taught by highly trained teachers. He had natural talent, but realistically just wasn't at the same level.

"What if I get in and he doesn't?" Ginny had asked, chewing at one nail, her cello propped up in one hand as they sat in the hallway, bow across her knees. Dana had driven her brother and Ginny to the auditions that afternoon. Knowing Ginny, she'd rather blow the audition and train in an orchestra with Charlie rather than give it her best and get in.

Dana looked at her. "Charlie loves you," she'd said. "He loves you more than anything, more than your talent. If you're in and he isn't, he'll still love you."

Ginny had looked at her miserably, her green eyes impossibly large in her young face. "I should just play the Saint-Saëns, it's less flourishy." Her hand was trembling.

Dana shook her head. "Play the Elgar Concerto." It was a violent piece, rough and difficult compared to Saint-Saën's slow, beautiful Swan. "Play it, and don't worry about Charlie. Whatever happens, happens." What she hadn't ever told Ginny was that she'd given a very similar pep talk to her younger brother while he waited.


"Scully." Mulder's voice, the brush of a finger across her cheek. She looked up at him, confused, then immediately glanced at her chest, distressed when she didn't see Katherine.

"Where's the baby?" she asked, sitting up, then realizing that Sophie was laying partly on her, open-mouthed and fast asleep.

Ginny came into view, Katherine safely snuggled against her chest in the familiar red sling she'd used for all her babies. "You fell asleep!" she laughed good-naturedly, patting the baby's bottom. Evidently, no one had been injured when she dozed off. "There's dinner, if you're hungry," she said. "I fed the kids some pasta thirty minutes ago and they all crashed."

Charlie came over and picked up his daughter, limp as a plucked weed, carefully carrying her down the hall and into her room while Dana sat up and yawned, brushing hair out of her eyes. "I'm so tired," she said wryly.

"Well, maybe something to eat will wake you up," Ginny said.

"You're going to drive back to Richmond tonight, right?" Mulder asked quietly as she stretched.

She looked at him sleepily. "Yep. Work tomorrow. Bright and early. Am I dropping you off somewhere?"

Mulder nodded. "With the Gunmen. Called them while you were napping."

"They didn't know all this time, did they?" she asked, standing up and taking his hand, squeezing as she walked into the dining area of the kitchen.

"No," he said. "But you know them. Hearing that someone's risen from the dead isn't exactly news fresh off the press."

Charlie and Ginny's kitchen table took the form of a vintage diner booth, complete with formica marbling and red seats. If their family grew any more, they'd have to invest in something larger, but for now it only added to the quirky charm of their house. Scully turned to him and put a hand on his chest, using the moment of privacy to smile at him.

"No more dead jokes," she said. Her tone teased, but part of her was serious as a judge.

He nodded, and brought her in for a quick hug. She breathed him in, a smell as familiar as rain, even in newly-purchased clothes. She didn't want to leave him here in Washington. She wanted him to be footsteps away. But they had always led their separate lives, even during that precious year together. That longing for safety was back again, only heightened after the events of the past two days. Her whole life had been thrown into arctic water, and she'd gotten used to it, and all of a sudden someone had pulled her out from among the icebergs and into a world of warmth and sunlight. She wanted to imagine them together, but it never seemed to work. She'd never lived with anyone for long. Always feeling stifled the moment their toothbrush took up residence beside hers. God, why was she thinking of them living together, here in her brother's dining room?

No, she would go back to Richmond tonight, even if made her anxious. She would think her life over in the car, at home. She would get some sleep, which now taunted her like fireflies in a meadow. She needed to sleep. Memories kept jumping her like muggers in the dark.


A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, and maybe what you think will happen next? Just for fun, the Elgar Cello Concerto (which probably wouldn't be played at an audition, but I can do what I want here) can be found on YouTube. Look for the version played by Jacqueline du Pré.