Eleven

Monica laughed as she watched Gibson chasing Nicky around the sand at the base of the small lighthouse. They were just metres from the edge of one of the canal's two locks, which was thankfully open. Monica was not sure why Shannon and Gibson had been so relieved to discover the ability to pass freely through. All she knew was that they were being picked up by a boat and taken somewhere else. Monica didn't think there were many other places they could go, but she was happy to wait and let time give her the answers she sought.

John appeared at the entrance to the thin, cylindrical white tower and beckoned her over. His blue eyes were hidden by sunglasses but Monica could see he was watching his son under the supervision of the young man they travelled with who could read minds. Gibson had always been good with Nicky, and Monica and John trusted everyone in their team with him, but they were not exactly playing in the park, and since he had spent almost his entire life in the desert Nicky had no idea about water.

Monica pushed herself off the warm sand and walked to him, rubbing her lower back and offering him a bright smile as she regained most of his attention.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Shannon and Skinner have picked up a boat on the horizon," he whispered, holding her elbow gently to keep her close. She nodded seriously. They had been waiting for a couple of days; they had been expecting something to come eventually. "There's a decent wind that's going to pull them in pretty fast. They think it will be here by tonight."

"Okay," she replied. It was only early morning. They had time and enough food and water to keep them moderately comfortable.

"How are you gonna be if we have to get on this ship?" John asked seriously. Monica rested a hand on the small swell of her abdomen and hummed.

"I'm feeling a bit better I think, but I'm not making any promises. I haven't been on what I guess is a sailboat since I was a kid. It's not fuel-powered right?"

"No, I've seen it. It's got sails."

"Are they humans, do you think?" Monica asked hopefully.

"Shannon isn't worried, so even if they're not human I don't think we should be scared. I have no idea where we're going though. She won't say."

"I was thinking about that," Monica replied, nodding eagerly. "Considering this particular point was chosen as a pickup and the boat's coming from the Atlantic, maybe we're going out into the Pacific. Hawaii, or maybe the Marshall Islands."

"Do you know how far away that is Mon?" John sighed, running a hand through his growing, silver hair. "And if we get into trouble out there there's nothin' to help us."

"I know," she whispered. "We'll just have to trust our captain and uh, deal with whatever trouble we may run into when it happens. As long as I've got you and Nicky I'll be fine."

"Okay," John sighed, somewhat eased by her words but not feeling any less responsible for their futures. "I just, you know, drow-" He was cut off by Monica's fingertips resting hurriedly over his lips.

"Don't even say it John Doggett," she urged seriously, her brown eyes wide. "It's NOT going to happen. I know it." He pressed his lips together and nodded, and she smiled at him. "Now, are you going to take me upstairs? I want to see this boat."

"I'll just grab the little guy," John assured her. "Meet you up there." Monica nodded, turning around to see Nicky sitting in the sand with Nicky and Sarah.

xxx

"Wow, it's huge," Monica gushed half an hour later as she stared through the one pair of binoculars at the large sailboat making its way closer to the canal. "How does it know it can get through?"

"Probably doesn't," Shannon answered, standing just behind Monica with her arms folded. It would be a defensive posture on anyone else but Shannon made it seem relaxed. Skinner was beside her, doing his best not to keep watching the supersoldier beside him and grinning. He had missed her, and it was obvious she had missed him, but they were both trying hard not to acknowledge that aspect of their relationship. Probably not until they were alone, Monica assumed.

"So how many of these yachts are in operation?" John asked, watching Nicky sitting on the cement floor patting it to his own individual rhythm as he hummed. "Because that looks to me like the thing Mulder and Scully wandered off towards, what, more than a year ago?"

"You think?" Monica asked, seriously considering the possibility of Mulder and Scully's return as she continued to watch the approaching boat. "Surely someone more experienced than Dana would be in charge of guiding such a big sailboat in here. The winds would have to be perfect."

"Shannon?" Skinner asked. "Is it them?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "It could be assistance, or it could be other survivors. There will be other survivors. From Central America and elsewhere. Everyone will be brought together. If you had stayed in the colony, you might not have survived, so don't think you made the wrong choice abandoning those people. I don't think you did. Ted hasn't told me much about what was going on. He had to leave quickly."

"Would Gibson be able to hear the occupants from here?" John asked, turning around to stare at Skinner and Shannon. They shared a silent glance but nodded. They had all spent years with Gibson and they knew what he was capable of. "Anyone else freaked out by the fact he hasn't involved himself in this then?" John continued.

"I'm here," Gibson announced softly from behind them. Everyone turned to face him and he grimaced in John's direction. "I can hear them. There are some things you should see for yourselves. You wouldn't believe me otherwise."

"Good things or bad things?" Monica asked. Gibson thought for a long time, pushing his glasses up his nose and pressing his lips together.

"I don't know," he answered. "There are things I need to see for myself too, you know." Before any of his friends could react he turned and jogged back downstairs, rejoining Sarah on the cement bench he had left her on. "Back," he announced unnecessarily as he sat beside her. She might have been blind, but she knew him and she smiled at his return.

"They were talking about you huh?" she teased, laughing when he scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Anything bad?"

"Just lots of guessing games about this boat that's coming in," he replied. "Whether or not I heard anything that would give them answers."

"Kind of cheating, don't you think?"

"Totally," he agreed, nodding. "Besides, some stuff I'm hearing, I'm not too sure about."

"We're not in any danger, are we?"

"No, no, I promise," Gibson mumbled, reaching out to squeeze her denim covered knee. "I'm just kind of worried about some things on a more personal level."

"Wanna talk about it?" she offered. Gibson sighed.

"I can't. That wouldn't be fair. But...You know how you always said that before you lost your sight you were good at sensing people? Even back then?"

"Sensing things about them, yeah," she replied. "I'd pick up energies. I still do when I'm not focussing on how to put one foot in front of the other."

"Put it this way then," he reasoned. "If what I'm hearing is real, you will definitely pick it up. It's strong. And I want to see if you can pick it up because for the first time...I'm not sure if I really believe it."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he admitted, shrugging and allowing her to take his hand. "Maybe I don't want to believe it."

"Because it's bad?" she asked in a whisper.

Gibson blushed under the weight of her confused stare. He glanced at the blonde hair long and tangled around her upper arms before shaking his head to clear his thoughts and answer her question. He knew his answer would raise more questions but he knew it was the right answer. He hated speaking the words but he had to. He wanted Sarah to know that what she was going to feel wasn't necessarily a wrong thing. Gibson just was not sure why.

"Maybe I don't want to believe it...because I know it's not so bad."

xxx

"Take her in," Eddie instructed as he stood beside Scully at the stern that afternoon. She nodded silently. The comment was useless. They had already taken the sails down. Or rather, Mulder and Eddie had done that. Mulder was currently stretched out on the couch behind her, trying not to groan with every tilt of the boat in the choppy water. He had a fresh patch on his arm but the last one had worn off before he had replaced it and he had exerted himself with the sails, pushing his balance and coordination to their limits. Scully did not have to be a mind reader or a doctor to know he was suffering.

She could see the entrance to the canal and the markers telling her where to go, but all she really wanted to do was pull the handbrake and stop the rocking and skipping so that Mulder could sleep. Maybe even so that she could sleep. It was not fun being the only person who sort of knew what they were doing. If she was stumped on a sailing question she couldn't ask anyone for help. And the questions she had were not beginner sailing questions. They were on a very big sail boat, a luxury yacht, and her questions were of equal significance.

She had to make all the decisions, and it had been a very long time since she had closed her eyes for more than ten minutes. Scully was so tired she knew that she could curl up on the polished floors she was standing on and fall asleep within minutes, calmed by the rocking in a way Mulder could never be.

He whimpered and Scully's heart felt like it broke. She couldn't stop her voice shaking.

"We're nearly there sweetheart. Are you going to be sick? Maybe you shouldn't lie down. Maybe stand."

"Can't," he mumbled. "Sea legs gone overboard." Scully wanted to laugh at his little joke but didn't. Instead she reached for Eddie's shirt sleeve and pulled him to the wheel. She pointed straight and he nodded. She had relinquished command for short breaks and in those times so far he had kept the boat mostly on course.

Scully turned around once she was sure Eddie was comfortable and walked to the upholstered couch to crouch beside Mulder. His forehead was sweaty and as her fingertips brushed some of the warm liquid from his face he opened his eyes and stared at her in shock. She beamed at him, letting her fingers run through his longer than usual straight, brown hair.

"What colour am I?" he asked, his brown eyes glittering with amusement and comfort.

"Mm, grey," she whispered. "You're pale. We'll be on land soon. How's your stomach?"

"Empty so okay," he promised. "I'd be starving if I didn't feel like I was about to split into ten different pieces going in all different directions."

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, tears trickling down her cheeks before she could stop them.

"Hey, no, it's not your fault," Mulder urged, trying to push himself up. A wave of nausea crashed over him as soon as he lifted his head and Scully pushed him gently back down with one of her hands as the other wiped her face. "I'll be okay," Mulder added, hoping she believed him. He knew she hated to see him sick as much as he didn't like watching her suffer, and he could see the dark circles under her eyes and the grey-white of her own cheeks. If he had the use of his arms he would reach up to touch her, and he wished that he could, but Scully pre-empted any weak attempt by squeezing his hand and bringing it to her lips for a tender kiss.

"I'll get you off as fast as I can Mulder," she promised in a whisper. He nodded and shut his eyes. He believed her. It wouldn't be much longer and he would be on land. And he could regather himself and hopefully not look too stupid in front of those they were meeting.

xxx

Scully was not sure what to feel when she heard Skinner calling her name and saw him and John rushing to the edge of the lock where they were obviously hoping for her to moor. Part of her was overjoyed that potentially all their friends had survived, but the other part of her felt guilty and saddened by having to deal with them again. They were her friends, they weren't a chore, but Scully's priority was getting Mulder off the boat, and she was too exhausted for an excited reunion. She wanted to sleep.

But before that, she wanted to not damage the hull of the yacht as they attempted to stop. Eddie was doing his bit outside and Scully was shouting orders at him as loudly as she could. Mulder was unable to help at all. He could not stand. Scully was not sure why the patches had been so ineffective, considering they had worked well on their first trip on the boat the previous year. Perhaps there was something in whatever drugs they had been given by Eddie to keep them asleep that countered the effect of the patches, or made them wear off quicker. Or perhaps Mulder was simply a year older and less able to cope.

She sighed when she heard exclamations of success from outside. Happy that some sort of secure line had been tied holding the boat to the lock she returned her attention to Mulder.

"We're stopped," she whispered, rubbing his cheek to rouse him. He groaned and opened his eyes, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and stubbled upper lip. He looked so nauseous he was almost unconscious, she realised, but she was pleased with the small smile she received nonetheless. "I might get Eddie to carry you off, and I'll follow with some fluids. This is the worst you've been, hasn't it?"

"Since forever," he mumbled. "I feel like jelly. I can't-"

"It's okay. That'll pass over the next few hours. You'll still feel like you're moving. Just keep telling yourself that you're not. Try to convince yourself, okay?" He nodded as she used the edge of her shirt to dab at his face.

Eddie returned and lifted Mulder as easily as a normal man would lift a small child, and Scully felt useless merely carrying the first aid kit. They would leave all their things on the boat; presumably they weren't going anywhere for a while, and Eddie knew how important some of their personal possessions were to them. He would not let them leave without those things, Scully was sure of it.

She knew they had an audience but having heard Gibson's voice just minutes earlier she also knew they had probably been informed of Mulder's condition. Scully gave the group a wide berth as Eddie laid Mulder out on the flat sand on his back. Eddie announced to Mulder he was on land and almost immediately Mulder rolled to his side and threw up, pushing himself weakly onto his hands and knees to gag. Scully knelt beside him and rested a hand on his back. She could see his hands clutching at the sand, not because he was sick but because he was trying to balance himself.

She soothed him as a partner and assessed his condition as a doctor, and she knew he needed fluids and supervision. She did not want to give him any more drugs. If part of his condition stemmed from a reaction to drugs he had already been given, she could not know whether giving him anything else would make it worse.

After a short while longer of dry retching, Mulder collapsed back onto the sand and let Scully roll him onto his side away from his vomit so that he was facing her again. She leant over him, blocking his eyes from the harsh afternoon sun, and she was heartened when his eyes connected with hers.

"Still with me?" she asked. He nodded, licking his wet lips and sighing.

"I know what you mean now Scully," he mumbled.

"What's that?" she whispered curiously. He blinked a few times to clear his vision but his voice was certain.

"I'm so over this." Scully shivered as their eyes watched each other. She nodded silently, not sure how to tell him that Gibson was standing just a few metres away listening to every word.

"Squeeze my hand," she urged instead, holding her hand out and watching him take it. His grip was not strong, but it was there, and she laced her fingers through his and pressed their joined hands into the unmoving sand. "We're not moving," she promised. "Feel the anchor?"

"My touchstone," he hissed, tears trickling from his eyes down the side of his face. One pooled on the side of his nose and Scully leant forward to touch her lips there and taste the salt on her tongue. Her heart was thumping painfully against her ribs and suddenly she was the one that felt like the world was tilting. She lay down before her head started spinning and watched Mulder watching her. He looked somewhat shocked but was too sick to object to her closeness, and his eyes drifted to their hands in the sand. Their grip had relaxed, but it indeed showed him that they were not moving.

When he next glanced up at Scully she had her eyes closed and he felt his insides melt at the thought she had fallen asleep so quickly with her back turned towards whoever had helped them moor the boat. Eddie was amongst them, and they hadn't been killed yet, so Mulder did not waste any energy worrying. His gaze flicked between Scully's face and their hands in the sand, and as he slowly re-educated his centre of gravity he let his eyes drift closed for longer periods of time. Half of Mulder knew they were falling asleep on the sand in the open air, but it was strange how easily that concept had returned to them, and how easily they had again embraced it. And if Scully didn't give a shit about the new people behind her, so much so that she turned her back on them and passed out, then he didn't care either. They would make up for it when they were better, in the morning.

xxx

"Well hello to you too," John mumbled once Gibson announced softly that they were asleep. Scully's long, untamed orange hair was blocking their view of Mulder and they were not pressed together but they were close, so there was no way of telling whether Gibson was telling the truth. Then again he only ever lied to protect people, and John could live with that if sometimes it benefited him.

"You'll have to forgive them," Eddie stated seriously. "I never seen the man so sick and Dana hasn't slept."

"I can't believe it's really them," Skinner whispered. "Are we just gonna leave them there?"

"I could wake them up-"

"No," Gibson instructed, cutting Eddie off. "Leave them. I don't want them to get upset."

"No, you're right," Eddie mumbled. He knew Gibson had figured out already that they shared a gift, and he could see plainly how worried Gibson was for his friends. Eddie was not sure he could say much to reassure the young man, or any of the others for that matter, so he played it cool and did his best. "They'll be better once they wake. It's been pretty stressful and they've come off some heavy meds lately; I'll explain. Uh...maybe we can sit down and talk somewhere? Not too far away. Wouldn't want these two to get swept away by the tide."

xxx

It was early morning when Scully next opened her heavy eyelids and looked up into Monica's curious, smiling face. Scully's heart skipped but her stomach dove as she fought her contradictory emotions at the sight of her old friend and forced herself to sit. Her head felt fuzzy and she wiped sleep from her eyes before grabbing a fistful of hair from over her shoulder and gently attempting to shake the sand from it.

"You in the mood to hack that off yet?" Monica asked presumptuously. Scully shook her head and let her hair fall away onto her back.

"No, I want to keep it," she mumbled, squinting in the bright sun as Monica grinned. "Hi."

"Hi yourself. You slept way more than twelve hours. Even Mulder beat you up."

"He did?" she gasped, turning around to indeed discover the sand beside her was vacated. "Where is he?" she asked, looking at Monica with wide, blue eyes. "He's okay?"

"He's a little edgy," Monica conceded. "Slow on his feet. But he's eating." Scully exhaled with relief and nodded, managing a soft smile. "So this is a surprise," Monica continued. "Eddie's explained what's going on. Mulder said you wouldn't mind if I came to wake you up because you would want to be a part of the discussion."

"Uh...yeah," Scully sighed, though she really did not feel like talking at all. "I uh, should say hi to everyone. I'm sorry about yesterday but I hadn't-"

"It's okay. Eddie and Mulder told us," Monica promised, pushing herself to her feet and watching Scully do the same. She saw Scully's eyes travel over her lean frame and hesitate briefly on the small belly she was showing. "I'm pregnant again," she added before Scully could ask. She smiled, but Scully only nodded with the passing interest of a doctor and it caused Monica to frown. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah fine," Scully sighed, nodding and running her hands through her hair. "I'm just still half-asleep I think. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Monica laughed. "Come on. We want to hear all about Antarctica. Mulder's been very cagey so far this morning."

"Yeah," Scully scoffed. "I can't imagine why." She stalked ahead in front of Monica, ignorant to the fact that Monica had wanted to embrace her in a proper greeting. Monica contented herself with following Scully to the group and watched from a distance as Mulder stretched an arm out for her to sit beside him, which she did. They had a brief conversation, probably about him feeling better, and then she turned her attention downwards and started drawing the infinity symbol repetitively into the sand. Monica could see that Nicky, sitting in front of John, was mimicking her with his small hand, but Scully was so absorbed she barely noticed him.

Something was definitely not right, Monica decided. There was no point putting off the discussion either, she realised. They would be spending a lot of time together again. Gibson obviously knew, and Eddie had revealed that morning that he also knew, and everybody else could obviously see something was wrong. Monica sighed, sitting down beside John and reaching forward to run her fingers affectionately through Nicky's hair to rub his scalp. He turned around and grinned at her with his big, brown eyes and Monica grinned back automatically despite the worry in her mind.

"So what's going on?" she asked once Nicky returned to his sand-drawings. "Dana?"

"What?" Scully asked vaguely, looking up. "What's going on about what?"

"Is something wrong?" Monica pressed. "You've both been really quiet."

"I've only been awake five minutes," she replied with a frown.

"Uh, I think we should stay on topic," Gibson mumbled seriously. "There's a lot going on right now and-"

"What makes it any of your business anyway?" Scully asked, ignoring Gibson.

"You're obviously upset about something," Monica reasoned as calmly as she could, caught off guard by Scully's sudden anger. "I just want to make sure you're both okay."

"We're fine," Scully snapped curtly. "So what's on topic Gibson? Talk."

"Eddie was explaining he wants us to go to Hawaii until the rains pass. He said you would sail or-"

"No chance in hell," Scully insisted, shaking her head. "Mulder can't stomach it and you know what? I'm not going to be responsible for us all drowning in the Pacific Ocean. I'm lucky I didn't kill us getting here and I'm not sailing if it's going to be raining. My father's got better things to do than to spend his time in Heaven helping his screw-up daughter be a captain in the rain on some ancient sailboat with emergency fuel only and no decent lifesaving equipment. Not that there would be much point using it."

"Dana-"

"No Skinner!" she exclaimed. "I won't do it. And don't look at me like somehow we're stuck here because of me now because Eddie knew this before we left and insisted we come anyway."

"I never 'insisted'-"

"Don't start," Scully growled. "You told me you'd take care of the rest if I got us here and by some miracle I got us here, so you take care of it."

"Dana don't you care-"

"Right now I don't give a fuck about anything," she mumbled, standing up and stalking over to the packs she could see in the distance. Somebody had gone onto the yacht and retrieved their personal belongings. That was good, she decided, because it saved her the trouble. She unzipped her orange backpack and found her treasures sitting on the top. She retrieved the Bible and then continued walking until she disappeared behind one of the buildings.

Sinking into the sand and brushing tears off her face, she opened the Bible to the very first page and started reading, trying to block all the facts and feelings from her minds and just focus on the words in front of her.

Back amidst the group, Monica called Mulder's name softly, urging him to lift his eyes to meet hers. He raised his head reluctantly and squinted. His expression was hard to read and he was still pale, but he looked the same as he had when they had last parted, though he needed a haircut just as they all did, and he hadn't shaved in several days, his beard not long but dark against his cheeks and jaw.

"What?" he asked, his voice low and scraping.

"Is she okay?" Monica pressed. Mulder raised his eyebrow sceptically in a gesture once reserved only for Scully.

"Does she look okay to you?" he returned simply. "Do I?"

"No, and it's scaring us," Monica admitted, speaking for the group without consulting them first. She felt the tension in the atmosphere. This sort of reunion was not what any of them had expected. It was frightening and disheartening.

"Well we don't mean to scare you," Mulder mumbled, blushing as he again turned his glance downwards. "We're not the same people."

"Since when?" Skinner asked. Mulder shrugged innocently as he looked at his old boss.

"Dunno. Seems pretty quick but thinking back...it's been leading up to this since day one."

"But what's 'this'?" John asked. "And what the hell are you talkin' about?"

"I'm gonna go find her," Mulder mumbled, cautiously standing until he had his balance. "Excuse me," he added politely, following Scully's footsteps in the sand.

John turned to Gibson and gripped his shoulder forcefully.

"You tell us right now what the hell is going on," he ordered.

"I don't know what to say," Gibson hissed, shrugging John's hand off him and widening his eyes, imploring his older friend to believe him. "All I can say is that they are 'over' it."

"Over what?" Monica asked with a concerned frown.

"This," he answered, his voice cracking. "They're tired. They wanna move on."

"To where?" Skinner asked. Gibson turned his head downwards and again shrugged.

"You don't get it," he mumbled, uncomfortable. "They're tired of living. They helped defeat the supersoldiers. They think they've done everything they can. Mulder's always counted on Scully and she's kept him going but she's not strong enough to do that anymore and...I don't think they can keep going. I heard it when they were ages back coming here. I wanted to see it because I...couldn't picture it."

"Is she depressed?" Skinner asked.

"I don't think that's a very nice word," Gibson whispered. "I don't think it's accurate. She's had a life so full on and scary and painful that most people would have broken down long ago... Mulder too. I uh, I need a walk now." Gibson stood up and walked in the opposite direction before anyone could stop him, even Sarah. He almost ran away, and he was sure by the time he found a building to duck behind that nobody would follow to see him cry.

As much as they wanted to know, Gibson could not tell them that at that moment Scully and Mulder were huddled together behind a similar building sobbing silently into one another because they felt trapped and alone and because they wanted to die. How was Gibson meant to articulate those feelings to their friends without forcing some sort of fight to prevent that? How did he do it without going behind Mulder and Scully's backs when he owed them so much and they trusted him? He couldn't. He could only find his own private space and share their pain from a distance.

Gibson knew how it had happened both quickly and gradually because he had already caught glimpses of the thoughts and situations that had been put upon them which Mulder believed had led to the present. Scully had been struggling with the very resolution since she had been left alone after the invasion, and though she had not had it in her then, time had given her that confidence and had allowed her to find the closure with Mulder she had been missing.

Scully only had to say the words and Mulder would have known it was right. It hadn't been in his mind as much, but spiritually Gibson knew they were on the same level. Mulder would have just known that she spoke for them both. It might have taken him a while to be certain, but Gibson knew it had been his sole thought as he had lain on the boat's couch with seasickness. He had made up his mind and told Scully as soon as possible, on the sand when he had told her he was over it. She had known exactly what he meant because the end had been in her thoughts also. If she'd had the pills in her palm she might have silently handed some to him then and there and swallowed the rest for herself, and nobody else would have known.

The frightening thing for Gibson was the realisation that he would not have stopped her.

He made the decision to walk not back to the group but to Mulder and Scully. He wanted to have a visual representation of what he could hear, and he knew their painful sobs had subsided. Eyes were watching him as he strode purposefully across the sandy landscape to the building Mulder and Scully were huddled behind, but he did not acknowledge the others and he did his best to block their questioning and worried thoughts from his mind.

Scully and Mulder were sitting against the cement building with legs outstretched and tangled as they were turned slightly towards each other. Scully's tear-stained face was tucked under Mulder's chin and neither of them looked surprised to see Gibson round the corner. They watched him silently. Gibson had never seen Mulder look so upset. Not even after Gibson had once told him he would never see Scully alive again. His face was patchy and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and Scully's face was no better. She was bright red and silent tears were still trekking slowly down her swollen cheeks. They stared up at him in silence.

"I want you to know," Gibson began softly, wringing his hands together to try to control his nerves. "That I wouldn't stop you. I want you to know that. I...don't want you to suffer."

"Gibson, sweetheart," Scully gushed, sitting up against Mulder's chest and holding an arm out. He dropped forward onto his knees and threw his arms around her neck, breaking down and crying into her shoulder. Mulder wrapped his arms around them both and held them tightly as Scully rubbed Gibson's back and used the last of her energy to comfort her young friend, who she had met when he was just a boy. He had grown into such a good man, and yet she felt like she barely knew him. "Thank you," she wept into his ear. "We know you understand. We just want to go home and sleep."

"I know," he whispered. "And if you...If you can hold on a little longer, I'll try to get you there. I promise."

"Okay," she hissed as they pulled away. She took his face in both hands and smiled widely at him. It was the best smile she had presented anyone since returning. "You're an angel, you know that?" she asked him. He nodded, reaching up to innocently brush tears from his cheeks. "You don't think I'm weak?" she asked as she let him go and watched him attempt to compose himself.

"No," he insisted with wide eyes, shaking his head. "Hell no. You've both been through so much and...I mean if you were still living in Virginia and nothing had changed you'd probably be happy and not like this but...I know what despair is, and I know...people can only handle so much in their time and combined you both have exceeded that for each other and the world and I...I know you're tired."

"It hasn't always been this way," Scully whispered, blushing under the weight of his very accurate yet simple assessment.

"I think underneath it started a long time ago for you both," Gibson replied, catching Mulder's eyes and offering him a small, understanding smile. Mulder nodded in acknowledgement of his comment and turned to stare at Scully, dragging his fingers down the tangled mess of her hair. "You...know how much I love you both, right?" Gibson asked nervously. Scully smiled and nodded, reaching forward for another hug.

"We love you too," she whispered seriously. "But you don't need us anymore."

"Fake it for a little longer and I'll get you home," he repeated. Scully again nodded. She would do anything for the promise of home. She would give everything to be there again.

"Mulder, are we quitting?" she asked, aware Gibson was still in front of them but knowing it wouldn't make a difference. "Would our sisters be proud of us?" Mulder bit his bottom lip at the unexpected addition to her question. Not their parents, not her father, but their sisters. Missy and Samantha. Two women who died young, the victims of tragic circumstance and violent deaths. Two women who had been killed in place of the two adults left behind. Melissa Scully and Samantha Mulder had died so their siblings could survive, and Scully was asking him whether he thought they would view that sacrifice, in hindsight, as a waste.

"I think they've always been proud of us," Mulder whispered, tears trickling again down his cheeks as Scully stared at him, innocently pleading with him for an honest response. He touched her pale cheek tenderly and managed a tearful smile. "For fighting for them, and for not losing hope in ourselves, and for loving ourselves without them, and for finding and loving each other. This doesn't feel like quitting to me, Dana. It feels like...finishing." Scully sobbed as Mulder pulled her into her arms. Gibson watched and heard them both feel so much so intensely it took all his strength not to lose the composure he had finally gathered.

"Take your time," he mumbled as he left to give them some space. They didn't hear him.