Fourteen.

Occasionally, the hubris of what they are trying to do takes her breath away. Mankind has yet to manufacture an effective vaccine against malaria, but she and Mulder have formed a scattered group of semi-experts aimed at defeating an alien virus. She had glimpsed the enemy more than once, had in fact looked into its cold, black eyes, but she remembers now only in dreams – sharp, needle-like pain and the sensation of being filled like a balloon, almost to bursting. This is no tiny little mosquito.

In the basement, she packs up the cooler with their latest test batch, set on dry ice until Mulder reaches his destination. She knows the location of some facilities but not others; he does the same. Fourteen years together, and they are still dividing up their knowledge base. It is safer this way. As hobbies go, this one is both dangerous and lonely. They are forever saying goodbye.

She goes back upstairs to the bedroom to watch him stuff his meager belongings into a well-worn knapsack. This is always the hardest part, the point of separation, because it is tinged with so many separations of the past. She is never sure when he is coming home. "You should take an extra sweater," she says from her spot against the doorjamb. "It's supposed to turn cold." Of course, she does not know precisely where he is going. Maybe it's somewhere tropical and filled with sun.

"I won't need a sweater," he says, distracted.

"You might," she says, crossing to the closet to look for one. She is momentarily struck numb by the familiar scent of his clothes. Her face crumples as she touches the sleeves one by one.

"I don't need to be lugging any extra weight around with me," he calls out from the bedroom, but she is not listening. She is busy hiding her tears in his sleeves.

Her role is to be the one left behind. She finally has the home she wanted, but they are never in it. She sniffs and wipes her eyes with her fingers; growing up in the military has prepared her for a lifetime of war. She straightens her shoulders and picks out a soft brown pullover.

He frowns when she emerges with it from the closet. "I told you I don't need that."

"Can't hurt to be prepared," she says, laying it alongside his pack. He makes no move to pick it up.

"I should get going." He can never seem to look directly at her on his way out the door. "I have to do at least three hundred miles before morning." He nods at the small cooler sitting on their bed. "Is that the latest round?"

"Yes. We're trying a different surface protein this time." She does not hold out much hope for this test batch either; the virus evolves faster than they can track it. She comes up empty, time after time. At least Mulder gets to keep moving. She has to stay in the house alone with her disappointments. "You should at least eat something before you go," she says as he picks up his knapsack.

"I'll hit a drive-thru."

So many nights of circling strange towns together, looking for someplace serving coffee at 1am. "I'll make you a sandwich," she says. She moves to leave but he grabs her arm.

"I don't want a sandwich. I want to hit the road." He moves to hug her, but she stiffens, and he pulls away. "What?"

Her gaze is focused on the quilt on their bed, a second-hand find she'd picked out one fanciful Sunday afternoon in town. It was warm and colorful and big enough to share. "I'm still not used to this part," she says, picking at the edge of the quilt.

"I eat junk food all the time," he quips, and she glances up at him. He is actually looking at her this time.

"I mean the part where you leave and I don't go with you."

"Oh." He sinks down onto the bed and looks at the floor. Eventually, his hand steals out to find hers, and he squeezes her. "I'm not used to it either."

She exhales. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed to hear that until he said it. She sits next to him on the bed, her head bowed. "We were pretty good partners," she says quietly.

She feels more than sees his smile. "The best." He pauses. "But Scully… I thought this is what you wanted. A regular job. Predictable hours. A nice house in the country."

"Yes," she acknowledges. "But I thought maybe, somehow, we might share it."

He leans over and kisses the top of her head. "One day," he whispers, and she nods, not quite believing it. He smoothes her hair away from her face as she sniffs again. "That's why I have to go," he says. "So that one day, I can stay."

"Right." She shivers as she pulls away. The nights are already growing chilly.

"You know, I think I could use that sandwich," he says. "Assuming the offer still stands."

"Of course." She pats his leg affectionately and goes to the kitchen to fix a roast beef on rye. She wraps it carefully and takes it out to him where he is putting things into his rusted-out pickup truck. It's been long enough now that she no longer finds it odd to see him climbing into one.

He is standing there with the sweater draped over one arm. "Thanks," he says as he puts the sandwich inside the truck.

The night air sweeps between them, and she rubs her hands on her arms. Mulder smiles. "Come here," he says, tugging her closer.

She holds him tight and rubs her cheek against his chest. "Call me when you get there."

"I will."

He tilts her face up so they can kiss goodbye. It feels more like hello because it goes on and on. She is breathless when he breaks it off. "See?" he murmurs against her cheek. "I don't need the sweater."

She smiles and shoves him lightly. "You should get going."

"Just a sec. I think… I think you'll need this more than me." He takes the sweater and pulls it over her head. She is momentarily surprised, so it's a bit awkward until she starts cooperating. Soon she is surrounded by cozy wool and the smell of Mulder.

He is right as always, the bastard, but she will not admit it. His grin is cheeky as he pulls her close again for a last hug. When he leans down, his words vibrate over her skin.

"This way, we'll both be warm."