Thirteen

John laughed suddenly when he looked at Mulder as they walked through the sand. They were both weighed down by large backpacks. Mulder's was his own, purple and black, but John's was brand new and khaki. Both were stuffed full and incredibly hot and heavy, but that was not why John had been laughing, and Mulder hid his smile to playfully glare.

"What?"

"Is that a monkey on your back or are you just happy to see me?" John asked, bursting into more uninhibited laughter before the question was complete. Mulder laughed, tugging on the thick, soft arms and legs of the stuffed, orange-brown orang-utan perched on his shoulders. The fake fur of the toy was long and soft but the face was quite hideously comical, and the orang-utan was smiling widely, showing a row of straight, white teeth. Its head was bouncing against Mulder's baseball cap in time with his steps.

Mulder watched John reach back to the side pocket of his backpack and unzip one of the compartments while also pushing his dark sunglasses further up his nose. Mulder could not see what he was reaching for but he had a pretty good idea, and John made sure he blocked Mulder's view until the object had been removed and the zip done back up.

"Ahah!" he exclaimed, thrusting the stuffed baby orang-utan toy in Mulder's face. Mulder cracked up. He couldn't help it. It was the most hilarious baby monkey toy he had ever seen and as soon as he had seen the mother-baby combination in the toy store he just had to steal it. It was a reminder of human evolution, after all, he had pointed out to John, doing his best to sound just like Scully. They owed it to what was left of civilisation to pass on the history of mankind to John's son.

'And this grinning baby monkey who looks possessed is the way to do that,' John had deadpanned. Mulder had already picked up the mother and slung it over his shoulders.

'Just tell him Spooky Uncle Mulder thought it would be educational, and if it gives him nightmares, just send him to me and I'll tell him some stories that will make possessed monkey nightmares the least of his worries.'

"Do you think Monica will let us keep it?" Mulder asked excitedly. John smirked.

"She made me spend the last three weeks with you. We're keeping it. Although I might hide the baby from her, then one morning sneak out of bed and tuck it in beside her and wait for the scream when she wakes up and looks over."

"That's gold," Mulder agreed. "You know I think we're only half a day's walk away. We should get there by dark."

"Awesome," John replied, grinning widely. "I wonder how they are."

"Probably bored out of their minds," Mulder chuckled. "Monica's probably getting really big too. I bet Gibson's stressing. But I reckon we brought enough crap back with us to make things really comfortable."

"Mon is going to be stoked we found better clothes for her," John agreed. "Oh, and those baby carry hammock things."

"Very cool," Mulder agreed. The last few days in DC had been spent trawling department stores for anything they could take back with them, and most of what they had brought back was for the baby. Mulder didn't mind; he did not need anything much and neither did Gibson. A few new changes of clothes and they were set, so he had been happy to walk around with John in the baby shops and maternity section of the women's department and muddle their way through various thefts.

He was glad nobody else had been around to watch them, because it had taken them an hour to figure out how the carry-slings worked. Shopping for toys and baby clothes had been more to Mulder's liking. By the end of the day they had both been overwhelmed with cuteness and had treated themselves to a warm beer and pizza flavoured chips in an effort to get back in touch with their masculinity. Mulder grinned at the memory.

He was glad they had been able to make something positive out of a trip which at the start had held so much real disappointment. Mulder was certain beyond any doubt that Scully was alive, but without any more clues as to where she might have gone he had no chance of finding her. He had even climbed onto a high dune just behind the city ruins and shouted her name, but there had been no response. He had only done that once. It was eerie to speak into such a silence, and Mulder had not wanted to keep calling for her. If he let himself start, he was not sure he could have stopped.

All he wanted to do was to keep calling for her. It was all he had ever wanted. But to know that she would never call back like she had on so many other occasions over their lives, to know that his voice would be met by only the wind and the shifting of sand, was distressing. Mulder was still distressed. He was genuinely excited about going back to Monica and Gibson, and he was certainly happier than he had been when he left, but nothing could take away the knowledge that at the very top of his backpack was Scully's diary. He had already memorised every page.

The part of Mulder that had always been so critical of everything he had done in his life told him he was being pathetic. Mulder had been surprised to hear that voice again because he had not heard it in a long time, and one day he realised he had not heard it since he and Scully had settled in Virginia. She had always told him in her own way that the self-critical part of his mind was an idiot, and that he was normal, and human, and that she believed in him. Having accepted that, Mulder had been less critical of himself.

Until he had left her and the world had ended, and then the voice had come back with a vengeance. It had been his fault, he had left her; he had driven her to allow him to leave. That had gradually merged into a criticism of his grief for her. 'Don't cry, you baby', it often said. 'What are you, a child? Don't cry. Only little girls cry. Are you a little girl? Are you?' Sometimes Mulder heard his father's voice saying those things to him, as he had in angry moments after Samantha's disappearance, but other times the voice was his own, angry at the world for taking the last of his family from him.

And that thought was what allowed him to tell the overly critical voice to fuck off, he reminded himself firmly. Scully was his family. She was his wife without the ring or the signature. They had been committed to each other for years, long before they ever even kissed. There had not been anyone else. She was his partner, and had been for longer than most people stayed married. She was his wife, dammit, and if he ever found her, he was going to steal that diamond ring she had always told him she didn't need.

So the voice could go fuck itself, he reasoned. His best friend was alone and hurt somewhere and he had not been able to find her or help her. If that meant he cried like a little girl before he went to sleep or that he woke up some nights calling out her name from a nightmare in which he searched and searched and never found her, then so be it. Scully would have told him he was just as entitled to his grief as any other human being, and that was what he was currently holding onto. Because she also would have said that he was just as entitled to find other things in his life to be happy about.

Like possessed baby monkey toys that really, in his opinion, were very cute. He could memorise the pages of her journal and cry, and he could be there for Monica and John. He could do it both, each in its own time, because he was entitled. Scully said so.

"What are we gonna say?" John asked suddenly, looking over at Mulder, who was pouting as though he was focussing very hard on something in his mind. "Mulder?"

"What?" Mulder asked. "What are we gonna say about what?"

"To Monica, about what we found at Scully's mother's house."

"We'll just tell her exactly what we saw," Mulder sighed, shaking his head as the sight of Maggie Scully's blood and wine stained living room flashed in his mind. He saw it spread out like a crime scene. "Gibson will know anyway. We'll just have to tell her. I don't think she'll be too upset. I hope not. Wherever she is, she did survive."

"Yeah but I don't think Monica thought Dana would really do something like that to herself. It might shake her."

"You think she'll be disappointed?" Mulder asked.

"Not in Dana, but maybe in that she shouldn't have made you go."

"I'm glad I went," Mulder assured John. "I needed to try. If nothing else, I know that Scully believed we would be together in our next life, and I have to believe that too. That's enough to...keep me going. I just hope in the next life we can do it properly somehow, if not in this world then in another. So much of this life's been all screwed up."

"You uh, think you knew each other in a past life?" John asked. He did not believe in reincarnation, Mulder knew that, which was perhaps why he had waited so long before bringing up this particular little wish. But John was tolerant and he had time for Mulder's opinions. After all, Mulder's beliefs were not so different from Monica's, and John knew there were truths in those beliefs; not in the reality of those beliefs but in the human desires they represented.

"I know we did," Mulder whispered seriously. "But what I can't figure out is if this is the end cycle now, or if we would end up as aliens in the next life or something like that."

"You know what would be funny?" John asked. Mulder smirked. "If that were true, and all these aliens started having flashbacks to their past lives as humans. It would really freak those murderous suckers out. Daddy killed me in a past life!" Mulder laughed.

"Yeah well," he sighed. "Shit happens."

"Mulder," John continued, glancing at the suddenly deflated figure walking slowly beside him. "I really hope that comes true for the two of you. You and Dana deserve to be able to do it 'properly', as you put it, and hey, I'm getting a second go at it right now. It's not very fair when you consider the two of you were robbed of even the first go."

"We made a pretty good life," Mulder defended gently, though he was heartened by John's words of support. "It was simple, in the end, and while it was missing some things, it was real. I shouldn't have let it frustrate me so much. She probably thought I was bored of her. I was only ever really bored of myself."

"Do you want to stop for a break?" John asked. Mulder shook his head. He sighed, and then allowed himself so smile. He let Scully's voice silence the guilt for the time being and focussed on home, and how close they were.

Mulder knew John was really asking if they could press on and get there as soon as possible. He had missed Monica, and all the talk about Scully had surely made him miss her even more. At least some good would come out of the mess he was in, Mulder realised. If John ever got frustrated and thought about walking out, he would remember Mulder and this time in the desert, and he would surely reconsider, saving potentially much more than just a few hours of wasted time. Mulder certainly would never make the same mistake again.

And if he never saw sand in the next life, he would be a very happy alien.

"Narr," he assured his friend. "Let's press on. We've been gone a few weeks and they'll be waiting." John nodded in agreement. He certainly hoped that they were.

xxx

Scully took a deep breath as she looked out her bedroom window. She resisted the urge to run nervous fingers through her shorter hair. She resisted the urge to fiddle with the clothes Monica had helped her pick out. It was not anything fancy, but it was more than she had gotten used to. The room around her smelt of talc, perfume and keen anticipation.

Monica pushed herself off the bed and came to join her at the window. Scully knew Monica had done what she could to look nice also, and she had missed John; she deserved to be able to do that. They would certainly smell a lot better than their partners, she thought with a soft smile.

"Well what do you know," Monica whispered, tapping the glass when she saw two distant figures in the sand. "Do you know what you'll say yet?"

"No," Scully whispered, her voice shaking. She was suddenly frightened. What if he had dealt with his loss and moved on, as she so very nearly had? Or had she? Had she just been telling herself she had moved on, when really she could never have moved on? Could she hope for him to be the same, or would he push her away, dismissing her as a figment of his imagination, some sort of heat-induced illusion? "What if-" Her worries never made it past her lips because she suddenly realised how irrational it all sounded. She sighed, crossing her arms and watching the two faraway men make their way slowly closer. The house had been tipped off by Gibson. They'd had a lot of time to prepare.

She still hadn't come to terms with the fact he was suddenly right in front of her. Visible.

Tangible.

"You look beautiful," Monica assured her gently. "Don't even question how he feels." Scully nodded, silently thanking her friend for understanding without her having to speak. "I'm going to go out halfway and meet them," she continued. "You can come out too or wait here. Either way, I won't say anything. Take your time."

"I don't want to just run into his arms," Scully whispered. "That's not who I am."

"Then don't," Monica replied simply. "Don't run. Just walk right up to him with your head held high, stick your hand out and introduce yourself or something. Just make sure you look him in the eye. He won't believe it if you don't." Scully nodded, taking on board all of Monica's very sensible advice. There were a hundred ways meeting Mulder again could happen, but no matter how many scenarios Scully ran through in her mind, she could never really see herself there. She did not know where she fit. She did not know what she wanted the moment to be. "Good luck," Monica added, squeezing Scully's shoulders before leaving.

Skinner, Shannon, Gibson and Sarah were all sitting around on the veranda, waiting for the show to start. They turned and stared up at her from their seats on the wooden deck as Monica stopped in the door.

"Have they seen us yet?" she asked Gibson.

"The house, yes, the raft, yes. Us? No."

"How's Dana?" Skinner asked. "She still upstairs?" Monica nodded.

"She's watching. She's scared, but she'll be okay once it's happening."

"They've got binoculars," Gibson announced suddenly. "You've been spotted, Monica."

"Great," she declared with a laugh. "I guess that's my cue to waddle on out there and try to stall them a bit until Dana gets her courage up. Make sure she follows me."

"She will," Gibson promised. "She's waiting for you to get there first."

xxx

"She's talking to someone," Mulder described as he pocketed the binoculars and looked at John, who was too nervous to have taken a peek himself. "Reckon Gibson's sitting on the porch. She was just standing in the door, but I think she looked out at us so I bet you anything the little tattle-tale told her we were spyin'."

"I've been trying to come up with a practical joke we could play on him just for laughs," John admitted. "But I can't. I mean he really deserves it sometimes, but he'd never let us catch him!" Mulder chuckled. "So Mon looks good?"

"You can ask her yourself soon I reckon," he replied, pointing into the distance as he saw the figure he knew to be Monica slowly walking towards them.

xxx

Monica laughed loudly when she realised there was a monkey wrapped around Mulder's head and shoulders. She stopped walking and waited, hands on her hips, for them to come to her. They both jogged the final few metres excitedly, and she stared pointedly at John's backpack.

"So your bag grew," she mentioned. "And Mulder got a monkey. Wow, successful trip."

"Shut up," John teased, quickly dropping the bag and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her into him. Monica grinned as she hugged him tightly. She whispered that she had missed him in his ear, and then she pulled back and kissed him, feeling his hands come to rest on the unavoidable bulge between them. "How are you?" John asked seriously once they parted. She beamed, nodding.

"Great. Fantastic," she promised. "Gibson's been spoiling me, really." John suddenly cocked his head to the side and reached for her hair. He could have sworn it had been longer than her shoulders when he left.

"Did you cut your own hair?" he asked.

"Sort of," she teased, turning to Mulder. "Now does that monkey have a name?"

"Nope," Mulder grinned, removing it from his shoulders and handing it to her. "I thought it could be a good pet for the baby." Monica laughed but accepted the gift. "Wait, it gets better," Mulder assured her, dropping his own backpack and then going to John's. He leant over to unzip the side pocket and counted to three. John joined him.

"Ahah!" they both shouted on three, Mulder holding the baby monkey out to her. Monica cackled, swiping the poor toy from them.

"Oh it's cute!" she exclaimed, looking at the bright brown plastic eyes and wide grin. She touched the sparse, orange hair covering its mostly bald head. "And so lifelike. So I'm carrying the orang-utans back to the house am I?" she teased. "What else is in that bag, John? You didn't fill up on silly string while you were away, did you?"

"No, just a bunch of baby stuff," John assured her. "Oh and we found you clothes. Hopefully they fit." Monica's eyes filled with unexpected tears.

"You found me clothes?" she asked in a whisper. Mulder and John both nodded proudly.

"We didn't find Dana though," John added in a suddenly serious whisper. Monica nodded. She hadn't even bothered to ask. "But we do think she is still alive."

"I'm sure she is," Monica nodded, brushing tears from her eyes. "I missed you both so much," she added, turning to Mulder and hugging him since he was without his backpack. The stuffed toys still in one of her arms were crushed between them. Mulder held onto her tightly and Monica allowed herself to squeeze him back. The man had been without real love for so much of his life, she knew. He had always hugged her so fiercely. She kissed his cheek above his beard as they pulled away. "I'm sorry you didn't find her," she told him sincerely, stroking his hairy jaw. "And as much as I love the beard," she teased in a whisper. "I think we've got something to take care of that inside."

"Oh come on," Mulder growled. "Stop trying to convince me to get rid of it Mon. John stopped asking months ago. What's it gonna take?"

"I can think of a few things," she teased coyly, barely swallowing her laugh. "Gibson and I have organised a little surprise for you."

"Is it that bloody great box that's appeared outside the house?" John asked curiously when she returned to his side and took his hand. "What the hell is it? We were kind of worried when we saw it. How'd you get it here? What IS it?"

"It's been named 'the raft'," she explained seriously, looking between them. "And it was brought here all thanks to Gibson." She saw John's eyes look over her shoulder and lose focus and she quickly turned around to confirm who he thought he had seen. She then quickly reached out and laid her palm over the sweaty shirt on Mulder's chest, feeling his heart beating firmly beneath her fingers. "Oh and Mulder," she added softly, gesturing for him to follow John's gaze, for he hadn't yet. "You're not the only one who came home."

Mulder thought his heart must have stopped in the moment when Monica removed her hand and he followed the nod of her head to where another woman was walking towards them. She was short, he catalogued as he removed his cap and let it fall to the sand at his feet. Her fair hair looked golden under the afternoon sun but different to the colour of the sand. It was more textured. He knew up close it would not be blonde. It was cut to above her shoulders, and was blowing around her face, light enough to be lifted and tossed by the gentlest of breezes.

She was wearing white, three-quarter pants he only ever remembered her wearing once when they had spent a week at the coast one summer. They had walked barefoot along the beach together with those pants, he remembered. Her skin was white, not tanned or sunburned, and the light blue satin, strappy top was clinging to her waist and breasts. Mulder thought he saw a second strap under the thin blue, something dark, and he realised she was wearing a bra. It struck him as completely surreal, for Monica had given up on those months earlier.

She was looking right at him, he realised, but she was not yet close enough for him to see her expression. He let himself take a step forward in an effort to keep watching her, to see more, at least before she vanished completely. He knew he was dehydrated, but the mirage in front of him seemed just that little bit too cruel. She was barefoot, her fingernails were dark, painted, and she kept crossing and uncrossing her arms as she walked. Mulder wanted to call out to her, but he could not speak. His tongue and throat felt swollen and dry. He was thirsty, for water and for her. He wanted to call but he couldn't. He did not think she would call back.

xxx

Scully tried to stay strong and not cross her arms as she approached him, but it was hard. Monica had turned and seen her, John had seen her, and then Mulder had seen her. Scully had been far away but she had recognised the way he had frozen, and she had felt his eyes on her, just as she had felt his arms around her in her mother's house. Fear began to course through her, making her heart hammer and her breathing quicken. Was it only fear she felt, she wondered? Or was it desire?

He was still tall, and she fought down the smile when she realised he had grown his beard. He would need a haircut as well, she realised, staring at his thick, brown hair. He looked tan in the distance, and he was wearing a white shirt, sunglasses and long, loose brown slacks. It all looked relatively new, she realised. They had been shopping in DC.

Mulder took a tiny step towards her and at the first sign of movement Scully's heart felt like it dropped lower in her chest, sinking down to the place where she had safely stored him inside her, reaching for it, reaching for him. She promised herself there would not be pain this time, and tears stung her eyes as she quickened her steps. He looked like he was hesitating, and Scully knew it was because he did not yet believe.

So she stopped, and she waited for him to come to her.

xxx

Mulder's mouth opened when he saw her stop in the sand and put her hands on her hips. She tilted her head to the side, and he immediately grinned. How far apart were they, he wondered? Fifty metres? Thirty? It seemed like she was going to make him walk. As though he hadn't just scoured the country looking for her? God, he realised suddenly, his gut clenching. Looking for her. Her.

'You're not the only one who came home,' Monica had said. Monica had held him. Monica had been real. But Scully, if it was really Scully, did not look real. She looked clean, she looked healthy, and she looked ready for him to drag his ass home and grovel like he should have so many months previously. Well, Mulder had no real problem with that if it was real. There was only one person in the world he would ever beg, and it was her, and she hated to hear him beg. So maybe he would not grovel for forgiveness. Maybe he would just drag his ass home.

He turned around and began to pick up his bag, completely ignoring Monica and John, who were still just standing there watching. Monica was grinning wildly but John looked as stupefied as Mulder felt. He went to lift the bag but Monica stopped him with a hand on his head. She forced him to look her in the eye before she spoke.

"Leave it," she assured him. "Someone will bring it in." Mulder let the heavy pack drop back onto the sand and stood up to his full height, staring at Monica with confusion and hope and the faintest hint of a very large grin waiting just beneath his indecision. "Bet you wish you shaved now," she teased dryly. Mulder reached up to touch his jaw, and then he looked back to the woman standing in the sand.

She had not moved, but her hands had fallen from her hips. He could picture her standing there nervously, wondering about his hesitation and what it meant. He realised that if she was real he was probably scaring her. He could not do that to her again, surely. He had to force himself to take more than just one step. He had to go to her. But what if she disappeared, or transformed into somebody else right in front of him?

"JESUS MULDER!" Scully called suddenly. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?"

Your voice, he answered silently, releasing the grin he had held and taking a more confident step forward. He removed his sunglasses and pocketed them. Scully lifted her arms to her sides in frustration and let her hands fall dramatically back against her hips.

"Your voice!" he called back on impulse. She took a small step forward and laughed.

She laughed. He heard it. He saw it. He was close enough now to see her smile.

"What?" she asked. Mulder did not answer until he was just a few metres from her. He could feel her pull on him. He could see the freckles on her white face and chest. He could see the black bra strap beneath the blue top. He could see the sunset orange of her hair and the ocean blue of her eyes. He could smell her perfume and her sweat. He could feel her heart beating without touching her. He could feel her reaching for him without moving her arms from her sides. It was all happening through their eyes, just like it always had, and he allowed himself to get lost in the teary blue irises that were staring at him as though she had only just realised he was really real, too.

"I was waiting to hear your voice," he repeated, his voice low and cracking. "Tell me something. Anything." Scully smiled, and Mulder's insides melted when he saw her bottom lip tremble. A tear far ahead of the rest trickled down her cheek, but she opened her mouth and spoke to him, ignoring the other tears as they joined their leader.

"Psalm 27," she whispered, her voice shaking and loud enough for only him to hear. "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? Of whom shall I be afraid? Though a host encamp against me-"

"My heart shall not fear," Mulder mumbled, taking over from her as she froze in surprise. Mulder had never recited scripture aloud in his in life. "Though war rise against me," he continued more confidently. "I will be confident."

He paused, waiting to see what she would do or say, whether she would continue. When she appeared rendered speechless by her tears, or perhaps the fact he was reciting the Bible, he took a step closer and continued, speaking straight into her eyes, feeling his lips move with the words he had memorised but not consciously recalling them. How could he, when he was so preoccupied with staring into her heart?

"For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble," he whispered, watching her lips move as she joined him, hearing their voices blend intimately. "He will conceal me; he will set me high upon a rock. I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait, be strong, and let your heart take courage." Mulder hesitated once they were done, but he took another step forward as Scully brushed the tears from her cheeks. Mulder ignored his. They could be brushed away later. "I'm going to hug you now," he threatened emotionally. "And I warn you, I'm not sure if I'll be able to let go."

"I'm not sure I want you to," Scully replied, allowing herself to smirk. "Depends how bad you smell." Mulder grinned, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms low around her waist and hips. Scully stood on her tiptoes to reach her arms around his neck, and he had picked her up off the ground before they were even chest to chest. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she pressed their torsos together, their hearts beating rapidly. "Sit," Scully whispered as her lips began pressing into the skin at the base of his neck. He could feel her breathing heavily against him but he realised the strained breath he could hear was his, and as he sank to the sand with her still in his arms he released the sob that had formed without his knowledge somewhere deep inside of him.

Scully only held him tighter as he broke in that moment, crying into her shoulder, his tears hot and wet on her bare skin. She pushed the straps on her shoulder away so she could feel all of him there and she held onto him, straddling him, as they rocked for comfort and completion. Scully had barely any tears left, and let the final few trickle silently down her cheeks as she kept her eyes shut and focussed on the feel of him beneath her and around her.

He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses along the fair skin of her shoulder and neck and then down towards her breast. His hands came up to clutch at her hair and he used the leverage to lift his head. Her eyes were closed, he realised, and she was panting gently, her face flushed. Not giving her any warning and perhaps not needing to, he leant his head forward and touched his lips to hers, hesitantly at first, but Scully wasted no time in slanting her lips across his and pulling his head closer, kissing him deeply.

Mulder was drowning again, but it was a much nicer sensation than the drowning he had experienced in the basement with Gibson, Monica and John. Nice was of course a major understatement, but he was having trouble thinking of words longer than a syllable. Blindly, he searched for her left hand somewhere behind his head. It was much harder to coordinate right and left when Scully's tongue was hotly lapping at his but he found it eventually. He reached for her hips with his other hand, and as his thumb found the raised scar he pulled her all the way onto his lap, locking her hips with his and brushing his fingers over the sensitive skin of her wrist. Scully broke the kiss out of surprise and whimpered as he brought her left arm between them, staring at the scar as he fingered it.

"Do you hate it?" she asked, breathless. She wanted to tell him how he had saved her that night, how he had begged her to stop, but later, she determined. She would tell him later.

"How could I hate it?" he asked her, his brown eyes searching hers for understanding as they sat together, their postures relaxed and their bodies finally comfortable side by side. "How could I ever hate anything so beautiful?" He reached for her chin and drew her face back to his for a slower, more tender kiss than the passion they had just exchanged. "I love you," he whispered. "We're going to make it out of here, together Dana." Scully nodded. She tilted her head downwards, parting their lips but joining their foreheads, allowing them both to catch their breaths.

"I love you Fox," she whispered, grazing her nose past his. He sighed, inhaling the sound of his name and letting it wash through him and cleanse him, breaking apart the grease of pain and regret that had camped inside him with the strength of industrial solvent. "Fox," she repeated, shifting on his lap and running her fingers through his hair. She knew how he felt about the use of his name. He knew she was using it deliberately to soothe, to give affection, to clear him of any lingering guilt. "Fox I love you," she almost wept. He felt her pain. He felt everything as their faces continued to nuzzle intimately.

"Fox 'loves' this look," he told her, panting and wrapping his fingers around her shorter hair. "Your hair could be down to your toes and I wouldn't care but this, looks...amazing. You smell...like water, and shampoo, and perfume, and it's beautiful, you're beautiful."

"Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his shoulders and pecking his lips. "Does that mean I can cut your hair now?" she asked. He nodded definitely, parting their foreheads and dragging rough fingers softly over her reddened jaw. He chuckled.

"I scratched you, I'm sorry," he teased. Scully grinned, shaking her head.

"It was worth it," she shot back. "So would you like to go in and meet the others?"

"The others?" Mulder asked hesitantly. "You came with people?"

"Yes sweetheart, I did," she replied, giggling. Mulder grinned at the sound, again letting his fingers tangle in her hair either side of her head. Suddenly Scully saw his eyes glaze and she frowned in concern, slipping back on his lap to give him more space in case he was about to hyperventilate. She held his face in sure hands and stared into his eyes.

"You need water," she declared. He nodded, suddenly too exhausted to argue, and Scully stood, pulling him with her. She looked around and realised with frustration that John, Monica and Mulder's bag had all disappeared from close proximity. She turned back to the house but she could see Skinner already preparing to run a bottle out to them.

Thank you Gibson, she told him silently.

"Thanks," Scully whispered once Skinner reached her. She rubbed Mulder's back as Skinner handed him the plastic bottle.

"Sent him into shock hey?" Skinner chuckled, clicking his fingers in front of Mulder's eyes until he refocussed. "Or was he just deprived of oxygen too long. Hey, Mulder, remember me? Walter Skinner." Mulder's mouth dropped open in recognition as he stared at his old boss. "Boy, are you lucky Dana forgives you huh? Drink." Given permission, Mulder emptied half the bottle without even thinking about rations. Skinner was not annoyed. John had been just as thirsty and Monica had taken him inside into the shade for some food. "You two been walking all day or something?"

"We really wanted to get back before dark," Mulder mumbled, replacing the cap on the bottle and handing it back to Skinner. "We didn't take any breaks."

"Oh brother," Skinner groaned. "Every time I run into you lot you're doing something stupid, aren't you? Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Mulder huffed, put out by Skinner's teasing attitude. The man was smiling at him, but still. "I could go and do stupid things elsewhere, if you'd prefer," he shot back. Skinner laughed, shaking his head. He reached forward and pulled Mulder into an uncharacteristic hug which Mulder returned, forcing his remaining tears to retreat.

"I don't think Dana's letting you out of her sight for a long time," Skinner informed him, pulling away. "You're stuck with all of us now. See you inside." He handed Scully what was left of the water and turned around, walking back to the house to give them privacy.

"I really am okay," Mulder promised her, running his fingers tenderly around the outside of her face. "I'm sorry I'm late home, Dana."

"Once you've had some food and a bit of a nap you can make it up to me," she replied sincerely, scratching her fingers tenderly through his beard. "When you're up for it I want to talk to you about the journal and what you saw at mom's house. You did go there, didn't you? You knew about my wrist."

"I went there," he told her seriously. "I'm sorry about your mom." Scully nodded. "You can talk to me about anything. I wrote you a diary too, but it's up here," he continued, tapping his head. "I want you to know it too. And there's something I want to ask."

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She wrapped her arms comfortably around his waist and stared up at him. Without shoes on she always felt so small against him, and he smiled down at her with tears shining in his eyes.

"Baby orang-utans: freaky or cute?" Scully's smile faded into an expression he had missed dearly. Her eyes said, 'does he seriously expect me to answer that?' but her smile told him she was happy he was making a joke. She gripped his waist securely.

"What sort of question is that?" she exclaimed. Mulder shrugged, grinning at her innocently. He still expected her to answer. She made a dramatic show of considering her reply, leaning into him as he wrapped his arms around her back. Mulder slipped one palm under her shirt by her waist and the other stroked the bare skin from her neck to the top edge of her shirt, making her shiver. He could not get over the fact she had cut her hair. Mulder hoped Gibson knew he was going to need to do some major switching off.

"GET A ROOM ALREADY!" Gibson shouted from across the sand and Mulder laughed. Scully smirked at him suspiciously. She had been thinking about orang-utans. She could only imagine what Mulder had been thinking, the way he was touching her.

"The kid can read minds," Mulder whispered conspiratorially. "Hey Scully?" he added, suddenly more upbeat.

"Yes Mulder?" she asked, completely open and relaxed in his embrace. He ducked his head and continued in his 'spooky' voice, the one she remembered so well.

"Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" Scully grinned.

"Logically, I would have to say yes," she answered proudly, again reaching up to stroke his cheek as she repeated a thirteen year old answer with one, minor change. Mulder was beaming at her, and she had never felt more venerated. "But Mulder?"

"Yes?" he asked, his hands stilling against her back. She stepped up on her tiptoes again and he instinctively ducked his head, allowing her to brush her lips chastely over his.

"I believe in us more," she promised. "And we will survive this. You and me." Mulder nodded. Of that, he had never been more certain.