Title: A Man Who…: Confrontations

Author: DC Luder

Disclaimer: FM, DS, MS, WS belong to them crazy CC and Co. out in LA.

Summary: Scully tries to believe Mulder has returned…

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He hadn't changed.

Perhaps a few more grays in the dark strands, but other than that it was a mirror image. Same half-smile and suggestive eyes. But this couldn't be Mulder. He was missing, thought dead, a victim of his own crusade. This man may have looked like Mulder, smiled like Mulder and stood like Mulder, but it couldn't be him.

Because if it was, I had given up on my best friend when he needed me most.

My hand somehow reached forward and took the flowers while my mind hummed with shock. I hadn't even felt Dave's hand as he placed on my waist. He cleared his throat, "Can we help you, Mister…"

"Mulder. Fox Mulder," he said in his calm voice.

My knees suddenly felt weak. I leaned into Dave's arm and then pushed back, forcing him out of the doorway, "Mulder, uh…"

"Thanks, it's a bit chilly out here."

Dave shut the door, his eyes locking onto mine over our guest's shoulders. I looked away and stared at my partner. His face was just as it was the day he left for Oregon…

And then my trained forensic mind took over, and spotted several small scars in a column on both of his cheeks. Had they done that to him…?

"Scully, you look, great."

I smiled nervously, not knowing what else to do in front of Dave. My mind screamed for me to wrap my arms around him and squeeze the life out of him just to be sure it was really him. Instead, I studied the flowers. Gorgeous red roses in full bloom. The scent was seductive and soothing. Just like Mulder…

"Water," I announced suddenly, "I need to put these in water." Before either of the men in my life could offer assistance to get away form each other, I dashed towards the kitchen, my mind in complete chaos. I was a doctor, a scientist. I had the gift of reasoning. What were the odds that this was an alien bounty hunter out to get some kicks by dredging up my past? Or perhaps a clone of Mulder that we never knew about?

Or he was in fact the man who had sired my child.

As I watched water fill a small vase in the sink, I heard a soft couch from the rear door. Will stood in his Superman pajamas rubbing his eyes, "Mom?"

I shut the water off and set the flowers in the vase, "What, Will? You should be in bed."

"I heard the door. Did Ms. Kelly bring my work?"

Lord, Will, if you only knew how much I wished it was your worry-wart teacher with your missed assignments. "No, just someone looking for directions."

"Oh. Can I have a Popsicle?"

With my insides all astir, I really didn't care if he had just brushed his teeth not even two hours ago. I dove my hand into the freezer, retrieved an orange twin pop and handed it to him, "Will you have to go to bed, okay." I leaned over kissed his slightly warm forehead and watched him head towards the stairs.

It then dawned on me that Mulder might know about Will.

Why else would he suddenly show himself after six years?

After taking a few deep breaths, I returned to the foyer to find Mulder and Dave caught in a staring contest. Perhaps I should have found some alcohol while I was in the kitchen…

"Mulder… I can't even…" Tears brimmed at my eyes suddenly, but neither of them noticed, "Dave, can you check on Will?"

He seemed insulted by my suggestion and then stormed off towards the rear of the house, muttering to himself. I then took Mulder's hand and dragged him to the kitchen. As soon as the door had shut behind us, my arms wrapped around his neck and the sobs that had been held in my chest exploded. His hands closed in on my shoulders as his arms wrapped around my back. I could smell is musty cologne and sunflower seeds. It was then, as he stroked my back and whispered in my ear that I realized how impossible it had been to live without him.

For nearly a decade we were side by side, covering each other's backs in the field and in the office. We had done stakeouts together in the dead of the night, entertaining each other with droning games of "Twenty Questions." Towards the end, we flirted shamelessly without even knowing it. The subtle gestures, jokes and innuendos. We had fallen in love together, slowly, but steadily. Neither of has had none until it was too late.

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

"Must be fate, Mulder. Root beer."

"Scully, you all right?" he asked as his hands cupped my face.

I stepped back, released him and suddenly felt the heat of anger. My doctorate reminded me of the levels to shock.

Disbelief.

Sudden grief.

Anger.

"Am I all right? Mulder, where have you been? Do you know how much I've been through? For Christ's sake, you show up on my door years after I accepted you for dead. It's like seeing a ghost!"

His lips turned downward and his arms fell to his sides, "I know. I'm sorry…"

A twinge of guilt squeezed my heart. I hadn't meant it, Mulder, please don't look at me like that. The way you looked at me when your father died. When my father died. When my sister died. When I told you about the cancer. When you left me behind and went off to Oregon with Skinner…

"No," the tears slowed, but still dribbled down my hot cheeks, "Please… It's just that…. Mulder, I have a new life. Seeing you, just..."

"Brings up bad memories. I understand."

He began to turn when I grabbed him, "No. Mulder, not at all. Just the thought of you being here in my house in unbelievable. Dammit, Mulder, there was a funeral service and everything…"

"I know. Skinner showed me my grave. 'A loving son, friend and honorable agent.' A little sappy for my taste."

Only would Mulder joke at a time like this.

His half-smile had returned, "Scully, I've tried to come sooner. Skinner wouldn't bring me and Frohike was too depressed because you married another man. You should see the 'Scully Shrine' he's got. Verge of obsessive."

Just thinking the squat man with wispy hair and an adoration for me made me laugh a bit. I touched Mulder's arm again, this time maintaining the contact. He stepped forward and I leaned back against the fridge, feeling the bite of the handles in my spine.

I couldn't honestly say who moved first. Whether it was my hand to his neck or his to my hips. Nor could I tell if my fingernails scratched his scalp under the dark hair first or if it was his fingers sneaking underneath my shirt.

Or whether his lips came down to mine or if mine went up to lock onto his.

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"I made this!"

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