Thirteen

Scully opened her eyes and smiled when she saw the posters on the familiar grey wall. This dream again, she thought to herself. A part of her knew it was not real, but she was not afraid of the dream and she relaxed in it. No matter how it sometimes ended she liked how it started, and she would never fully comprehend or remember the endings until she woke. They weren't all bad. The start was always fabulous.

The posters tacked to the cork board on the wall that greeted her from her sleep were of basketball players. She knew that had not always been the case. Playboy posters of bikini-clad leggy brunettes had been there once. Without remembering any conversation about them, they had been taken down, or tacked over, with posters less offensive.

The room was small but familiar. A desk piled high with textbooks was not far from her. Papers were scattered all over the rest of the desk and chair. There was no room for a lamp. The rest of the bedroom had gotten considerably cleaner; she suspected it was also because she had started staying over.

Scully wasn't sure, because she had no memory of the lifetime, but she thought she practically lived in his dorm room. She just knew they saw each other whenever they could after classes, overnight, on holidays. She wondered if Christmas was close and whether he would like to meet her family. Had she told them about him? What would her sister say?

She wondered what Mulder would say when she rolled over to greet him for the day. He always said something funny or cute or romantic. She could not believe how wonderful she felt, how safe and how adored. She had never expected to fall for somebody in college. She had expected to date a little, but to find 'the one' so young; that was not her, it was not something she had actively sought in her life so far, but he was asleep beside her and she was in his college dorm for the thousandth time that year and they were together and she was in love with him.

It was scary but amazing. She could see everything when she closed her eyes. She could see them older, getting married, having kids with her red hair which stuck up in every direction just like his. A little boy, she liked the name William, or a little girl, Samantha or Melissa. Pretty names. Pretty little children. Maybe with his brown hair and her blue eyes. And she would be a surgeon with a big office in a big hospital who could work regular daytime hours so she could tuck her babies into bed, go over some surgical notes for the next day and then cuddle up to Mulder each night.

Scully could not tell anyone her fantasy but Mulder. Even her sister would laugh at something so out of character, but Mulder already knew it. It would have been crazy to tell him something so steeped in the idea of commitment when they were so young, with young men not necessarily known for their willingness to commit, but he was the one who had brought it up. He was the one who had asked her. She was the one who had stuttered.

They just knew. They had only been going out a year but they just knew they would be together forever, and she felt so content she wanted to cry when she thought of it. She loved waking up in his dingy dorm room.

Let's get this dream moving, Dana. You know it never ends there.

Scully sighed and reached up to run her hand along the long, wavy red hair that lay over her shoulder and chest. She was on her side facing away from him, and she smiled when she rolled over to where he was lying beside her. He was turned towards her, and she remembered they had fallen asleep spooned together. They had barely moved.

She reached out to cup his jaw and stroked her small thumb over the dark stubble there.

"It's morning, Mulder," she whispered. "Sweetheart, you'll be late for class."

He did not respond and as Scully's thumb stopped against his jaw she let the rest of her fingers on that hand press more firmly to the underside of his jaw and drift to the spot where she often felt his pulse racing with her lips when they pressed there. It was the medical student in her, and perhaps she was overreacting because he was warm, but he did look very still and she realised with a sudden pang of angst that she had not been aware of the sound of his usually heavy but relaxed breathing in the room.

Scully held her breath and tried to be as quiet as possible to listen for it as she continued to try to feel the force of his soul drumming beneath her fingers.

She failed.

But he was warm. She sat up in bed wearing nothing but one of his New York Knicks t-shirts and pulled the sheet down to reveal his bare chest, smooth but for a trickle of light brown hair. She rolled him onto his back with a palm over the left of his chest. She did not call his name. She leant over and rested her ear to his chest as her heart began beating at least ten times its normal speed.

"Mulder," she whispered, squeezing his hand with as much strength as she could muster. She was small compared to his large, six-foot-plus athletic frame, but he offered nothing in reply to her touch. He was completely non-responsive. She leant forward and opened his eyes. All the air was forced out of her lungs when saw only lifeless irises and bloodshot whites. Lifeless irises, she repeated to herself. Lifeless. Dead. He was dead.

He was DEAD.

"Mulder," she wept, her voice again soft as she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged. She was trying to rouse him when she knew she couldn't. She knew death. She spent half her time in the university morgue and at the county morgue and she was topping all of her classes. And her boyfriend was dead, but still warm, but trying to resuscitate him would be useless because she had been awake for long minutes contemplating her happiness before rolling over, and she had not heard his breath once in that time. He could not be saved.

Scully did not know what to do as panic overcame her. She did not care that she was in bed with a dead body with just two pieces of clothing between them; her shirt which was really his and his boxers. But she cared about his family. What was she going to tell his parents? She had only met them once. And what would she tell hers?

Mum, dad, I met the man of my dreams and we've been seeing each other for a year but this morning he died and I don't know what to do because nobody else will ever compare and I want to die because my heart is breaking and the last thing he said to me was 'I love you'.

Yeah, that'd fly, she thought sarcastically as hot tears trickled down her flushed cheeks. She was just a kid. Mulder was just a kid. It wasn't fair. Medical school meant nothing without him. Life meant nothing. How could he be dead? He was still warm. He had been just fine when they had gone to bed. She wanted him to breathe. She wanted to feel his pulse beneath her touch and inside her. She wanted to see life in his eyes. She didn't want to be left behind.

"Mulder," she cried as she shook his shoulders, leaning over him. His head moved loosely on his neck and his hair flopped about against his forehead with the motion but he did not stir. "Mulder!" she insisted.

She HAD to wake him up. She had to. He wasn't dead. He was warm. He had to breathe. He had to breathe against her lips as he kissed her. He had to open his eyes so he could see her say she loved him. He wasn't dead. She would die if he was. Her heart was already shattering like a thin slate of ice burdened by too much weight. The pieces were sharp and painful and caused her to bleed internally so fast that she would die soon too. She could not lose him. That was not how it was supposed to be. But he wasn't dead. He wasn't. He wasn't!

"MULDER!"

xxx

Mulder had been stirred from his own dream, one which had not yet turned sinister, by the feeling of Scully's head shifting from side to side on her pillow and her hair brushing against his cheek. The window beside them let in the starlight and he could just make out the tears on her cheeks. He could hear her whimpers. She had not taken anything to stop the dreams that night, he remembered. They had kissed for a while and cuddled and fallen asleep, but that meant nothing in the dead of night when their subconsciouses were most vulnerable.

"Dana," Mulder whispered, reaching out to tenderly touch her cheek in an effort not to startle her awake. That was never a good idea. Mulder liked to be dragged from his dreams, but Scully did not. She settled much more quickly if she was able to wake up on her own with only gentle urgings on his part. "Honey," he tried again. She opened her mouth and expelled a brief but loud cry of pain and he wondered what she was dreaming about. He let his hand rest on her forehead and sighed at the thick sheen of sweat he found there, the roots of her hair damp and curled by the moisture.

Suddenly she turned on her side away from him and Mulder sat up as she pressed herself close to the wall and started slamming her open palm into it.

"No-no-no-no," she mumbled. She was crying. Mulder shook her shoulder gently and reached over to draw her hair out of her face. She spluttered as he pulled a few strands from her mouth.

"Scully, wake up," he ordered, his voice firm but soft.

"Wake up, wake up," she repeated. Mulder smiled sadly. It was reassuring to know that his voice was getting through to her, but considering the tone in which she spoke he knew that whoever she was speaking to in the dream was not going to wake up. She was trying to raise the dead, and in all their shared nightmares they had never achieved such a feat. "Mulder," she sobbed suddenly, and he leant over and rested his forehead to her shoulder.

"Dana, wake up," he repeated. "You're dreaming. It's not real. Wake up."

"NO! MULDER, NO, NO WAKE UP, NO!"

Mulder gave up on the gentle approach when her nightmare transformed into what he deemed to be a night terror. He'd had them often in his own life, and thanks to the X Files or perhaps simply life with him Scully had also acquired the ability to live her dreams so acutely that in those moments they were wholly real.

He pulled her forcefully onto his lap as she continued to cry and call his name. She did not struggle, acquiescent to his touch, but he held her arms down so that she could not struggle when she did wake up. He tucked her head under his chin just as he had thousands of times before, enfolding her. He rocked her as her pleading screams faded into steady sobs and when he heard her rake in a choked, desperate but deep breath of air he knew she had woken.

Before he could say anything the door crashed open behind them and light streamed in from three different torches. Mulder stared directly into the blinding light as Scully instinctively turned her head away and burrowed it deeper into the darkness of his sweaty, bare chest.

"What the fuck?" Skinner asked. "Jesus we thought you-"

"Shh," Mulder whispered calmly, still rocking Scully as she cried. "Just a nightmare." Skinner ran a hand over his bald head in relief as the lights dropped away from Mulder's face to focus on the ground and give the room a more general dim glow. Mulder heard another pair of footsteps and once able to focus on the shadowy figures barring his doorway he realised Skinner, Shannon, John and Monica were all crowded around the space. "Walls are pretty thin huh?" he asked affectionately as Scully's sobs subsided and she went limp in his arms. "Sorry to wake you up."

"No, no, that's totally okay," Skinner insisted gently and without hesitation. "We thought something had happened to you, that's all."

"Nothing's gonna happen to me," he promised, turning his head down towards Scully and pressing his lips to the part of her hair. "Nothing's gonna happen to me."

xxx

Scully gripped Mulder's hand tightly later that morning when the sun was up and they could hide in their room no longer. She was hungry. Mulder took that as a good sign. Unfortunately she remembered every last second of her dream and had spent the time after they had been left alone recounting it to him, and then neither of them had slept very well, constantly waking up to check on the other. Mulder had no problem with Scully's grip on his hand as they faced their friends, because he was holding on just as tightly.

Scully had taken the time to make herself look nice, even loosely braiding her hair and putting on a fresh pair of jeans. Mulder understood the desire to recover some dignity. In the spirit of sharing he had told her what she had screamed and what their friends had feared. Though Mulder was not quite sure what they all thought had really happened. Had they thought he had gone ahead and killed himself without speaking to her, or by accident, or that she had euthanized him and then had a change of heart? Or had they thought he had simply died of inexplicable natural causes, just as he had in her dream?

He shivered, and Scully held his fingers tighter.

"Mor-ning," Gibson sang as they walked into the kitchen area. All eyes turned their way. Even Nicky looked up at them. Mulder managed a tired smile but Scully's eyes flitted around only briefly before returning to the floor a metre or two ahead of her. "So you don't wanna talk about it then?" he asked.

"You already know," Mulder replied with a teasing, tense smile.

"Sorry," Scully apologised, glancing up and catching Gibson's querying eyes. "It's a recurring dream that always ends differently and uh, that one won't happen again. I hope."

"I think it's cute," he assured her with a grin. "The start anyway."

"Oh well uh, my subconscious thanks you I suppose," she mumbled. He laughed and it helped to relax her. She let go of Mulder's hand and reached for a red apple from the collection on the bench. "I'm really sorry I woke everyone up."

"Don't worry about it," Monica promised from her chair next to Nicky as she tried to get him to eat his breakfast. "We all have bad dreams. How long have you been having that one for? They can be messages, you know."

"Oh it's a message all right," Scully sighed, sitting down into a chair opposite her as Mulder went in search of glasses of water. He found two freshly filled bottles and handed one to Scully before taking a seat beside her and resting his head in his hands on the table, shutting his eyes for a few extra seconds of naptime. Scully drank half a bottle in seconds and then sighed once more. It was obvious everyone was waiting for her to give them something. It did not have to be much, but Monica was curious and what was the harm, she wondered? It did not matter if she shared her dream with them. She would not be around much longer anyway.

"Mulder and I are in college together," she explained. "We're in our early twenties. I'm always in his dorm room and we're hanging out together and he always dies. The first few times I had the dream was in DC in the desert, and after I cut my wrist, when Shannon and Skinner were looking after me. Those times he turned into sand under my touch. Most of the time he just disappears and I wake up. Last night I rolled over in the dream after waking up and he was recently dead. That had never happened before. I'm really sorry I woke you all up. I don't usually react so audibly."

"Totally okay," John promised gently, watching Scully blush and nod. "Are you yourself when you were twenty-something in the dream?"

"Yeah, we're the same," she replied. "At least, I'm in med school and he's in psych." Her apple was abandoned as she rested her elbows on the table and propped up her forehead with her hands, staring straight down. "Completely besotted. God, I feel sick."

"Maybe a lie down," Skinner suggested. Scully shook her head, aware Mulder had raised his and was watching her with concern.

"No," she hissed. "It won't help. I've lived with nightmares most of my adult life, but they stopped when we bought that house in Virginia. I only ever had good dreams there."

"What about Mulder?" John asked, glancing at Mulder.

"It's true. Mine were much better there. Not always good, but better."

"Why was that?" Monica asked. "Because it was your home?"

"We felt safe there. It was probably the only time we've had a stable life together," he conceded. "But anyway, that's irrelevant now isn't it? Dana, how about a walk?" She shook her head, still staring at the table and pressing her palms into her forehead. "More of your apple?"

"I can't keep doing this Mulder. It hurts too much to lose you over and over. It hurts."

"I know Scully, soon," he promised, reaching out to stroke through her hair as she released a shaking breath. "Let's go back to bed and I'll read you some Moby Dick, all right? You'll just have to forgive me if my memory falters. I got a lot going on right now."

"Okay," she whispered, allowing Mulder to help her from her chair and lead her out of the kitchen without a word to their observers.

"You see what I mean?" Eddie asked once Mulder and Scully had gone. He had been standing quietly in a corner with Gibson, not needing to say anything. "They enclose. And if you think she's the only one that gets like that you're wrong."

"They're tired, we understand," Monica assured him. "If it was me I wouldn't have gotten back to sleep very well."

"They didn't, but that's not why they're tired," Gibson mumbled. "I told you that already. So did Mulder. Eddie I don't want to wait on this just for us. It's not fair to them. They're trying to do us a favour."

"What sort of favour?" John asked.

"Are you really that dense John?" Gibson taunted daringly. John raised his eyebrows, shocked by the attitude from the man less than half his age. "Do you want to handle their bodies then? Pull them apart from each other in death, clothe them, bury them or burn them? Because the whole reason they're still breathing is because they're trying to prevent putting you all through that. I certainly don't wanna do it, but I'm not going to stop them."

"They are really going to kill themselves?" Sarah asked softly. It was the first real confirmation anyone had given that lives were seriously at stake, and Gibson did not often kid around for the sake of trifle humour.

"They're consenting-"

"They're not if she's seriously depressed and he's under her influence," John mumbled.

"Neither of those statements is true," Gibson insisted. "They've got no fuel left in the tank, John. I'm gonna tell you something personal which I think would be okay, but every other night Mulder dreams a death sequence too. Hers. They are so emotionally vested in one another these dreams usually fall on the same nights as they pick up on one another's energy. And let's face it; it's not going to get better. They have each other, they've had a lot of time together, and they don't want to lose that to pursue their old age lived in a different world. Each of their greatest fears is losing the other. It always has been, ever since I first met them when I was a kid, before they were together. Mulder has considered shooting himself before. He's held the gun. Scully tried it too. What always stopped them was that they were alone and there was a possibility of the other surviving to live without them. It will never happen."

"And you've told them you're okay with this," John stated. It was clear Gibson supported them.

"Absolutely," he replied. "They're my friends. They're miserable. They never would have come here if Eddie hadn't found them first."

"What are you talking about?" Monica asked, frowning.

"They were all set to sail to Chesapeake Bay," Eddie explained. "I caught them just in time. I thought they would still be unconscious but oh no, they were up and recovered and had it all sorted. Suddenly they had made the decision. They were gonna sail back to Virginia, walk home over a couple of weeks or however long it would take, and kill themselves."

"What?" Sarah exclaimed. "For real?"

"They've always been able to, like you know. Scully's been hiding the means since the start. I convinced them to come here."

"Why?" John asked.

"They thought I had left them, abandoned them on the island. I suppose I wanted to reassure them that I had not done that, that I had a plan but had needed some time, and I think I also wanted them to come because they are my friends, and I like them very much. We don't have this concept of suicide where I come from. Nobody kills themselves. I knew they were both struggling for some time but I don't think I fully appreciated the nature of what was happening inside them. Suicide as I learned it was a concept of people who hated their life or who were disturbed or terminally ill. It's not something two otherwise healthy people do...unless they just know it's time. I should not have brought them here. It was selfish."

"We're glad you did," Monica whispered, reaching up to brush tears from her eyes which had not yet fallen. "I...I wanted to see them. I don't want them to... Don't they know how hurt we'll be? We love them."

"They know that," Gibson hissed. "And they're sorry. But you should let them go."

"But how?" Skinner asked. "Where? When?"

"I'm going to go with them and take care of their wishes," Eddie answered. "I haven't discussed it with them yet so that's all I'm prepared to explain."

"Will we get a warning?" Monica asked, tears trickling onto her cheeks.

"That depends on them. If and when they do go, will you all be okay? Will you cope?"

"Well...eventually," Skinner mumbled. "They'll be together and uh, you're right, that is important to them. As their boss once I...knew that. And I know how close they've come to death before. Often. And I'm sorry they can't see more time together as a gift not a curse."

"It's a miracle they had this time together," Gibson reminded them. "When I saw Mulder at the bus station I thought that was it, Scully was going to die and they would never see each other again. It was heartbreaking. They have a superstition that bad things happen to them when they're apart, and they don't want to risk it anymore. They want to be at peace."

xxx

"Do you think they're talking about us?" Scully asked as she lay on top of the covers in bed on her side. One of her hands rested on Mulder's stomach as he lay relaxed on his back, his fingers laced behind his head. He nodded, breathing deeply and enjoying her steady touch.

"There's not a doubt in my mind," he answered. "We are seriously scaring our friends. Last night John told me they wanted a proper goodbye but I don't think I want that. I wouldn't know what to say."

"Hopefully Gibson and Eddie are out there saying it for us," Scully mumbled. "They can probably articulate it so much better than us, being a step removed but still being completely tuned in."

"Mm," Mulder hummed. "Do you still feel sick?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Light-headed."

"You were sweating pretty hard last night," he pointed out. "You might still be dehydrated." Scully nodded in agreement.

"Diagnosing for the doctor now, are ya?" she asked. He grinned at her and raised his eyebrows suggestively as she laughed, but the humour died quickly as she continued, her voice dropping to a thoughtful whisper. "You know," she continued. "I used to be so afraid when I was younger of losing myself to you. Of becoming so attached to you and risking you running off on another long-shot or of losing you to an act of violence and not being able to recover the parts of me I thought I could give you. I didn't want to be that vulnerable."

"We crossed that line so gradually. We were careful." Scully nodded. She knew Mulder had been burned badly by ex-girlfriends and ex-colleagues before she met him, and she had even met some of those women over their years together, and he had been just as scared. Yet he had also been just as helpless as she had to stop the natural progression of their chemistry, their relationship. She sighed and laid her head on her pillow beside him, stretching her arm over his stomach in a one-armed hug.

"All those things I was afraid of are true, Mulder," she declared. "I have never been more vulnerable in my life than when I am with you, and without you. My entire life has revolved around you almost since our very first case. It always scared me why that was, and why I let it stay that way."

"Any regrets?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah," she admitted with a sad smile as he glanced at her.

"Me too," he mumbled, stretching over to awkwardly kiss her while still lying on his back. With her pressed so close to his side she misjudged him and lifted her head, and she giggled when he kissed her chin instead. "Are you still scared of why?" he asked once his head was back on his own pillow.

"I just accept it now. I learned to a long time ago. I'm here because I need to be, and I want to be, and I can never stay mad at you, and because I love you."

"I trust you," Mulder whispered. "Early this morning when you were in my lap I felt sick, and talking about this makes my legs weak, but I don't want it any other way. We haven't been able to make so many choices we had a right to make in our lives. I want to make this one."

Scully nodded and hugged him tightly. He rubbed her forearm as it lay across his stomach.

"I know it's mid-morning but I'm going to try to sleep for a little while," she stated. "Stay?"

"Yeah I'm tired," he agreed, shutting his eyes and relaxing as he felt Scully almost instantly drop off into a deep sleep. Hopefully dreamless, he prayed briefly, dreamless for them both.

xxx

"Hey guys," Gibson greeted as he sat on the grass beside Skinner and Shannon. He knew he wasn't interrupting anything personal. "What do you think of what's been put back so far?"

"So they have a catalogue of what they took," Skinner reasoned. "And they're restoring it with stuff from Antarctica."

"Pretty much. Some things will have to be renewed from scratch, and it will take a while to produce enough grass and trees. That's why the other people can't come yet. Those things should be there first, because they're the things that will support life here. They had farms on Antarctica that can be transplanted in if they're the right things that grow here, and purifying water isn't a problem either. It's pretty awesome I think."

"Definitely never pictured this," Shannon agreed. "This is where I was sitting with Ted when the supersoldier treatment was released and it was a desert."

"Can you really appreciate that it's grass?" Gibson asked. "If you cut yourself would you bleed?"

"Probably as long as you would," she confirmed. "I'm not going to try though. I don't need to anymore. I just want to be myself."

"That's good, because nobody's gonna know you're a supersoldier, just like nobody's gonna know Eddie and Ted when he gets here, and the others, are aliens."

"How many others?" Skinner asked.

"Not many. Just a few of his research guys, all volunteers, all want to be here. Eddie thinks it will be pretty safe away from those who are trying to cure the plague."

"Pretty safe," Skinner echoed dryly.

"After like two years since this started I think you're doing well 'pretty safe'," Gibson teased.

"Are the aliens going to die out?" Shannon asked. "Without this cure?"

"They might find it somewhere else, but it's killed all their 'women' so yeah. Of course they live a lot longer than us; the bodies we see them in are just an illusion, so they'll probably all outlive us anyway."

"Think the other humans here might catch on then?"

"Personally I think everyone should be told the situation and made aware of the assistance being offered out of goodwill. Obviously the technology that will be brought here won't be of this world and I don't know what sort of survivors they've taken from the colonies. I don't know who they would have been able to get to before the stripping began. South America would have been one of the first continents targeted because of its rich resources; the other southern continents are more arid. We could be living with survivors from Africa or Australia."

"That'd be cool," Shannon chuckled. "The kids will end up with a crazy mixed accent."

"Well here's the deal," Gibson continued. "Eddie wanted me to talk to you two about that. When everyone else arrives maybe in a few weeks or a couple of months, we're all going to be here already. Eddie wants like a temporary council meeting or something, and he basically wants the two of you to take on a leadership role in explaining to everyone the situation, what's going to be happening, and to be available to answer questions and help people, and then once there's some sort of routine, we could re-evaluate leadership. I'm pretty certain nobody will have a problem with a democratic voting system, and they'd all be screened at the processing centre for qualities that would cause unwelcome disturbances. My feeling is there will be a mixture of young families and those men from Antarctica who were rescued by Eddie. He said they had been trapped in the conservation tower until he returned, which is pretty good in itself because people in the other towers had died."

"It will be fine, Gibson," Skinner promised. "We've done this before. John and Monica will be busy with a new baby and we understand yours and Eddie's reluctance to be in front. We'll do whatever necessary to make this work. After all, what's the alternative?"

"Good point," Gibson laughed. He stood and said goodbye, leaving them alone once more.

"He's a nice kid," Shannon commented softly, ignoring the fact Gibson could still hear her.

"Yeah," Skinner sighed. "It's tough with Mulder and Scully but he takes it all in stride."

"How do you feel about it?" Shannon asked.

"It's hard to see them like that," he mumbled. "But at the same time I get where they're coming from. You and I are different and will never have that because you'll far outlive me, but those two...in the FBI there was never any separating them. People tried. Sticking them in other divisions, on bum's rush assignments, and they always went back to each other and kept working on their little projects. They were recklessly single-minded. They still are. Dana was always fiercely protective of Mulder. I'll miss them but I'm...glad we played a part in giving them something they needed to be able to get to where they are."

"Saving Dana, you mean," Shannon whispered. Skinner nodded. "So that they're together."

"That's all that's ever mattered to them for a long time now," Skinner sighed. "That being said, I'm so grateful I'm here, with you, and that we have this opportunity to be together."

"Me too," Shannon agreed with a grin, wrapping her arm around his back and rubbing it affectionately. "I think I could really feel myself here."

"So Mulder and Scully aren't the only ones getting their wish," Skinner mumbled.

"No," Shannon sighed with a shake of her head. "Everyone here deserves to be happy though, and they still have the freedom here to make their own decisions. And if we really are going to be leaders, it will be our job to make sure people believe those things. Are you up for it?"

"With you? Yeah. Leading by example in this case is not so hard." She laughed.

"Good because this place is amazing, and I think we should go bird watching this afternoon."

"Bird watching," Skinner repeated, smirking. Shannon nodded happily. "Odd little hobby for an ex-army supersoldier, don't you think?"

"I never said the supersoldier didn't have odd hobbies," she teased with a giggle. "There are some amazing species here so far according to Eddie. It'll be fun."

"I don't doubt that," Skinner assured her with a wide grin. "Let's make a day of it then."

"Let's make a lifetime of it," she corrected with a serious smile, reaching for his hand.

xxx

Monica knew something was different as soon as she woke up the following morning. There was a chill in the air that hadn't been there the previous day, or perhaps she was imagining the chill and it was the look on Gibson's face when she entered the kitchen. She had slept in and taken a shower so everyone was there, except for three people. She looked around the room as her heart sunk. Gibson pre-empted her question with a response she already knew.

"They're gone," he mumbled. "Just like that. They left us some things. Scully's Bible and a note but it was rushed. Eddie woke them up in the middle of the night and took them while you were all asleep. I'm sorry. They didn't want me to wake anyone up."

"Did you say goodbye?" Monica asked, tears stinging her eyes as she fought to hold them in. Gibson bit his lower lip and blushed with guilt as he nodded. "What's going to happen?"

"Eddie's taking them home," he answered. "Food and water permitting the timing is up to them. He won't stay with them, but he'll stay around and they'll work out a signal so that he'll know...and they want him to burn the house to the ground. Then he'll come back. I think he'll be upset. He really likes them. It's not his fault. They would have done this anyway."

"What if they change their mind?" Sarah asked.

"They won't," Gibson replied seriously.

"And so we're just supposed to be okay?" Monica asked. "Just have a cry and move on?"

"Mulder and Scully have faith that we can," he stated. "We'll have time alone here. The others won't come until maybe after you have the baby. You don't have to be okay Mon, but they made their decision, and we've made ours, and we're going to stick together still, right?"

"Always," she whispered, nodding and glancing at her son. He looked happy scribbling on a piece of paper with a pencil. Monica was so grateful they had survived and that they would go on and live. She would be able to raise her family, and they would be a small group of people but they could make it work. They had to. They had help, and they were no longer in an unfamiliar jungle with wrecked shelters and no medicines. She knew they would be okay.

The world was suddenly as small as a string of Pacific Islands, but it was their world, her earth. It was fresh and real and living, and they would embrace it. She had no choice, but it was more than, two years or even two months previously, she could have even hoped for.