When Scully woke up in the hallway of a hospital, her back and neck ached, which really shouldn't have surprised her. Throughout her partnership with Mulder, she had learned to take stealthy naps in innumerable hospitals, police stations, cars, or anywhere else Mulder found himself in trouble. No matter the time, place, or risk to her safety, Scully was there when Mulder needed her.

In the latest in his exhaustive list of rash decisions, Mulder went searching for the historic British luxury liner, the S.S. Queen Anne, in the Bermuda Triangle. Even for him, it was spectacularly foolish. Thankfully, he told the Lone Gunmen what he was doing, otherwise, he still might be facedown at sea. With scant information from the Gunmen, Scully used every resource at her disposal – and the FBI's disposal – to track down his location. She even involved Skinner, who reluctantly helped, even at the risk of hurting his career.

To Scully, all that mattered was that she found him alive. Despite Mulder's recklessness, his tendency to barrel headfirst into danger, and his absolutely infuriating stubbornness, Scully would always find him.

After all, she could yell at him once he healed.

Her fierce loyalty to Mulder couldn't be explained merely by their work partnership or professional courtesy anymore. With the X-Files officially closed, her passion for the work was no longer an excuse for her enduring devotion to him. Anyone with eyes could see that the relationship they had cultivated over the past six years had become deeply personal.

It didn't happen consciously of course, but somewhere along the line, Scully had imprinted on Mulder. The most primal part of her brain had decided that he was the one person she would follow anywhere. She didn't wake up one day and think, I want to spend my life alongside a man who believes in cryptids and aliens. Still, at some point, he became the sun in her solar system, entirely inextricable from her life.

This brand of loyalty ran deep in the Scully family DNA, exemplified by Scully's parents. If you asked any of the Scully children, they would claim no parents in the history of the world were more devoted to each other than Maggie and Bill Sr.

Bill Sr.'s career as a Navy captain led their family all over the country. It couldn't have been easy for Maggie, uprooting the family every couple of years when her husband's job required it. Not to mention doing it all while raising four willful children. The kids put up a fight every time they had to move, particularly the eldest two as they approached their teen years. Through it all, however, their parents presented a united front. They never disagreed on anything in front of the children. They never allowed any cracks in their relationship to show. Bill Sr. was the unwavering captain of the family, giving his marching orders, and Maggie seemed content to follow his lead. She supported him for better or for worse.

Love is a choice, Maggie would say.

Scully grew up longing for that kind of connection with another person. The tragic irony was that their transient lifestyle made that wish impossible to fulfill.

After the first few times Scully fell into deep friendships only to be plucked away from them, she learned not to grow too attached to anyone. She never had a large circle of friends or many boyfriends either. Sleepovers, school dances, and make-out parties were not regular occurrences. Even on the off-chance she was invited to a social event, she kept her cards close to her chest. She avoided getting too emotionally invested in any one person. Scully wasn't an unhappy child, though. Just a bit lonely.

In retrospect, Scully realized how much her mother sacrificed for the benefit of the family. As an adult, Scully still held their relationship in high regard and respected it. She had no desire to be in a romantic relationship with such traditional gender roles. However, despite her best efforts, her parents' relationship still had sneaky ways of creeping into her dating tendencies. She found herself drawn to men in positions of authority, men who often ended up being woefully emotionally unavailable.

Thus, in these early romantic relationships, she ended up stuck in the same tired pattern as her childhood friendships. She didn't allow herself emotional vulnerability with these boyfriends. Compartmentalizing her feelings became a habit. Inevitably these relationships didn't last and she was left still yearning to feel closeness with someone.

When Mulder came into Scully's life, she felt an instant, intense intellectual connection. It scared her, at first, how easily she became consumed by his quest and by him. What began as an amiable work partnership, rapidly transformed into a true friendship. Their friendship blossomed, accelerating at lightning speed, and Scully didn't stop it. She didn't pump the brakes. She let him in, at least by Scully's standards. To an outsider, it probably didn't look that way. She still guarded the most vulnerable parts of her heart from harm. And, sure, it wasn't romance. It wasn't sex. But for the first time, maybe ever, she let another person get close to her.

This time her father couldn't rip her away at a moment's notice.

When Mulder eventually regained consciousness in the hospital, he was surrounded by an exasperated Scully leaning over his bedside. Skinner and the Lone Gunmen also showed up to check on him. Finding him had been a group effort, so it was only fair that they got visual confirmation Mulder survived his jaunt to the Bermuda Triangle. He not only survived, but he claimed he found the ghost ship by time-traveling back to 1939. Like some twisted version of the final scene in The Wizard of Oz, he claimed each of them had doppelgängers on the ship – 1939 versions of each of them. Oh, and Nazis were there too. Lovely.

"You were there, Scully," he insisted as she leaned over his bedside. Nodding to Skinner, he added, "And he was there too."

"He's delirious," Langly muttered.

He wasn't wrong. Mulder was drugged out of his mind, compliments of the attending doctor.

"Right, me and my dog Toto," Skinner quipped, setting down a bouquet of obligatory hospital visit flowers on Mulder's bedside table.

Scully had to break it to him that all they found on the Queen Anne was wreckage. But he wouldn't let it go. He insisted that 1939 Scully was on the ship accompanying a scientist who could build an atomic bomb. He apparently convinced this other Scully to turn the ship around, thus saving the world and preserving the outcome of history.

With fervor, he said, "You and I were on that ship, Scully. In 1939." As he spoke, he tapped her waist several times in rapid succession to keep her attention. His eyes were fixated on her alone, ignoring the rest of his visitors.

At that point, Skinner and the Gunmen took that as a cue to leave them alone to speak privately.

Mulder continued without missing a beat, "I would've never seen you again. But you believed me."

Of course. Of course that was his takeaway from this hallucination – that Scully believed him. She wanted to laugh, but his expression was so sincere, so genuinely awestruck, that she didn't have the heart to do it. It was sweet, actually.

She smiled and leaned in closer. Deciding to tease him just a little, she replied, "In your dreams. Mulder, I want you to close your eyes and I want you to think to yourself: There's no place like home."

He nodded with a faint smile, and she turned to leave.

Before she reached the door, Mulder beckoned, "Hey, Scully." He propped himself up on his elbow, prompting her to return to his bedside.

With reluctance, Scully walked back to his bed and gripped the hospital bed rails with both hands. "Yes?" she implored, indulging him.

Mulder paused for so long, staring into her eyes with grave seriousness, she wondered if the drugs had taken over and made him lose his train of thought.

Finally, solemnly, he said, "I love you."

Clearly he was suffering from some kind of head trauma.

Her stomach lurched at his words and her instinct was to deflect.

"Oh brother," was all she could muster before she quickly exited the room.

Back in the hallway, Scully didn't have any time to process Mulder's confession because she found herself face-to-face with Skinner and the Lone Gunmen. They were having a chuckle at Mulder's expense, poking fun at his ravings about their 1939 counterparts. When they saw Scully, they immediately shut up.

"How is he?" Skinner asked.

"He's going to be fine. You can go. There's no reason for all of us to be here."

"You sure you don't want to grab a nap at the hotel? It's been a long day. I could stay with him for a while."

"No, that's OK, sir. I appreciate the offer, but I would prefer to stay with him. I'm his doctor."

Technically it was the truth, though everyone knew Mulder's health wasn't in any serious danger. Skinner nodded.

"Mulder's a lucky man," Frohike remarked. "I would kill to have the lovely Agent Scully tending to my bedside."

Langly elbowed Frohike.

"Come on, we're all thinking it."

Once they all left, Scully collapsed into the chair outside Mulder's room, her heart racing. In the safety of solitude, she finally let herself recall what Mulder had said.

I love you.

Maybe Mulder wasn't the only one hallucinating. Did he really say those words? Had she imagined it? More importantly, did he mean it?

I love you.

She closed her eyes, conjuring the words in her head, replaying them. She imagined his face, the intensity in his eyes. His voice had been low, gravelly, intimate.

I love you.

The words echoed so loudly in her mind that she worried others walking by could overhear it. She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. Mulder was highly medicated. He likely wouldn't even remember anything he said. She kept reminding herself of this fact, but it couldn't erase the memory of his words.

Love was not a word she allowed herself to indulge in when it came to Mulder. That word was much too risky to contemplate. That word meant vulnerability. That word meant knocking down the last barriers between them.

With nothing to do but sit silently with her thoughts, her mind drifted to what Mulder had said in his apartment hallway a few short months ago.

You kept me honest. You made me a whole person.

The memory sent warm chills through her body. Since that fateful day, she had run the words over in her mind so many times they had become well-worn and grooved. She never wanted to forget them. Worse, she wanted to hear them again.

After he said those heartfelt words, he tried to kiss her. A real kiss. Not a friendly forehead kiss. He had tried to kiss her on the lips. Much to her chagrin, that was another moment she found herself revisiting in her head too many times to count.

Her heart hammered in her chest, something akin to adrenaline coursing through her. Up until the kiss, everything he said could have been attributed to strong feelings of friendship. But then he tried to kiss her and everything took on a different meaning.

Each time she remembered that moment, she found a way to rationalize it. He got caught up in the moment. He was afraid to lose her for the sake of the work. He was trying to manipulate her into not quitting. That last one she didn't believe he was capable of. But sometimes, in moments when she felt particularly low, the darkest part of her inner voice would taunt her with the possibility.

Add that to the list of thoughts that were off-limits and needed to be properly compartmentalized. They hadn't acknowledged that moment since it happened and it was uncertain if they ever would. Remembering his lips so close, his warm hands reverently cradling her face sent goosebumps up her arms.

She tried to quiet her racing mind with a few deep breaths. In her short stints in therapy, her therapist taught her a breathing exercise. With all her mental tossing and turning, it took several rounds to slow her rapidly beating heart, but it did eventually work. Lulled into a drowsy state, Scully felt the strong pull of sleep as the day's events dropped their full weight on her. Despite the unforgiving rigidity of that damned chair, she dozed off.

She woke to the sound of Mulder's voice calling out to her. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she checked her watch. It had been no more than an hour since she left his room.

"Scully?" he called, sounding small and tentative. She sprung to her feet and rushed back into his room.

"What's wrong? Do you need something? Are you in pain?"

He grinned, not a hint of pain on his face. Except, that is, for a darkening bruise she hadn't noticed before on the left side of his face.

Scully crossed the room and sat on his bed where there was a gap in the rails and gently turned his head.

"Mulder, what happened to your face?"

Grinning like a fool, he replied slyly, "You punched me."

Still drugged, she reminded herself.

"What? What are you talking about?" She touched the bruise gingerly and he flinched.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"On the Queen Anne. You punched me right before I jumped overboard."

Scully rolled her eyes but couldn't help a tiny smirk.

"This past Scully is starting to sound a lot more like me."

"Yeah, she thought I was crazy too." He laughed warmly and placed his hand on top of hers.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes shining with earnestness.

"For what?"

"For finding me. You always find me. And I'll always find you."

He squeezed her hand. For a long moment, he simply gazed at her face, his eyes running over her like a caress. It was hard to resist his charms when he was like this, so pliant and open. She had to be careful. She could get lost in those hazel puppy dog eyes.

"I just realized something," he said, his face lighting up.

"What's that?"

"You went to the ends of the Earth for me." He said it like a revelation, like he solved some mystery she didn't know existed. He then added, "Just like I did."

She assumed he was referring to their recent stint in Antarctica when he saved her life. Right after they almost kissed. She shook her head, warring those thoughts away once again.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand, his eyes soft but intense, watching her closely.

"I'm sorry, Scully."

She tilted her head, trying to understand where she lost the thread of the conversation. Talking to him in this state was like reading a scientific article with every third sentence missing.

"Sorry for what?"

"Diana," he said simply—no further explanation required.

The abrupt mention of Diana's name surprised her. Her face fell before she could temper her reaction. What happened was still fresh, and she hadn't let herself fully process her feelings about Diana yet. The day's events made her realize she hadn't processed quite a few things that happened recently.

Mulder studied her face, noticing her every micro-expression in response to Diana's name. She recovered quickly, setting her face back to a neutral expression, but it wasn't quick enough. This wasn't new behavior – Mulder often observed her, likely using his profiling skills to assess her emotional states. On top of his training, Mulder was the most intuitive man she had ever known. It could be a blessing or a curse, depending on the context. In this context, she hoped he wouldn't read her so easily. Hopefully, the drugs dulled his emotional intelligence.

"I hurt you," he whispered. He said it like it confirmed something he had been thinking, something he knew all along. He reached up and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. The gesture was achingly intimate, and she fought the urge to lean into it.

In front of most people, Scully appeared unflappable, unhurtable. The truth was Mulder did hurt her. Deeply. Since Diana crashed into their lives a few months prior, Scully had experienced severe emotional whiplash. The way Mulder seemed to vacillate between them confused and upset her. And today, suddenly, I love you.

"I'm sorry," he said again, giving her cheek a final brush of his thumb before lowering his hand.

She didn't know what to say. A lump formed in her throat, emotion welling up inside her. This was new – Mulder apologizing explicitly for his actions. Usually, they just moved on from their transgressions, burying their feelings because they knew that ultimately no mistake was too insurmountable to forgive. Her resolve melted, the edges of her anger thawing under his gaze.

"Thank you," she finally said, nodding. "Thank you for saying that."

"Do you believe me?"

There it was again. He wanted her to believe him, to acknowledge it verbally. Even for this small thing, for this apology, he craved the words from her.

"I do. I believe you."

He smiled, and she lovingly brushed a lock of his hair off his forehead.

"She was my girlfriend," he suddenly blurted out. He then comically covered his mouth like he had unleashed a huge secret.

For that brief, touching moment she had forgotten how highly medicated he was, and his outburst brought her back to reality.

"I know," she replied.

"You know? You knew this whole time?"

"Frohike told me."

Mulder contemplated her words for a long moment. She saw the wheels spinning in his head and wondered what this knowledge meant to him.

"We were bad together. Well, good at the beginning. Then bad. Really, really bad." Mulder mimicked an explosion with both his hands and made a corresponding whooshing sound.

She laughed politely. While it gave her some guilty pleasure knowing their romantic relationship ended on negative terms, she hated hearing about it all the same. Diana's name caused a visceral physical reaction in her, and it pained her to know that she had that power.

He rambled on, oblivious to Scully's distress, "I was young. I rushed into things. Then I got burned. But she and I found the X-Files together, so . . . it's hard to let go. I still want to believe she's a good person."

This confession wasn't quite what she had in mind when she encouraged him to share more about Diana. In the moment she asked, she had yearned for any explanation for his actions. He guarded the true nature of his relationship with Diana, and Scully had been desperate to understand why. Now she regretted ever wanting to know more.

As much as it hurt to hear, though, it all made sense. His sense of loyalty to her, his predisposition to trust her. With their shared past, Diana knew how to press his buttons and gain his trust. And she knew how to manipulate him.

He walked his fingers over her forearm. In his drugged state, he was quite handsy.

"I don't want you to think I still . . ." he started, but trailed off.

She raised her eyebrows, both wanting and not wanting him to finish that sentence.

You kept me honest. You made me a whole person.

Her stomach somersaulted remembering that day again. She broke eye contact and looked down at her hands, unable to handle his emotional nakedness any longer.

"You should get some rest," she said half-heartedly, rising from the bed and putting back on her mask of professionalism.

He held onto her forearm at first, not letting go. Then he saw something in her face that made him say gently, "OK, Scully."

"I'll check on you in a few hours," she said and walked out of the room.

Once she cleared the doorway, she rested her back against the wall. She covered her face with her hands and let out a shaky exhale. Thinking back over everything that had transpired over the past twenty-four hours – hell, the past few months – completely overwhelmed her.

She sat back down in the chair and stared blankly at the tile floor. Before he had tried to kiss her, it was so much easier to lock away her feelings. Romance was simply off-limits before. The boundaries were clear. In her mind, it was black and white. She liked black and white. Even her initial jealousy over Diana was easier to process then. Because, then, Mulder had never shown her any romantic intent beyond the throwaway flirty joke.

Post-thwarted kiss, every interaction felt more complicated, especially since they hadn't addressed what happened. Everything felt heavier, more personal. Mulder acted much more wounded when she didn't believe him about the alien origins of the virus. His dalliances with Diana cut much deeper.

They couldn't continue this way, at least she knew she couldn't. She needed clarity about their relationship or else she might drown in this sea of uncertainty. With dread, she realized that she couldn't bury her feelings much longer. She needed to pull them out, bathe them in light, and examine them.

She made a promise to herself in that sterile, white hospital hallway. She would unpack her feelings, no matter how difficult, before they consumed her.