Title: Desperate Measures Author: Alelou E-mail: alelou123@aol.com / feedback welcome! Rating: PG-13 for occasional bad language Category: Angst, H, MSR Spoilers: One Son & practically everything up to the last quarter of Season 6 -- say, just before The Unnatural and its happy cavorting. Keywords: Mulder Angst, Scully Angst, MSR (a veritable angst-o-rama), Mytharc Summary: Mulder finally realizes that his relationship with Scully has been deeply damaged by the events of One Son. Disclaimer: Chris Carter's and 1013's, not mine. Archive: Yeah, but I'll be really annoyed if it ends up in the Badfic Archive. Additional Notes: This probably isn't an original title. My apologies if I accidentally ripped somebody off. And I worship at the altar of MystPhile's beta-reading. DESPERATE MEASURES His first mistake was thinking that she had forgiven him. Sure, she was pissed at him for days after that encounter at the Lone Gunman's when she'd argued that Diana was duping him and he'd accused her of making it personal. Mulder couldn't exactly blame her for that -- he now had to admit that in all likelihood she'd been right about Diana, and that Scully's personal involvement in the X Files was even greater than his, if you counted stolen ova, dead relatives, and missing time. But one of the great things about Scully was that she knew what a jerk he could be and yet had hung in there with him for years. When they were given back the X Files, she didn't murmur another word about not continuing with him. And though the arrangements they made to get the X Files back on track were somewhat cool on her side, she showed no lack of commitment. Yet, as the weeks went by, and they worked together as professionally as ever, he began to notice a lack of something. He wasn't sure what. Indulgence? In the past when she'd disagreed with him she'd always done so in a way that suggested affectionate respect as well as exasperation. She didn't really seem as exasperated with him lately as she was weary. Distant. On a good day, tolerant. Nor had she shown much enjoyment in playing house with him in California -- on the contrary, her discomfort came through loud and clear. She also hadn't called him outside of the office except on business, but that wasn't terribly unusual for them. When he called her, which he had begun to do increasingly often, she was polite but soon brought the conversation to a close. But Mulder didn't panic. Later, he thought this may have been his second mistake: deciding that he'd wait for Scully to warm to him again. Because she never did. And then one day in the basement he caught her rolling her eyes at something he'd just said and he felt his heart painfully contract. It was just so obvious that somehow, somewhere, Dana Scully had joined the rest of the world that already held him in contempt. "You hate me," he said, sharing the realization. "What?" He had, after all, just been theorizing at some length about possible paranormal involvement in a series of suspicious crashes involving antique cars. "I see it in your face, Scully. You hate me." "I don't hate you, Mulder." She turned away from him, withdrew to her working area and opened a folder. "What then?" he demanded, following her into her space. "You just don't like me, is that it?" She kept her back to him. "Do we really need to discuss this right now?" "You don't think it's worth discussing?" "No, I really don't." And she turned and looked at him with an expression of implacable coldness that said it all for her. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, he fled. xxx He didn't go to work the next day. He was exhausted because he hadn't slept. Most of all, however, he was hoping she'd check on him the way she always had when she knew he was upset. But she didn't. She didn't call, she didn't come by. It was a Friday, and the silence continued all weekend. Nothing. She wasn't going to rescue Fox Mulder from himself this time. Or, seemingly, ever again. At two o'clock Sunday afternoon Mulder was surprised to find himself sobbing painfully. At five o'clock he'd pulled himself together, and showed up at her apartment, determined to argue his way back into Scully's good graces. But she wasn't there. He let himself in but noticed nothing amiss, so he told himself he'd just go kill some time and try again to catch her at home later. He headed to the Lone Gunmen. It had been a long time since he'd been there, too. A little male bonding might soothe his soul at this point, he figured. Langly seemed reluctant about letting him in, but finally opened up. Mulder was surprised to find Scully sitting there, eating a sub in front of a computer screen. "What are you doing here?" "Checking out some stuff." "Stuff?" Her response was dry. "Yeah, you know, X Files stuff." "Oh." Was it his imagination, or were the guys all looking at him like he'd developed a bad smell? "So what do you have?" She looked appraisingly at him, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to share the information, then gestured to the screen. "See for yourself." She got up from the chair and moved to another one, taking another bite of her sub. The Lone Gunmen exchanged glances. He stared at the screen, though he honestly couldn't care less what it said. It appeared to be a cargo manifest. "What's this?" "Shipping manifests," Frohike finally offered. "To and from Tunisia from Plymouth, England. For a company called Purity Futures Ltd. Weekly shipments over a period of seven years, suspended just recently. A lot of agricultural and medical supplies. Beekeeping supplies. Et cetera." "Ah." "You'll see a name, Diana Franklin, on a bunch of them. That's an alias we've traced to your friend Diana Fowley during that period." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Frohike's voice. It appeared the guys had taken sides, and Mulder wasn't on the right one. Scully wadded up what was left of her sub in the wrapper and stood and stretched. "Well, thanks, guys, it's been real. Time for me to head for home." "Anytime, Dana," Byers said. "Yeah," Frohike added, glaring at Mulder. "I need to talk to you, Scully," Mulder said. "I'll be in the office tomorrow." "I need to talk to you NOW." "Okay," she sighed. "We'll talk." xxxx She'd agreed to meet him at his place. He realized on the way over that this might not be the best thing since he'd let it fall into shambles over the last few days. But then, why not let her see how distraught he was? She followed him silently up the hall and into his living room where she stood, making no move to take off her coat, and surveyed the wreckage. "Forgot to have the cleaning lady in this week," he joked. She just nodded. "Want a drink?" "No, thank you. So, you wanted to talk to me?" "Can you please sit down?" She sat down and looked at him expectantly. "I'm just trying to figure it out, Scully," he said. "Figure what out?" "Why you hate me." "I told you before, Mulder, I don't hate you." "Okay, then, why you don't like me, don't want to be near me, don't want to talk to me, whatever the hell it is that makes you sit there like that and look at me like that." She started shaking her head. Mulder felt tears fill his eyes and swallowed hard for control. "If I ever meant anything to you, Scully, tell me the truth. What did I do?" She folded her arms and looked at the floor instead of at him. "You threw in with them, Mulder." He gaped. "I threw in with them? What are you talking about?" "Well, Mulder," she said, slowly and patiently, as if explaining something complex to a child. "Are you telling me you didn't propose that I join you and Diana Fowley in going to El Rico Air Force Base to save our sorry butts while the rest of humanity got wiped out?" "Given the choice between that and going with you, I went with you." "And you want to tell me you weren't still hoping to get there and get in on it when we didn't stop that train?" "I just wanted to see my sister!" "And as long as they can dangle Samantha in front of you, who knows what decisions you'll make. Or what lies you'll believe." Mulder stared at her, appalled. "I didn't sell anybody out," he said. "I didn't make any deals with aliens. For God's sake, I've been doing everything I can for ten years to stop this thing." He looked for any sign of softening in her countenance and saw none, so he continued. "Just because when it seemed absolutely hopeless I wanted you and me to survive -- just because I wanted to see my sister -- the whole reason I started looking into this thing in the first place -- you say I threw in with them?" "I'm not saying you thought the thing through carefully," Scully answered, calmly. "But that would have been the result, assuming the thing worked even the least bit the way they said it would. It astonishes me that you still don't see that." She took a breath and continued, her voice betraying just a tremor. "So I'm deeply concerned about your judgment in a way that I wasn't before." "Yeah, I'm getting that," he said. She took a deep breath. "Look, I don't hate you, Mulder. I have every intention of working by your side on the X Files for as long as it takes. But I'd be lying if I told you things haven't changed." She paused, then added gently, "My loyalties have transferred a bit -- less to you, more to the human race in general. But I still consider you --" She hesitated, her face suddenly desolate, and continued softly, "-- My friend." "Your friend," he echoed bitterly. She stood up, coat still on, ready to go and looking intensely uncomfortable. "It's getting late, Mulder. We can talk some more tomorrow if you want. Assuming you're coming to work tomorrow." "Do you honestly care one way or the other whether I do?" "Of course I care. The X Files needs your intellect, your passion --" "Fuck the X Files. This is about you and me." There was no mistaking the angry flush on her face now. "I wouldn't know about that, Mulder. But in any case we have more important priorities now." She headed for the door. "How dare you say you wouldn't know about that!" She didn't turn around, just kept moving. "Scully!" She didn't slow down. So he followed her, yelling. "But you never do say, do you, Scully! Are you telling me that I've just imagined for all these years that we mattered to each other? That for six years I wouldn't dream of living in a world that doesn't have you in it five days a week and more if you'll let me -- and you've just been thinking of me as an eccentric work partner?" He started to cry, breath hitching as he struggled for the air to keep yelling. "Why don't you just take out your fucking gun and shoot me!" She stopped, finally, leaning her head against his door, one hand on the doorknob. He pointed to his chest, screaming. "Come on, Scully, right in the heart!" He was openly sobbing now. He dropped to his knees next to her and grabbed her around her waist, holding on fiercely. He pressed his head into her coat, not looking up for fear that when he did he'd see the end of it all in her face, not letting go because he couldn't bear the thought of her walking out the door. His sobs quieted when he realized she was stroking his hair. He hadn't realized until that very moment how desperately he'd been missing her touch, and he hugged her even harder. "I love you, Scully," he said, still not daring to look at her. "I love you. I'm sorry if I wasn't clear on this before, but I love you and I have loved you for years and I can't live without you. Please, please, please don't ask me to." Her hand stopped moving and they stood suspended in a moment. Then she spoke very gently to him. "Mulder, come on, get up. I'm not leaving, okay?" Soft, gentle, compassionate -- but not rocked by what he had said. Pained, even. He risked a glance up at her sad face and felt the hope he had nurtured for all these years -- the one he'd never had the nerve to really test before, that somehow she really did love him in the same consuming way that he loved her -- flicker and die. He got up slowly and stiffly, fighting a strange sense of numbness that was settling on him. "Guess I shouldn't bother trying to kiss you this time." "No. I'm sorry." He made his way over to his couch and dropped nervelessly onto it. "Well, you'd probably just get stung by a bee or something anyway." And then as memory supplied how raw emotion had overpowered her that day, he buried his face in his hands. Scully stood near the end of his sofa, not leaving but obviously not wanting to stay. Her voice was soft and regretful. "For the longest time I wondered if I just hallucinated that whole thing. What you said -- you just went on later as if nothing had happened. But it did happen, didn't it?" "Of course it did." "Look, Mulder," she said in her sensible tone of voice. "I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving the X Files. You don't need to panic here." "Did I ever mean more to you than this?" he asked point blank. She turned away for a moment, as if she were considering just walking out. When she turned back to him it was with obvious reluctance. "If I tell you yes, you're going to hound me day and night. If I tell you no..." "Just tell me the truth, please." "Yes, of course you did. You knew that. " "And that ended because you think I threw in with them?" "No. Though I have to admit that certainly helped me move on, emotionally." "Then what?" God, not the desk, he suddenly thought. "I guess Diana ... the fact that you never told me anything about her, that you never, generally, tell me anything you don't have to, even when it's about my own body." She grimaced. "That you never brought up what started to happen in that hallway again. I guess I began to see it all as a pattern of manipulation." "Manipulation?" he squeaked, outraged. "I'm not saying it's conscious or premeditated, Mulder." She sighed. "And it's not that I didn't know that somehow behind all those secrets and silences you had strong feelings for me. Hell, you went all the way to Antarctica. I'll always be grateful to you -- for so many things, not just that." She looked at the floor for a moment, then seemed to make a decision and looked him straight in the eye. "But after six years of working closely with you, I just don't believe that you are capable of ever having a healthy loving relationship with another person." Oh. Mulder could have sworn that she had literally kicked him in the stomach as he sat there breathless and hunched over, protecting his middle from any more assaults. Perhaps noticing his distress, she quickly qualified what she had said. "Or at least, Mulder, not with me." Her voice had dropped to a low, sad murmur. "So I decided it was time to disengage." He could no longer do anything but sit there and wait dumbly for the next blow. But she approached him and gently squeezed his shoulder, murmuring, "I know this is painful. I'm sorry to hurt you, I really am. I hope you'll find your way through it, though. I think it's for the best." He looked at her defiantly, impatiently wiping away tears that had started again when she touched him, and said, "I will never, ever think that." She smiled sadly, blinking back a few tears of her own. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I think you need some time to think about it, in any case. I'm going to go now. But I'm still your partner, Mulder ... if you want me to be." Was that a note of fear and uncertainty in her voice at last? The better part of him wanted to scream, "Of course you are, Scully, always, forever," but the small, hurting child inside him took this first opportunity to strike back. "I don't know anymore. I'll let you know." She stared at him for a moment, then nodded quickly and left without another word. xxx Mulder took the next two days off work. Once the initial feeling of having been stomped in the stomach had passed, and he was able to at least dress and shave and make short if not terribly effective stabs at tidying the apartment, he found himself brooding endlessly over their conversation, replaying the entire last year in light of it and analyzing all the places where he'd taken wrong turns ... and then gone on unwitting for so long afterwards. Next, he analyzed her argument, looking for flaws, looking for signs of Scully being untruthful with herself or with him, and worrying that one phrase of hers over and over, unable to leave it alone: "not capable of having a healthy loving relationship with another person." What was the point of quibbling about whether a loving relationship was healthy, he argued with her in his mind, when the whole human race was in imminent danger of destruction? That must not be enough of an answer, he decided. A woman thing, maybe. Or just a normal-person thing. She was always nostalgic for a normality that he'd never experienced in his life and probably wouldn't recognize if it reached out and hit him in the face. And in his despairing moments, he thought that she was, of course, right about him. He sucked at relationships. He was not loveable. Everything in his life pointed toward that inescapable conclusion. And yet, no one could ever, ever love her as he did. Wasn't that worth something? Didn't she understand that? Obviously not. And, as she'd pointed out, he'd never told her except in moments when it was awfully damned convenient. Or he was drugged up the wazoo. And he remembered her other comment, that if she said yes, he'd hound her day and night. Damned straight. xxxx On Wednesday he showed up for work with new resolve. He was going to behave himself, work hard, be attentive and respectful, and chip away day by day at the conclusions she'd drawn about him. He'd even make some gestures toward figuring out the "healthy" part of that healthy loving relationship requirement. He was willing to verb counseling. Hell, he'd even go to a communications seminar if she wanted. He'd read "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus." And in the meantime, at least they were working together. When Scully came in, he looked up and said "Morning, Scully," then couldn't help adding, "Hey, are you all right?" She looked gaunt and tired, as if she hadn't slept any more than he had. "So what's the verdict?" she asked, icily. She put her briefcase down and turned to face him, arms folded. "Verdict?" "You were going to let me know whether you still wanted us to be partners?" He gaped. God, he had said something like that, hadn't he? "So have you made your decision yet?" she asked, voice dripping with contempt. God, he was a shithead. "I'm so sorry, Scully. I forgot I even said that. It was never even an issue. I was just being a jerk. Like I always am, right? Jesus Christ, no wonder you hate me." His morning resolve melted away into something close to tears again. Couldn't he do anything right? Why did he think he even had a chance in hell? She sat down at the table that functioned as her desk when she was in that office and looked completely done in. And she didn't say anything about not hating him this time. The silence was more than he could bear, so he got up and took her a cup of coffee. "Thank you," she said, stiffly, not looking up. "I told you already, Scully, that you owe me nothing, and that I owe you everything." "Yeah," she said, clearly unimpressed. "So now I owe you even more." She half-snorted. That was the closest he was going to get to a truce, he knew. "So what did I miss while I was out?" xxx Later in the morning, as they were both working on paperwork, he saw her yawning and stretching uncomfortably and it suddenly struck him that if Scully had actually lost sleep over whether they would be partners, that must mean that she was still emotionally invested, somehow, in this thing. Not just the X Files, but their partnership. There was still an ember burning there, however small. He resisted his initial urge to do a little victory dance and cleverly share this insight, however. Little breaths were called for, lest he blow the ember out. xxx For the next four weeks, Mulder was the model partner. He followed rules and regulations, he kept his partner fully informed, he made coffee, he did his share of the paperwork, and he offered to bring her lunch every day they were in the office, although she steadily declined all such offers. He opened doors and offered all his usual courtesies as well, except that he stopped touching her on her back in that shepherding way that he had, and he avoided crowding into her personal space or turning her comments into leering innuendo. He had taken liberties unconsciously for years that he now felt were not his to take, and even if he wanted to, he was too self-conscious now to do it. She didn't seem to notice the difference, though she complimented him on the improved work habits. He was a little concerned that the next time they were out in the field, he would somehow have lost the knack of working with her in that way they had, not needing much communication, but they were fine. It was all fine. It just wasn't what he wanted. He ached everyday to touch her, to lean into her, to smell her, to provoke that raised eyebrow or even a stifled smile, to talk to her without reserve. He missed her in a way that physically hurt, and even though his new and improved behavior was all part of a long-term plan to gain back her trust and respect, in the end he found himself just getting depressed. She was perfectly happy to go on this way forever, apparently, but he didn't eat as well, his sleeping got even more sporadic, and he came down with the first cold he'd had in years. "Why don't you go home, Mulder?" she said, kindly, as he sniffed and coughed his way through preparations for a stake-out of a fertility clinic that they thought might have some links to the project. "I can handle this." "I'm fine," he insisted, only just resisting the urge to sanctimoniously quote stakeout protocol at her. "If I get sick, it's your fault," she said. "So what else is new," he replied, grumpily. xxx They sat in the car silently watching the clinic as the sun dropped in the sky. Couples and singles, mostly women, walked in and out, most of them looking intense, one couple crying. Jesus, Mulder thought, this must be fun for Scully. Another thing that's my fault. "You know, not everything is your fault." He stared at her, stunned, then realized that she was referring to his earlier comment. "That's a variation on that line about not everything being about me, isn't it?" The truth was that he just wasn't feeling well enough to avoid snarling. "This just isn't working, is it?" she responded, glumly. "What do you mean?" he asked, pulse suddenly pounding. "Look at you, Mulder. You're miserable. This isn't fun anymore, it's just misery. For years I was afraid that if we tried a real relationship, the partnership wouldn't be able to handle it. And now, all we've done is talk about how we're not going to have a relationship, and the partnership can't handle it. It's like all along we had one, but just didn't acknowledge it, and now whatever it was, this ephemeral thing we never talked about, it's just falling apart." "Maybe it's just going through a rough patch." "Pretty damned rough," she said tearfully. "I thought you were liking all this just fine." She didn't answer, just sniffed and looked out the window. "I will do whatever it takes, Scully. Anything. I just don't know what it takes. You've got to tell me." "I tried, Mulder. It just isn't in you. Or maybe it isn't in me. Maybe our time has just passed." "I refuse to accept that. You just have to tell me what you want, Scully. Something specific. For instance, we could go to counseling if you want." "Counseling?" Suddenly she looked incredibly amused. "Yeah. Whatever it takes, Scully." "Just what kind of counseling do you suggest, Mulder?" "I don't know. You like that counselor of yours. She helps you, right?" "She's in the Employee Assistance Program." "Right." "Let me get this straight. You think we should go to the FBI's Employee Assistance Program for help dealing with the issues in our partnership?" "So, whatever. Private counseling. Couples counseling." "We're not a couple." "We *are* a couple. People always think we are. We're like an old married couple. And as far as I'm concerned, Scully, I am married to you, in all the ways that really count." She looked taken aback for a moment, but that soon changed into her Mulder-you-are-so-full-of-shit face. "You're married to me?" "Yes. Like one of those animals that mates for life, Scully. You know, like a wolf ... or, um, a parrot." He winced. There must be better examples, but he couldn't think of any right now. She digested that for a moment, looking increasingly annoyed. "You know what, Mulder?" "What?" "You really suck as a husband." He sighed. "I never said I was a good husband." "Well, that's true. You've got me there. Of course for that matter you never said you were a husband." The fertility center had been dark for over an hour now. No movement anywhere, no cars in the parking lot. "You know, this place looks pretty dead," Mulder said. "Maybe we should call it a night." "It's only nine," he said. "Someone could still show." She sighed. "All right." She sounded so weary. They sat there for a long time, in a silence that was not companionable. "I have a wedding present for you already, you know," Mulder said, heart starting to pound as he found himself suddenly revealing something he hadn't planned to tell her anytime soon. "For when you really marry. Whether it's me or somebody else. But you're going to be angry with me for not telling you about it sooner." "Not telling me what?" Mulder swallowed. "I never told you that I took a vial of your ova out of Lombard." Her mouth fell open. "I had it with me that morning when Penny Northern died. I figured it wouldn't be much good after so much time had passed, but Byers thought we might have a shot. So after your mom came that morning, we took it to a clinic in D.C. where he had contacts." She was silent. He licked his lips nervously and continued. "Apparently oocytes are fairly hard to preserve, you know, unlike embryos. But the technology they used to preserve your eggs was cutting edge. The doctor there was really impressed. And the insulation on the vial was good, too. So, some of the oocytes he refroze. They estimated there were about a hundred still viable. You might be able to use them someday, if they survived the refreezing process." She still didn't say anything, so he continued. "But, since he really didn't know if they would, he also fertilized some of them." Her voice was barely audible. "Fertilized?" "I didn't want to presume too much. So you've got these 16 embryos from an anonymous donor who I promise is not Frohike, nobody you or I know at all. And then you've got another 14 embryos with me as the father because I was hoping that someday you'd be able to stand the thought of being with me." She was staring wide-eyed at him. He swallowed and continued quickly, afraid to hear her reaction to that idea. "I know I should have told you years ago, but you were sick then. I thought it was kinder to wait until you looked like you were in some kind of position to do something about it. And then I knew you'd be angry that I didn't tell you. And I was afraid of what might happen if you decided to go for it, Scully. Not just that I'd probably lose you as my work partner, but because of the damned chip. Who knows what happens in your body when you're pregnant. It just seems very risky." He finally dared to look at her. Tears were running down her face. "Do you hate me?" he asked. She shook her head, and he handed her one of his tissues so she could blow her nose. "How do you know for sure they're mine?" she asked, shakily. "We tested them. They were all clear, Scully. Just you. Nobody and nothing else. No weird stuff at all." "How long do they last?" "Embryos generally can last five or six years, or longer, they don't really know how long. They don't really know about the oocytes." "And who else knows about this?" "Just me and Byers. And you, now. We didn't use real names. The bills get paid through a Swiss account." "Bills?" "Well, they don't store this stuff for free. But it's no big deal." She looked out the window and took deep breaths. "Once you have the embryos, it's not usually too much of a hurdle to get pregnant with IVF. There are women who have done it at the age of 50." She winced. Mulder asked his next question very carefully. "If you didn't know you had a problem with your fertility, Scully, would you be thinking about having a child right now?" She sighed and looked down at her hands. "I don't know. I'd know my time was running out if I didn't. I think about it even now, and that's with the assumption that I'd have to adopt. But I haven't exactly made my life social-worker- friendly. They'd tell me the same thing they told me when I tried to adopt Emily. And they'd be right. The way my life is right now I have a hard time keeping houseplants alive." "Then there's little problem of whether the whole planet will be colonized by aliens." She half-snorted. "Yeah, I guess there's that too." "You don't think that's a serious threat." It was impossible to hide the hurt he felt. This was where he and Scully so often parted ways, he thought. Where he went on ahead and she chose to stay behind. "No, I do, Mulder. I do. I just can't believe that I believe it. It's one of those things I don't like to consciously think about too much. I, Dana Katherine Scully, hold an almost-certain belief in a conspiracy of some other kind of life, not necessarily extraterrestrial in its origins, to take over our planet. I mean, who is this woman? Do I know her? It was easier just letting you do all the heavy lifting in that department. Until you had your own little crisis of faith last year and suddenly there I was, all alone on the lunatic fringe." "Not all alone." "Yeah, well," she said, wearily, apparently not wanting to argue the point. "Nobody's coming here tonight, Mulder." "Yeah, that's how it looks," he agreed. It was nearly 10 and the clinic was still dark and silent. "I'll drive you home." He grabbed her hand to keep her from turning the ignition key. "Scully? Are we okay?" She squinted at him. "Are we okay?" "No worse off than we were when we left the office this evening?" She sighed. "Mulder, I appreciate very much that you've told me the truth. But I have a lot to think about now. For two years I've thought having a child was out of the question, and now you tell me it's not. Maybe that changes things. Maybe it changes nothing. I don't know yet." "Would it help if I told you that if you want to have a child, I'd very much like to be a part of that? In any way you'll let me be?" She stared at him for a moment, and then she started crying. Mulder wasn't sure what to do. She was really out and out crying, and he still didn't feel like he had permission to touch. He reached over awkwardly and rubbed her shoulder, wishing she would just throw herself into his arms and save him from this agony of indecision. But she just sat there and cried. It made him want to cry, too. Finally, her tears subsided. "Why were you crying?" he asked, again providing tissues from his hoard. "I don't know," she sniffed, blowing her nose and looking annoyed the way she always did after crying in front of him. "That was probably the sweetest, most generous thing you've ever said to me." "Those didn't exactly strike me as tears of joy." She folded and refolded her last piece of tissue. "I guess I'm feeling very confused." He waited. "I mean, in a way I'm feeling like I've been waiting all my life for you to say something like that to me. But another part of me wonders if you really mean it, if this isn't just a last-ditch bid to keep me around, like that hallway kiss that you never mentioned again -- a desperate measure to prevent things from changing too much." Oh. "Mulder --" He got out of the car and stumbled into the dark parking lot. "Mulder!" Ah, so now she was chasing him. Were they the most pathetic dysfunctional couple of people in the history of world, or what? She didn't trust him to mean anything he said to her, apparently, but God forbid he should want to get out of the fucking car. "Leave me alone," he growled, starting to walk down a sidewalk with no clear idea of where he was heading. "Mulder, you don't want to talk to me, that's okay. But you're miles away from anything here, and you're not feeling well. At least let me drive you to where you can get a cab. Please." He stopped, enormously frustrated that he didn't have a clue about this neighborhood. "You know, I made it on my own to Antarctica with a bullet wound to the head . I think I can handle suburban Virginia with a cold." Though truth be told, he'd had a lot more energy for Antarctica. "Please, Mulder." She was crying a little again. "All right," he hissed, and stalked back to the car. Once inside, he folded his arms and looked straight out the front, refusing to look at her. She drove him to his apartment building in silence, punctuated only occasionally by a sniff from her, a cough from him. "I'm sorry," she said, as she pulled up and he wrestled his way out of his seatbelt. Sorry for what, he wanted to ask her. That you ever met me? He nodded briefly, not meeting her eyes, and made his escape. xxx The next morning Mulder staggered into the office without having had a moment of sleep. He dropped a plain manila folder on the desk she used in his office, and flirted with the idea of just calling Kimberly and tell her he was heading home. Scully came in right after him. "There's some information for you about that clinic," he said, as nonchalantly as he could. "You might want to look it over this morning." "You look like hell," she murmured. "Yeah, I think I might go home early." He wouldn't look at her. "Mulder, I think I owe you an apology --" "No, I thought about what you said and maybe you were right, Scully. But I don't think we should talk about it here." "We need to talk..." "Not here." "But--" "Not here," he insisted, flicking his eyes toward the lampshade where they had found their most recent bug. "Okay, I'll be upstairs," she said, and took his envelope with her. ### He went upstairs half an hour later and found her still reading through the material he had left for her. This was not really surprising, nor was the hurt look he received when she saw him standing there. "I'm really not feeling well," he said. "Can you take me home?" There was a pause. He held his breath. "Okay." ### On the way home he asked her to pull over near one of the local squares, one busy with tourists and early lunchers. "I thought you weren't feeling well." "Just pull over." She pulled over. He walked her over to the noisiest corner he could find, near a fountain busy with shrieking children and Japanese tourists taking pictures, and sat down on a bench. "It occurred to me in the middle of last night that this is information we really don't want others to find out about. In fact, I think we'd better check your car for bugs." "In which case we're too late," she pointed out. "But maybe we should," she agreed, and then dumped out her purse and took apart every pen she had, plus a few other items for good measure. She even checked the lining of the purse itself. He didn't have anything with him besides a wad of Kleenex and the last few bits of a roll of cough drops. Nothing turned up, though he wondered not for the first time if that chip in her neck doubled as a listening device. Better not to mention that, he decided. One of his nightmares was that someday Scully would decide it wasn't worth having there any longer. When she had put her purse back together she said, "Are you going to try to tell me that concern about bugs is why you never told me you and Diana were married?" "No," he said. The manila envelope he had given to Scully included not only information about her would-be offspring, but a marriage license, a wow divorce decree, his bank balances, Swiss and otherwise, even his obscenely overdue Triple-X bill. "I never told you because I never told anyone we got married, let alone divorced. Plus I knew you wouldn't approve of either the marriage or the divorce." She arched her eyebrows. "Six months?" He shifted uncomfortably. "A little less than a year of dating, one really unfortunate night in Nevada, followed by two months of marriage that neither of us told anyone else about. We never even moved in together. Then four months to get the final decree, by which time she was no longer in the country." "So what happened?" "It just didn't work out." "why didn't it work out?" He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think at some point she realized the X Files were career suicide. Her political instincts were always much better than mine. When she started distancing herself from them, we didn't have as much in common any more. Sex and work were pretty much it. Getting married was just the final straw. I think honestly it was my last-ditch half-drunken effort to fix whatever was wrong. But there wasn't enough there to fix." "And your trust of her is based on this experience?" "No," he said, irked. "We were friends, too, Scully. We parted amicably. I never had any reason to doubt her. Until recently. Even now, I'm not completely convinced she's an enemy. But I have to agree, the evidence suggests that she is." There was a long silence, which Scully finally broke. "You really haven't had particularly good luck with the women in your life, have you?" "Well, there was this one girl in high school who was nice," he said, heartened that she hadn't shut him out yet. "And then there's you." She grimaced. "Or maybe not," he amended, suddenly depressed. He had told her everything and now she was going to walk away. "I guess that's exactly what we have to decide here." "Well, you know what my vote will be." "Do I?" "I want you in my life as far as you're willing to come." He suddenly realized that that sounded a bit egocentric, and added, "And vice versa." "What does that mean? You want me on the X Files? You want me to help you pick out ties? You want to--" "Get married? Have kids? Buy a house? Drive a minivan? Whatever it takes. I will do whatever it takes to keep you in my life. And I'll be happy to do it ... well, okay, that isn't entirely true because the kids part scares the hell out of me and I really don't like minivans, but I'll do it, Scully. For you. If you want." She blinked, plainly stunned. She visibly wrestled with her feelings for awhile before asking, "If we got together, Mulder, who's to say that what happened to you with Diana wouldn't happen to us?" Immensely frustrated, Mulder leaped up and leaned down in front of her, getting right in her face as he hissed. "This is nothing like that. Quite apart from the fact that the feelings here are about a MILLION times stronger, there's quantitative evidence here, Scully. We have been each others' closest companions for six years, even during times when the X Files were not ours. We have both willingly risked death for each other more times than I want to count. We're #1 on each others' speed dials, and we both have keys to each other's apartments. You are my next of kin, my power of attorney, and the person who feeds my fish when I can't." He sat down again, and added bitterly, "But maybe my judgment sucks as bad as you say it does. So it's up to you, Scully. If you really think I'm incapable of having a healthy loving relationship with you, I guess I'll just have to accept that." Then he continued, deciding once and for all to face his true fear. "Or maybe your feelings in this matter just aren't as strong as mine. I don't really have any way of knowing." Her voice was very soft. "Don't you?" "You've never said." She squinted at him, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I think I'm getting some kind of sick delight out of forcing you to declare yourself over and over." "While you continue to say nothing." "Mmmm," she agreed. He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head near his ear. "Mulder, in the first year or two I could have said, yes, I love you with all my heart. It was simpler then. Now, I can't imagine life without you, but for all I know I'm suffering from some variation of Stockholm Syndrome. I'm loving you beyond all reason, and I don't really mean that in a good way." "Well, that's heartwarming," he said drily, not sure whether to be more offended or pleased. "However, reasonably speaking, I think there's only one way to find out if this can work." He straightened up. "Which is?" "The scientific method. We'll have to test the hypothesis. We'll have to see if we are indeed capable of having a healthy loving relationship." "Really?" She smiled. "Yeah." "So that's two votes in favor?" he asked, still not quite sure of his good fortune. She nodded, and they smiled at each other helplessly until he leaned in -- and she leaned in -- and they kissed full on the lips -- a soft, lingering, increasingly passionate kiss that to Mulder's enormous delight was uninterrupted by bee stings or other calamities. "You're gonna catch my cold," he warned her, when they drew apart. "I'll risk it," she whispered. "But I suppose we ought to be more careful in public," she added, looking around blankly. "Aw, fuck that," Mulder said, drawing her into his arms and kissing her again. She was pretty breathless after that, but she still managed to say, "No, but really, Mulder..." "Look, Scully," he said fiercely. "Certain things we don't want them to know. But I don't want to have to hide this." "It's not them, it's the FBI. We just got the X Files back..." "I checked. There's no policy against agents getting involved with each other, or even married." "Maybe not officially -- but that doesn't mean they'll let us be partners." "Come on, Scully, we're already so completely out of the bureau mainstream, what the hell do they care? We're only there because somebody really does agree that maybe this little extraterrestrial threat deserves some attention. We can behave ourselves in the office or out in the field, but not for the rest of our lives." He pulled one of her hands up to his lips and nuzzled her palm, looking intensely at her. "I think we can pretty safely assume we're being watched at my place, your place, the office, and who knows where else. Do you really want to keep putting this off because of that? I thought you were frustrated that it never went anywhere." She stared at what he was doing to her hand, as a flush spread over her face. "That's an excellent point," she allowed, rather breathlessly. "On the other hand," he said, now kissing his way further up her arm and drawing her onto his lap in the process, "Maybe we should take this discussion somewhere where we won't offend any of these nice tourists." "You are *not* jumping my bones in a place that you just told me is rigged with surveillance equipment," she warned him, though it was with a voice somewhat lacking in conviction. "So we'll figure out something," Mulder said, pulling her after him toward the car. "That's one of the things we're good at." At the car, he trapped her against the door before she could open it and only half-playfully asked, "So you love me beyond all reason?" She nodded. Her eyes filled with tears and she suddenly looked entirely vulnerable. "I'm not going to let you down, Scully," he said. "I promise. This is it. You are the love of my life for better for worse, sickness or health, for the rest of our natural lives." "Like wolves or parrots?" she asked, tears still in her eyes, but smiling. "Yeah, only better," he said. "We have cable." She broke up and laughed into his chest. And he stood there holding his laughing partner in his arms and thought, yeah, Scully, we can do this. THE END Feedback gratefully accepted at alelou123@aol.com.