Title: So, We Kissed Author: Alelou Feedback: Alelou123@aol.com (remember the 123, please!) Spoilers: Lots of Season 7 through First Person Shooter Keywords/Category: Angst, Scully/Other, MSR, Rating: PG-13 for discussion of sexual issues Archive: Sure, just let me know. Gossamer, Spooky okay. Disclaimer: Not mine. Fox's, 1013's, Chris Carter's, etc. Summary: Why didn't anything come of that kiss in Millenium? (Just pretend "all things" never happened in this universe.) Notes: Thanks for helpful beta from MystPhile and Jamie. So, we kissed. It was very nice. It was a New Year's Eve kiss. We smiled at each other, and walked out of yet another hospital, side by side. That was pretty much it. For a while things seemed lighter between us, sweeter, almost as if there was an air of expectation that soon things would -- I don't know -- blossom. We smiled more. I'd even say we flirted. But as time went by, and case followed case, nothing ever came of it. Then Mulder's mother died and, soon after, he buried Samantha in his own mind. He suggested that now he felt free. And the flirting ended and didn't resume. I realized that I was crazy to think it had been anything but a New Year's Eve kiss. That was all. A kiss between friends, a salute between comrades. As this realization sank in, I felt myself growing smaller, tighter -- curling into myself, the opposite of blooming. I spoke less, and when I spoke any humor I could muster was dry as a bone. I stopped working quite so long a day. I had to go home and take warm scented baths and listen to Chopin and Mozart, eat chocolate and lose myself in novels. It was a matter of survival. Mulder, I could tell, felt anxious about this change, but not enough to ask anything directly about it. He began to invent reasons to try to get me to work late. He grew clumsy, and required frequent first aid for stupid things like falling down the last couple steps to the basement. Once, after one of these little patch-ups occurred late on a Friday afternoon, I asked him if he'd like to come home with me for take-out and a video. He said he had to do laundry. That was a bad night. That was the night I gave up. xxxx I started with Karen Kasoff again. This time I decided I didn't care if it was the Employee Assistance Program and I didn't trust the FBI as far as I could throw the Hoover Building. I went right ahead and explained that I'd developed an unhealthy sexual attraction to my partner, and that I wanted to get past it and move on with my life. I suppose I figured that one way or another that admission would now *force* me to get past it and move on with my life. Karen seemed pleased to hear me admit something that apparently was obvious to her years ago. Somewhat to my surprise, she suggested that perhaps I shouldn't give up on that long lasting of an attraction -- that perhaps my partner simply needed for me take the initiative. I told her I didn't think so. I didn't go into all the gory details, but I think it was pretty damned clear to Mulder that day I brought the news about Diana's murder to him that there was more going on with me than just a partner's compassion. The next move was his. He took a couple of months to make it, and after he did, that was it. I had actually made several attempts over the weeks that followed to invite him over. There was always a reason why he couldn't. He was attentive at work, but whenever I tried to push beyond that, he backed off. So yes, I told Karen, I was upset about it. I'd always thought that somehow we'd get together, and now I was sure it was never going to happen. I figured I'd experienced all the stages: denial, anger, grief, depression, even occasional little moments of acceptance. On any given day I could slip back into any of them, but the reason I'd come to Karen was that I was trying for acceptance. It was hard in coming, and I needed help. It was important so that I could move on. And no, I didn't want to change partners. The work was too important for that. But I wanted intimacy in my life, I wanted a man in my life, I wanted the things Mulder wouldn't or couldn't give me. She wanted to know how I thought he would react. I told her I figured he'd panic. He might not want me in that way, but he'd be afraid of losing the parts of me he does have. He'd be afraid of losing my attention. I wouldn't put it past him to kiss me then, even to sleep with me, just to keep me around. But not because it was something he truly wanted to do. Or, worse, I suppose instead of falling down the last two steps, he'd fall down the whole staircase. He'd get himself shot, or hit by a car, so we could do our loyal partner hospital dance. Karen wanted to know why I thought Mulder was so desperately connected to me, if there was nothing romantic or sexual in it. I explained that I wasn't his type -- I'd known him long enough to recognize the women he went for, and I wasn't like them. That he has mother issues -- more than ever since her suicide -- and sister issues, and abandonment and guilt and loneliness issues, and that somehow my dogged loyalty and the fact that I obviously care for him helps him cope with all of that. That nobody else but me really understands his work. I meant, our work. Karen got a little impatient with me, I think. She asked me if I thought I could really commit to another man when I was still so involved, if only professionally, in this intense partnership, especially if the work was so important that I was unwilling to walk away from it. Ultimately, however, she agreed to help me try. I decided that I had two main concerns: one, to meet and open up to new men in my life. Two, to somehow prepare Mulder well enough that he didn't panic. She suggested a joint session, that she'd be willing to guide the discussion. I wasn't too sure about that. So I left Karen with two assignments for the week: one, to try to get at least one date. Two, to talk to Mulder. xxxx The first assignment was not as challenging as I feared. Mom was thrilled to have me ask about eligible men she knew, and quickly set me up with a friend of Bill's who'd been posted to the area a few months back. He was in the navy, he was cute, he was Catholic - in short, he was perfect. He knew my brother, so we'd have something to talk about. That's what I kept telling myself. One assignment was already half completed. That wasn't so bad. Or wouldn't be until I actually had to meet him, anyway. The second one was a lot harder. I put it off as long as I could, until, literally, it was Friday afternoon and I had to warn Mulder that I was leaving the minute the clock struck five. And forget preparing him gently. Some devil in me suddenly wanted to get even with him for not loving me enough. The fact that I was leaving on a date very shortly helped me cope with my other fear -- that his panic would inspire him to turn on the romance, ration out some tenderness, just enough to keep me hanging around and cleaving only unto him. (I'm not saying he'd do that intentionally. But for a psychologist, it's amazing how much he doesn't have a clue.) "Mulder, I have to leave at five today," I said. "Doing something special?" he asked, not really paying attention. "I have a date," I said, as matter-of-factly as I could manage. He looked stunned. But he just said "Oh," and returned to what he was doing, making some attempt to cover his reaction. I returned to my work, not that I was altogether focused on it, and waited for the other shoe to drop. It took awhile, but eventually he looked over at me and said in a wavering voice, "Scully, is there something we need to talk about?" "Are you asking me this because I'm going on a date?" I asked. "Well, yeah," he said, as if that should be obvious. Oh, the devil was in me that afternoon. "What about it?" I asked. Give Mulder credit, he persevered. "Why now?" I turned toward him. He was not ducking the issue and I had to respect that. "I guess I've decided that I'd like to have a life. You know, maybe even have a boyfriend or a husband someday. And I seem to recall, albeit vaguely, that dating is something you have to do to get that." He was staring at me with such obvious dismay, that I hastened to add, "You don't need to worry, Mulder, I'm not leaving the X Files or anything like that. The work is still very important to me. I guess I just don't feel like postponing everything else in my life indefinitely because of it anymore." "And when did you decide this?" he asked, beginning to sound annoyed. If he thought he had any right to get annoyed about this, he had another think coming. "It's been coming on gradually. I guess around my birthday I started to think really seriously about it. I've been getting some therapy...." He stood up, suddenly looking very tall, and glared at me. "And tonight you have a date." "That's right," I said coolly. "Well, have a good time!" he snarled, and grabbed his coat and left. xxxx Lieutenant John Carmody was not as tall as Mulder, but he was still tall. He was lanky and blond, had a dry wit, and seemed willing to get to know me simply as Bill's little sister and Maggie's FBI daughter without getting too intense. Like me, he was a navy brat who'd lived everywhere, but his accent reflected his parents' South Carolina heritage -- a pleasing drawl. His manners were impeccable, and he told funny stories about his adventures with Bill in foreign ports of call. He didn't just want an audience, either. He cheerfully listened to my stiff recitation of a couple of our more presentable adventures, and laughed with sincere appreciation as I unwound a bit (the beer helped) and got into more animated description of would-be mothmen and vampires. "So, Dana, tell me about this guy Mulder," he said. "Why?" I asked, suddenly sober. "Bill and Maggie have been telling me for months they wanted me to meet you, but that you seemed thoroughly involved in this job and your partner. So I guess I'm sizing up the competition." "He's not competition, he's my partner." "Like I said, tell me about him," John insisted, smiling. I took a deep breath. "Okay. He's very intense. He's brilliant, funny, very committed to the work. As you've heard, he can get really out there with his theories, sometimes." John seemed to be waiting for more, so I continued. "He's a very good friend. We trust each other with our lives all the time," I added, as a way of explanation. "And you two have never...?" I suppose I ought to have been offended, but instead I laughed. Not that it was the most cheerful-sounding laugh in the world. "My mother set you up to ask that, didn't she?" He smiled and shook his head. "Just seems like a good question." "No, we've never," I said. "And after seven years, I think I'm safe in saying it isn't going to happen." "Thus this date?" I nodded, conscious that I might be blowing it, but unwilling to lie. "Suppose you could say that." "Well, lucky timing for me, I guess," he said, though he didn't seem totally convinced. "So what's your story, Lieutenant Carmody?" I asked. "A girl in every port except this one?" Yeah, okay, so I was feeling a little hostile after being cornered on the Mulder issue. His face darkened. "Your mom didn't tell you my story?" he asked. "No, I think she filled you in better than me." For the first time, John's voice betrayed a certain strain. "I got divorced a couple of years ago. We were married eight years. We kept trying to have a kid, you know, and it never worked. It was because of me. Deficient in the little storm troopers, you know. So, anyway, that takes a toll on a marriage. Between that and being a navy wife, she finally told me she'd had enough. She's already married again, expecting a kid in April." "I'm sorry," I told him, and I meant it. "Yeah, well," he said. "I guess it beats feeling like you're a constant disappointment to the one you love. I wish I could say we're still friends, but I can't." There was an awkward pause. "You know I can't have children already, then," I said. "Yeah, I do," he admitted. "Well, at least that's out of the way," I said. "Likewise," he said. "And isn't that a relief," he said, saluting me with his beer. I smiled grimly. Yes, it was a relief. "So, Dana, tell me another monster story," he said. xxxx I'd met John at the restaurant, so there was no awkward fumbling at anyone's door. I gave him a simple kiss in the parking lot and he held it long enough to make it clear he was interested in more. He said, "I'll call you." I said that would be nice, and escaped into my car to decide what the hell I thought about the whole night. I still hadn't decided, other than to think that on the whole it looked more promising than I had expected, when I got home and found Mulder sitting on my stoop. "Making sure I get home at a decent hour?" I asked acidly, walking right past him. He didn't answer, just got up and followed me into my apartment and waited while I hung up my coat, listened to my messages (no surprise, Mom wanted to hear all about it), and put on the teakettle. Then I turned to him. "What do you want, Mulder?" "I want to talk to you," he said. I nodded grimly. "You want something to drink?" I offered, though not exactly in the most hospitable tone of voice. He shook his head. I made myself a cup of passionflower and peach. Calming, supposedly. Then I sat down at the table and looked expectantly at him. "So how was it?" he asked, obviously tense. "It was nice. Is that what you came over to ask me?" "No, I came over to ask you why you felt the need to start dating *now*." I sighed. "I told you already, Mulder. I've come to the conclusion that the things I want aren't just going to fall into my lap. If I want an intimate relationship with a man, if I don't want to be alone the rest of my life, maybe I have to do something about it." He looked hurt, and of course my heart contracted in sympathy. I have always been a sucker for Fox Mulder in pain. He swallowed, and asked in a rough voice, "So where does that leave me?" "Just where you've always been," I said, as gently as I could. "My partner. My friend. My comrade in arms. All the territory you've ever staked out, it's still yours." "I guess I thought I'd staked out a little more territory than that," he said miserably. Here it was, I thought. If I wasn't careful, I'd end up in bed with this man and I wouldn't realize for who knows how long that it wasn't going to amount to a hill of beans. And in the meantime, we would have destroyed the working relationship we'd spent all these years building. I spoke carefully. "If so, you certainly haven't been visiting in those neighborhoods lately. To be perfectly frank, Mulder, I don't think your heart is in it." He shut his eyes and then shielded them further with his hand. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he murmured. "The action is the father to the feeling, that's what I believe," I said. "I believe that you love me like a partner, maybe like a sister, maybe like a best friend, maybe even like a mother. I know you'd give your life for me. I know you'd go to the ends of the earth for me. What I don't believe is that you actually find me sexually appealing, or want to live with me, or want to spend the rest of your life with me. You may tell yourself that you do, when faced with the prospect of someone else coming into my life and taking away some of the attention you currently get, but you don't really. If you did, you would have found some way in the last six years to make it happen. Hell, you would have found a way in the last six months to make it happen." He got that mulish expression on his face. "I don't think that's exactly fair." "You tell me something, Mulder," I said, getting angry. "Have I been mysterious about what I want out of life? Did I ever say, hey Mulder, I don't ever want a family, or a house, or a dog, or anything approaching a normal life when I can bounce around the country looking for exsanguinated cows? Did I ever say, you know, Mulder, I really hope to spend my entire adult life being celibate?" "You once said you wouldn't change a day," he countered. I reminded myself to calm down. The point wasn't to blame and vent, but to explain. I took a deep breath and tried to speak more calmly. "That was years ago now. And at the time, you had just made it plain you saw another woman as your soul mate, and looked on me as a father, as a comrade in the army -- in short, just what I currently believe to be the case. That was enough for me then. And it's still okay. I accept it; I accept you. But I also need more out of life than just that. I admit that I hoped for awhile that the more was going to be with you, but I've since realized it just isn't going to happen." He paced the small kitchen and balled his fists, looking as frustrated as I've ever seen him. "Just what did I do that made you suddenly conclude this?" he asked. "Nothing. Which is pretty much the point." He looked at me as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Mulder." I was speaking very softly, trying to keep this thing from escalating, trying to make him understand. "If you care about me at all, please don't try to keep me from having something more, please. And in return, I promise you, I'll be there as your partner and your friend, I'll be there on the X Files, as long as you need me." Mulder wasn't bothering to hide tears of hurt and frustration at this point, which pretty much ruined any self-control I had, too. Years of bottled-up emotion were spilling out in my kitchen, and it wasn't a pretty sight. "But I do love you," he insisted, through tears. "I have *always* loved you." I couldn't help it. Despite all the sense I had talked to myself over the last few months, my heart soared with the hope that somehow I was wrong, that he really meant it. But then I noticed that he had moved to stand near the door. Mulder is like a dog with a bone when he really wants something. But here he was, already poised for flight. I closed my eyes on my own pain. "But of course you don't believe me," he said bitterly, and he was gone. xxxx A wounded Mulder is morose, churlish, and cruelly sarcastic. If he'd managed to brood in silence, something he also excelled at, we might have gotten through the next week at work relatively peacefully, but he just had to pick and worry at the sore. On Wednesday, after barely speaking a word to me for hours, he suddenly said, "So, you know, I forgot to ask you about your date." I looked over at him. "I mean, as your partner and your *friend* I can ask, right?" I recognized that special patronizing tone of voice as one that he usually reserved for pissing off local law enforcement. "You can ask," I said, clearly implying that he might not get an answer. Now he put on his let's-imitate-the-ladies-in-the-typing- pool voice. "So, Dana, what's he like?" "He seems nice. Funny, smart." He didn't like that much, but he kept going. "And what does he do?" "Navy lieutenant." He winced again. "Never married?" "Divorced." "Kids?" "No, he can't have any." He stared. "For real?" I gave him a look. "I don't think a lot of guys go around bragging about being sterile if it's not true." Now Mulder looked sick. "Okay, let me guess - he wouldn't mind adopting." "We didn't discuss it." "But you will," he said darkly. "Maybe. We're going out again Friday night." He grunted and ducked his head. He pretended to work for a while. I actually did work for a while. But I wasn't too surprised when he started up again. "Funny, intelligent navy man who wants a family even though he's infertile -- you probably think that God brought you together." "Jury's out on that one." "Big and tall, handsome?" "Average height, I'd say. Still seems tall to me." "98% of the guys in the world probably seem tall to you," he said. "And who knows, maybe God did bring us together," I said viciously. There was another long pause while Mulder typed poorly at his computer and I tried to reconcile expenses from our last trip. My calculator skills were not proving very dependable this afternoon and it occurred to me that if we kept up this bickering our productivity was going to go to hell. Mulder stood up and stretched. "That would just make it official, you know," he said. "What?" I obviously wasn't tracking the conversation as well as he was. "If God does exist, then one of his favorite pastimes must be torturing me. He probably sits up there thinking, okay, what can I do to that poor schmuck Fox Mulder next?" My first instinct was to remark that not everything was about him. Then something about what he'd said struck me as almost entertaining. I mean if you looked at our lives, it almost made a twisted kind of sense. "You know, that would explain a lot," I said. Mulder also looked amused, suddenly, despite everything that was going on between us. "Think about it, Scully. The secret to everything in the X Files -- it's so simple -- so elegant -- God hates me." "Or God loves you," I said, without thinking. I don't know where the next thought came from, but I just blurted it. "He's forging you for something." He looked momentarily confused by the sudden turn toward seriousness. Then he grinned. "Why, Miss Scully, are you actually feeding into your megalomaniacal partner's delusions of grandeur? Is this wise?" I gave him a little smile and turned back to my work, thinking that maybe we'd make it through after all. A few moments later I turned back to ask him about an expense, and found him staring unhappily in no particular direction. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Maybe I don't want to be forged," he said. "I wish God would cut me a damned break for once." xxxx When I went to see Karen the next day I was a bit surprised by how she started our session. "Dana, your partner came to see me yesterday." I lifted my eyebrows. "He asked if he could start some sessions with me. To discuss his relationship with you." "Really?" What was up with this, I wondered. "I told him that since I had seen you in the past, I'd need your permission to see him. To be perfectly frank, I suspect his visit was intended as a fishing expedition to find out if you were seeing me." "He could have just asked and I would have told him," I said, irritated. "Tell me something," Kasoff said. "Would it be safe to say your partner doesn't have a whole lot of trust in the confidentiality of the EAP?" "Yeah, that would be pretty safe." "Do you have trust in the confidentiality of these sessions, Dana?" I sighed. "No." Kasoff looked offended. "Why not?" "Have you had your office swept for bugs recently?" I asked. "We've found them in the smoke alarms, the sprinklers, the light fixtures, our desks, our telephones, in the office, at home, you name it. And don't you use a computer? If you think anything you do on that is secure, you're being naive." Kasoff looked startled by my level of paranoia. "You really believe that?" "I know that." "Then why did you come to me?" she asked. I couldn't help a glance up at the smoke alarm. "Because I don't think it matters. The only change in our relationship that would be relevant to them at this point is the one that takes either of us out of the X Files. And I'm not even sure they care about that anymore. You know me, and you know my history. If I'm serious about the work I want to do here, I might as well do it as quickly and effectively as possible. I can't honestly say I have any great expectation of privacy anywhere in my life anymore. As far as I know this chip in my neck could be an open mike." Kasoff stared at me, aghast. "If I didn't know you better, Dana, I'd be thinking that you've gone right around the bend," she said. Welcome to my world, I thought. "I wouldn't have told you if you didn't know me better. Which is pretty much my point." Kasoff nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay, I think I'm getting it." She looked a bit rattled to me, but she studied her notes and continued. "Anyway, I don't know if he'll be back, but let me ask - do you mind if Mulder starts seeing me? Needless to say, I would not divulge anything from our sessions to him. The other option, as I've recommended before, is more straightforward: some joint sessions." The thought of Mulder actually seeking out and receiving therapy was strangely comforting. I'd never known him to take such a positive, healthy step. But I was sure he wasn't about to start now. "He won't be back, Karen, but on the off chance he does and he wants to see you, that's fine with me." "I will make just this one comment, Dana, before we begin." I waited. "He looks and sounds like a desperate man. So why don't you tell me how you did with your two goals for last week, particularly the one that involved talking to Mulder." xxxx Perhaps because I was pretty much scolded for the way I'd handled Mulder after all my pretty talk the week before, I was in no great mood when I got out of the session. "I can't believe you pretended you wanted therapy with Karen Kasoff just to find out if she's the one I'm seeing," I hissed at Mulder, as soon as I got back to the office. "I can't believe you're talking to the EAP about our personal relationship," he countered. "The whole point is that it's mostly a professional relationship, not a personal one. I think that falls under the category of things I can talk about at the EAP." His voice was incredulous. "You're saying we don't have a personal relationship?" "I wouldn't call it a particularly personal relationship." Mulder was outraged. "This is so you. There are no aliens. That wasn't a spaceship. And now you're telling me we don't have a personal relationship. What do I have to do, bite you on the butt?" You know, sarcastic Mulder really doesn't do much for me. "I wouldn't advise that." "It was pure professionalism on your part to stay with me when my mother died? And before, that bit about me being your touchstone too? What was that, politeness? Temporary insanity?" "Maybe," I said icily. "I guess the only question now is whether we can find a way to remain friends and partners. And you're not making it any easier." He gave me a look I hadn't really seen before from him -- as if he really disliked me. "Well, thanks," he said bitterly, "Thanks especially for throwing in the threat of leaving while you're at it. I'm sure that when you do leave you'll find a way to make sure it's all my fault." He got up from his desk and filed something in the cabinet, slamming the drawer unnecessarily. Then he just sort of slumped. He turned back to me then but barely met my eyes as he wearily said, "You have my permission, if that's what you need. Just go ahead and leave, Scully. Go marry your navy lieutenant and adopt little kids and be happy. I wish you well." He gathered up his coat and briefcase even though it wasn't even five yet. At the door he stopped. "But I think I will start seeing Karen Kasoff if you don't mind." And he left. xxxx After that blow-up, Friday passed uneventfully. We were catching up on reports for old cases and hadn't picked up a new one yet. Skinner called us in early in the afternoon to request our input on a case in the VCU involving a spate of murders of Russian immigrants in New Jersey. It was a fairly short discussion with Skinner and the two agents who had the case. Mulder was brilliant, as usual. He suggested that the murderer felt threatened by women who had picked up English and assimilated better than he had. He suggested that he was a man, early forties to late- fifties, who had held an intellectual job with substantial status in Russia but had been forced by language difficulties to take on menial work after immigration. I didn't have much to offer personally. The cause of death was only too obvious and brutal and fit with Mulder's theory beautifully. (Let's just say lye and broom handles were involved.) When our conference was over and the other agents had been dismissed, Skinner paused briefly before asking, "Is there anything going with you two that I should know about?" "Whatever gives you that idea?" Mulder asked with excessive blandness. Oh great, Mulder, I thought. If Skinner hadn't been concerned before, he would be now. Skinner simply stared at him for a moment. He said, "Thank you for your help, Agent Mulder. Agent Scully, if you could stay a moment." Yes, thank you so much, Mulder. Mulder sauntered out of the office with exaggerated nonchalance. I crossed my legs and waited. "So what's up?" Skinner asked. I decided to play dumb. "I don't know what you mean, sir." "You barely looked at each other through that entire meeting. Your vibe was completely off." "Vibe?" I raised my eyebrows, as required at a comment like that. He chewed the side of his mouth in obvious annoyance. "So you're saying I shouldn't be concerned?" he asked. "No, sir, not at this point." I thought he was going to let it go, but instead he changed tack. "Agent Scully, how long have you been assigned to the X-Files?" "Seven years, sir." "Seven years is a long time in one position." "Is it?" I wasn't giving anything away. "Burnout and boredom can become factors in any professional situation." "I wouldn't say I'm bored, sir." "Burned out?" Unexpectedly, I found myself struggling against a lump in my throat. "Perhaps a bit." "Maybe it's time to explore other possibilities in the Bureau." How could he even suggest that? "There's nothing else in the Bureau that would hold my interest at this point, sir." "Then maybe a short vacation, perhaps even a sabbatical?" "I don't feel the need for that just now," I said. Skinner cocked his head and looked at me with obvious concern. "Well, if you decide you do, let me know. Or let me know if you'd like to explore other options within the Bureau. What I don't want to do is lose a valued Agent." "Thank you, sir," I whispered. xxxx Mulder, naturally, was ready with his own commentary. "I told you the EAP wasn't confidential," he hissed. "Skinner was just reacting to our behavior in the meeting." "There was nothing wrong with our behavior." "Apparently our vibe was off." "Our *vibe*?" I shrugged. He looked nonplussed. "So what did you tell him?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" "You want a transcript, Mulder? When he asked me if it was anything to concern him, I said no, not at this time. I also told him that no, I wasn't bored; that yes, maybe I was a little burned out; that no, I didn't want time off; and no, I wasn't interested in any other post in the bureau. Is that a full enough report?" Mulder looked grim. "He offered you another position?" I shook my head. "He just offered to explore the idea, that's all." "So why didn't you take him up on it?" I sighed. "I already told you, I have no plans to leave the X-Files." "Maybe you should." I stared at him. "What is this, reverse psychology?" "No. I've just been thinking about it, and it seems to me that if I care about your happiness and not just my own, I should accept that it might be a good thing for you to get away from all this." He said all this while fiddling with a pencil, not quite looking at me. Perhaps at this point I should have been touched that Mulder was being so uncharacteristically generous. Instead, I was irritated. Why was it that everybody, Skinner, Kasoff, even Mulder, all assumed I could just walk away from this job -- while he couldn't? "I have too much invested in all this to walk away from it. You of all people should understand that." "But you're not happy," he insisted. "You're not exactly the poster boy for happiness yourself. I don't see you walking away." He threw himself in his chair and looked up at me. "I don't ever expect to be happy. It's not even something I particularly value. Which is perhaps part of the reason I've been cavalier about your happiness." He sighed. "You used to be happy, when I first met you. You should try it again sometime." "So I'm working on it. I just don't think it's the job that is the issue." He shrugged and dropped the subject. I left right at 5pm again. As I was packing up, Mulder watched me with a wistful expression on his face. "Have fun, Scully," he said, without a trace of sarcasm, when I wished him a good night. For some reason, that nearly undid me, and I fought tears all the way home. xxxx Fortunately, I had time to soak in the tub and listen to music and get Mulder out of my head before my date. This time John and I met at a Mexican restaurant in Georgetown. We split a pitcher of sangria and eventually exchanged giggling confessions that there were things about Bill that really annoyed each of us. Then, apparently feeling remorseful, John told me about one time when my brother had really put his neck on the line to defend him. John also told me that he and Bill had shared similar frustrations in their attempts to have children. "Must have felt a little weird when he succeeded," I observed. "Yeah, I was actually really jealous," John said. "And I felt like shit for feeling that way, too. I wasn't the best buddy in the world that whole time, especially when Mandy left me. But Bill was surprisingly patient, I must say." "I've never known Bill to be particularly patient." "No, me neither. I think he knew what it must feel like in this case, though. He once told me he was afraid Tara was going to give up on him. Mind you, we don't talk as much these days. I think he's a little embarrassed because it's always Matthew this, Matthew that." "Yeah, he doesn't talk to me as much either," I said. That little tidbit about Tara was something new, too. So Bill hadn't always shared everything with me, either. "So I take it your mom approves of this second date?" John asked. "Oh God yes," I said, smiling. "And your partner?" The smile froze on my face. "Why do you ask?" "Just trying to navigate in unfamiliar waters, Dana." "What's that mean?" "It means I think this guy plays an important role in your life, and if I were him I might just be freaking out right now." I searched his face and found nothing there but honest concern. "Well, first of all, if you were him, you would have asked me out years ago. Second, he did freak out a little, but then he got over it and wished me well." "All in one week?" "Yeah." John looked pleased. "Hell -- that's a lot easier than I'd expected. He must be less attached to you at the hip than your family seems to think." Hip be damned, that hit me right in the stomach. "I guess so," I managed to get out. John had summed it all up pretty succinctly, hadn't he? And it was the truth. Mulder had spent a few days panicking and then had pretty much resolved it in less than a week. Meanwhile, getting over Samantha had only taken thirty years or so. "Dana, you okay?" "Sorry, yes, I'm fine." "Maybe you're having some trouble letting go of it yourself," John suggested gently. "It's not the easiest thing I've ever done," I admitted. He used his fork to indent a glob of uneaten cheese and refried beans, and spoke very quietly. "I really like you, Dana. I hate to think this relationship is doomed because you're on the rebound." "How can you be on the rebound from a relationship that never happened?" I asked. "If you had enough invested in it, I think you could." I thought about it for a minute. To be honest, I didn't know how long it would take me to clear Mulder out of my system. I was working on it, but for all I knew it could take years, especially while I continued to work with him every day. But in the meantime, I was getting older and life was moving on without me. I sighed. "Well, I don't like to think it's doomed." He smiled. He had a very open, easy, generous smile. "Glad to hear it." In the face of such apparent hope, I felt the need to post a caution sign. "But I don't know that it's anything in particular, yet. The only way I now how to figure that out is --" "To keep going out and see what happens?" he asked hopefully. I smiled. "Yeah, that sounds about right." xxxx That night we were near my apartment so I invited him up for coffee. He poked around, sizing me up as he surveyed my possessions and apparently deciding that I passed muster, for we ended up kissing on the sofa in front of the fire. It was lovely, just lovely, even with the peppery hints of pico de gallo mixed in. I thought, maybe this is the one. Maybe I'm finally going to have a life. "Stay?" I asked him, inflamed by his kisses and feeling the pull of something I hadn't felt in far too long. "You sure you're ready for this?" he asked, searching my face. "You don't think we should spend a little more time getting to know each other first?" Damn, that was supposed to be my line. "Do we really have to?" I asked. "I don't know," he asked doubtfully, but with a crooked grin that belied his words. "Will you still respect me in the morning?" "That depends on a number of factors," I purred, sucking gently on his neck. He moaned. "Ah, what the hell," he muttered, and he was a lost man. xxxx So I spent basically the whole weekend having sex with a beautiful and considerate man. It was a very nice change of pace, I can tell you. We came up occasionally for food, showers, and changes of clothing. I spent Saturday night at his place, and he came back Sunday to mine. It was very heady experience, like being in some altered dimension. But on Sunday night I began to feel just a little strange. After some dinner and some canoodling, he must have sensed my growing anxiety, for he said, "Maybe I should move along and let you get ready for your week." "I don't know what's the matter with me," I said. "I honestly haven't had this much fun in years. Maybe it's the Catholic guilt thing finally kicking in." "Uh huh," he said, looking as if he didn't believe me for one minute. "Don't worry about it, Dana. We've got plenty of time to work out the kinks." "That sounds like fun," I joked lamely. "I'll call you, okay?" "Okay." We kissed and he left. I'd felt this little shiver of fear that he might say he loved me, but thankfully he didn't. I turned back to my apartment, which was looking more lived in than usual at this point in the weekend, and couldn't help thinking that I hadn't heard from Mulder even once. And I wondered if somehow he'd be able to tell what I'd been up to when I walked in the next morning. Then I started to clean like a maniac. After about an hour of stripping sheets and scrubbing, I realized that I was acting as if I had to hide the evidence. Ah, screw this, I thought, and poured myself a glass of wine and sat down to relax a bit. I wasn't cheating on the man, after all. Still, I didn't sleep much that night. xxxx The next morning, however, Mulder was all business. We had a case in Los Angeles involving an alleged werewolf, so off we went. Needless to say, we found no werewolf. I'm not sure in the end that we found anything except hysteria carried to new extremes and a bunch of video cameras recording for the public exactly how differently Mulder and I perceive virtually every part of every case we encounter. He knocked the hell out of his shoulder trying to bash various doors in, so he was the one who dropped the rental car while I handled the luggage. After I'd checked in with the airline, I pulled out my cellphone to check in with John, who had claimed he'd welcome a call anytime, time zones be damned. So I woke him up and I let him know when I expected to get in (at the crack of dawn, since we were taking the red eye) and we made plans for that evening. I was a little taken aback when he asked me what I was wearing -- that was traditionally Mulder's line. "Um, your basic black wrinkle-resistant pantsuit." "And under it?" he asked. Mulder had never taken it that far. For that matter, I'd never answered one of Mulder's questions. I laughed uneasily. "Do you want the uninspiring truth or shall I make something up?" "Cotton, huh?" "Believe me, I'm looking forward to a shower and a change into sexier underwear before I see you." "You could show up wearing big old lady underwear and a housedress and I'd still get excited," he vowed. I giggled. "I think that's the most romantic thing anybody ever's said to me." He laughed happily and we said our goodbyes. I turned around and found Mulder standing stonily next to me. "Mulder!" I said accusingly. "I didn't hear you come up." He avoided my eyes. "Do you have my boarding pass?" "Yeah, we got the row to ourselves," I said, handing it over. "Perfect," he said bitterly, and stalked off across the terminal. I didn't see him again until boarding began, when his face was carefully blank. He spent the flight huddled in the opposite window seat, apparently staring out at the darkness. I stretched out on the other side of the row and tried with limited success to sleep. Once, in the middle of the flight, as I tried vainly to find a more comfortable position, I saw him sitting with his hands over his face. My heart broke a little watching him. I knew I should be happily quivering in anticipation of my next date with John, but instead all my thoughts were with the man at the end of the row. Did it mean I was pathologically tied into Mulder and his wants and needs at the expense of my own? Or just generalized guilt because it's one thing to move on with your life and another to accidentally rub salt in the wound of the one you're leaving? I tried to rustle up some anger: none of this would have been necessary if Mulder had ever made a serious move to claim my heart. Karen had suggested perhaps I was the one who needed to take the initiative in this relationship, but I knew I could never trust Mulder in a relationship that arose that way. He is not a passive man; if he only passively accepted a relationship with me, it would just be a matter of time before he slipped away from it, one way or the other. Which left me pretty much where I was: moving on. Regretfully leaving behind a man who for some reason was unable to reach out for what he thought he wanted. But that didn't mean I didn't love him, and it hurt to watch him hurt. After landing, as we stood in awkward silence with the rest of the haggard passengers watching an empty luggage carousel turn, I touched him on the arm and murmured, "I'm so sorry, Mulder." He nodded briefly in acknowledgment, still avoiding my eyes. That was the last conversation we had on the subject for weeks. xxxx John and I spent the next month or so getting to know each other better -- and having lots of sex. It was enormous fun to have someone to spend time with, and delicious to have someone in my bed. I continued to find him charming and funny, though as time went on I realized he also had demons. His wife's abandonment rankled bitterly and he occasionally threw out a commentary on women that I couldn't accept. He also had that peculiarly Navy condescension for civilians and their lack of understanding for how things should be -- something I had also grown up with, but had since left behind. Like Mulder, John could watch sports all day and night; unlike Mulder, he didn't read much. He was a devout Catholic who almost never attended mass, while I was an increasingly doubt-ridden Catholic who attended weekly. He could barely cook an egg, but he did dishes without being asked, and did them well. He smelled good and he was an attentive lover; he also snored like a freight train. He was far from perfect. Still, I figured he was about as pleasant a guy to spend the day with as any woman could ask for. Fundamentally, however, we remained cautious with each other. He raised the issue first, one night, after we had made love and were lying in my bed. "So, where are we going with this thing, Dana?" he asked. I rolled over on my elbow and looked at him. "I don't know," I said truthfully. "Where would you like it to go?" "I'm not particularly eager to walk away," he said. "But I also don't get the feeling your heart is in it." "Nor I yours," I said quickly. He gave me an earnest look. "You warned me you didn't know if this was going to go anywhere, Dana. I took you seriously." "So now you're telling me it's time to fish or cut bait," I sighed, rolling onto my back. "You're such a navy brat," he observed affectionately. "And yes, I am." "There's a lot you don't know about me," I began, figuring this was it. If he couldn't handle the insanity that was my life, there was no need to even make a difficult decision. "Like what?" I sat up. "Well, like I have a chip in the back of my neck that Mulder stole from the Department of Defense to cure my cancer. You knew about the cancer, right?" "Well, yeah," he said, still looking shocked. "But -" "The DOD is involved in some sort of research involving abductees and possibly alien hybrid research. I was one of the abductees. That's why I'm infertile. They took all my eggs. I had one of their chips in my neck when I was returned, but I had it removed. Then I developed cancer, the same fatal cancer as a bunch of other women who'd been abducted and removed their chips. So Mulder got his hands on another one, with the help of an informant. And even though I was on my deathbed, I went into remission." "You're telling me this to explain why you owe him so much?" "No, I'm telling you this because I have a chip in the back of my neck that has, on at least one occasion, caused me to go do something I have no memory of doing. Remember those mass burning deaths a couple of years ago? Like other people with chips, I somehow made my way to a bridge in Pennsylvania. I actually don't remember a damned thing about it. Many of the people who went there burned to death. The reason I survived with just minor injuries, according to a hypnotic regression that was done on me, is that a group of aliens intervened and saved the rest of us from a bunch of other aliens." John was staring at an expression I knew so well. "Aliens?" he choked out. "Well, I don't know with absolute certainty about the alien part -- that was just hypnosis -- but there's hard evidence for the rest. This is what the X-Files is all about, you know." He ran his hands through his hair. "Bill said something about little green men, but I assumed he was exaggerating." I went doggedly on. "You need to know this because for all I know this chip is recording everything I do or say or even think. And the people who control this chip, assuming they ever actually pay any attention to it, are my bosses and also your bosses." "Do you realize how you sound?" he asked, appalled. "Like I'm completely delusional," I said evenly. There was an awkward silence. "You want some coffee?" I asked. He stared at me, probably in surprise that I would say something so normal. Then he shrugged. "Sure, why not." We dressed quickly and he followed me into the kitchen. "We are awake, right?" he asked. "I was kind of hoping I'd wake up from that weird dream I was just having in which you were telling me all sorts of weird shit." "Yeah, I sometimes feel that way too," I said. "Bill did warn me you believed some pretty wild stuff," he said. I took a deep breath. There was, after all, more to this story. "If Bill weren't such a jerk he would realize that some of this must be true. I was visiting him when I came across a child who was created from my genetic material. A DNA test proved it. Unfortunately, she died. She couldn't survive the medical effects of the hybridization they were trying to do with her. He was there during all of that." He just stared at me, mouth hanging open. "You had a daughter?" he asked. Well, at least there was something my mother didn't tell him. "I didn't give birth to her. And I only knew her a couple of days. She never even knew I was her mother." "Oh geez," he said. I switched on the coffeemaker and sat down. "So anyway, if you think this is bad, I only believe about half of the stuff Mulder believes." John blew a breath out of his mouth slowly. "Now, you see," he said, "I've figured all along that you're really hung up on this guy Mulder and that's why you're not really taking me too seriously." "I am taking you seriously," I protested. "But I do have very strong ties to Mulder. I'll admit to you that part of me is still hung up on him. But I'm working on that pretty hard and I think I'm having some success." He looked appraisingly at me. "Some." I got up and poured the coffee. "Some," I agreed. "It'll take awhile, I think." "Which leaves me with my original question," John pointed out. "Where are we going with this thing?" I was surprised he was still interested, frankly. "Well, now you know you're dealing not only with the Mulder issue but with the possibly alien chip issue ... or the possibly insane girlfriend issue, depending on how you see it." "I know you're not insane, Dana," he said. "Thank you," I said drily, but I was gratified. We sipped coffee. "So?" John asked. "So?" I echoed. "Do we move on with this relationship?" he asked. He just didn't get it. "Maybe you should think a little bit more about the implications of what I told you," I said. "Not to sound melodramatic or anything, but depending on this thing in my neck, I could live or die and God knows what else. Maybe it's no longer relevant to the DOD; I really don't know. Or maybe when they figure out you're involved with me, they'll start tracking you, too. Your life could be at risk, or your career. The military is part of this, you've got to understand that." I flashed back momentarily to a motel room in Oregon. I never thought I'd be in the same position Mulder was in that day. "The military doesn't know where it puts half the stuff it has in inventory," John countered with a crooked grin. "Yeah, I take a lot of comfort in that some days," I agreed. "Then I have days when I figure that the stuff which is missing got that way because they gave it to the bad guys." "And they *are* the bad guys?" He watched me intently. I sighed. "As far as I can tell. People who operate in secret, kidnapping and killing innocent people whenever it serves their purpose ... I have a hard time seeing them as heroes. And if they are heroes, why not just explain the whole thing and ask us to play on their team?" "And you're sure your pal Mulder's not one of them?" he asked. I was taken aback. "Why would you ask that?" "He got you that chip, didn't he?" "Yes, he did." "By stealing it from the DOD." "Yes." John lifted his eyebrows suggestively. "I trust him completely," I insisted. John nodded. "I know, I know. I get the feeling, Dana, that if we continue this relationship, I'm going to end up in a defacto relationship with this guy, even if he doesn't want to come to the wedding." I guess I paled at that point. John laughed strangely and got up. "Okay, so let me go digest all this information you've given me," he said. "You have a good week, sweetness." He turned at the door to give me a kiss. "And no weird alien shit, I hope." xxxx That week Mulder and I shipped out to California yet again. (I was beginning to think they should just move the X-Files office to Los Angeles and save the taxpayers a ton of money.) John and I spoke every night but our calls were fairly subdued. I figured it was as good a time as any to be in the field. I honestly expected John to move along any day. Meanwhile Mulder got to strut around acting macho while we dealt a virtual reality game that for some inexplicable reason had taken up literal murder. At any rate, by the end of the case Mulder was pretty charged up. He was standing in my space as much as he ever had in pre-John days. I didn't mind it; it was nice to have back a partner who wasn't miserable. Neither did I encourage it, though. In the interest of preserving Mulder's good spirits, I made no attempt to call John from the waiting area, but took off discreetly for a little privacy, then returned. "So how is he?" No fooling the profiler. I did a quick check: no sudden funk was apparent. "He's fine," I said. "That's nice." I gave him a little smile: okay, whatever. I pulled out a journal. "So, you guys getting married anytime soon?" Mulder continued. "No," I said, but I blushed, remembering John's comment. Mulder looked over at me and said, "I think romance suits you, actually." "Makes for a pleasant change," I agreed. He seemed to be coping well with the conversation, so I decided to satisfy my curiosity. "If I were to get married, Mulder, would you come to the wedding?" "Hell no," he said immediately. "Unless you married me," he added. I looked askance at him. He shrugged and turned back to his copy of a tabloid proclaiming "Giant Earthworms Threaten Farm Town." I sat there and stewed for a minute. "So what the hell does that mean?" I finally asked. "Don't want to be your maid of honor," he said. "Hate those dresses." Now he was pissing me off. "I could never marry you, Mulder, because you'd never have the guts to ask me." He folded his newspaper and turned to me. "You want to marry me, Scully?" he asked in a completely perfunctory tone of voice. His eyes met mine, mocking, then slid away. "Didn't think so," he said softly, turning back to his paper. I sat there for about ten seconds absorbing what he'd just done and then I got up and went to the ladies room, where I sat in a stall and tried to control my rising fury. To him it might be some sort of joke, but to me it felt like a mockery of all my finer feelings - and his, too, for that matter. When they announced that they were boarding the flight, I washed my face and steeled myself for a long trip home. There were no empty rows this time, and I'd left my carry-on with Mulder. I went back and joined him in the line to board without quite looking at him. "This flight is packed. I think we might need to use our guns to get room for our carry-ons," Mulder joked. The passenger ahead of us looked back with wide eyes. "Sorry, bad joke," he assured her. "Bad joke," he repeated to me. I ignored him. "Really bad joke, Scully," he insisted. I glared at him: okay, already. "I'm really sorry," he said with genuine remorse. The lady was looking back nervously again, obviously wondering what kind of lunatic was getting on the plane with her. I gave him another look: it said shut up and get on the plane. So he did. Once we sat down I was sandwiched in the middle between a tall businessman on one side and a tall Mulder in the other. Looking out the window didn't seem like a good bet because the businessman seemed to be trying to catch my eye and I was in no mood, and unfortunately Mulder wasn't exactly ignoring me either. I toyed momentarily with requesting a different seat assignment, but as it was they were probably overbooked. So I closed my eyes. Mulder had often teased me for being able to sleep anywhere; this seemed like an ideal time to put this talent to use even if I had to fake it the whole way home. "You want the aisle?" Mulder asked me. My eyes popped open. Mulder never offered me the aisle. He must have really been feeling contrite. "No, thanks," I said, and closed my eyes again. "You know, I have been seeing Karen," he said. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Apparently," he said, as if he didn't really believe it, "I have this recurring problem of letting my dysfunctional and deeply-seated defenses totally fuck up all my chances at happiness." I just looked at him. "So what do *you* think?" he asked. "I think it's remotely plausible," I said. He grunted. I closed my eyes again and was actually drifting off to that buzz that comes with an encroaching nap in a noisy environment when I thought I heard him murmur, "I sure fucked it up with you, didn't I?" It swirled with me into my sleep, and when I awoke I couldn't remember if he had really said it or I had just dreamed it. xxxx John and I had made plans to get together that night, but he called at the last minute and switched it to Saturday morning. When he arrived, he gave me a hurried kiss, and suggested, "Up for a little hike in Rock Creek Park?" "Sure," I said, since it was a beautiful day. As good a place to get dumped as any, I figured, given the way he was acting. I felt this hard sour feeling lodge in my stomach in anticipation, but on the whole it was no worse than what I normally felt before a session with OPR. I could do this. As soon as we'd headed into a trail, he pulled out a pad of paper and wrote on it, "Do you think they can hear us right now?" Okay, I admit *that* wasn't what I was expecting. I lifted my eyebrows. He looked back at me entirely seriously. So I emptied my pockets and found nothing suspicious. Then I borrowed his pen and took it apart: clean. So I took his pad and wrote back, "Chip, possibly." "I don't know what the hell I can do about that," he said out loud. "I don't either, John," I admitted. "You want to tell me what's up?" "My CO pulled me aside Friday afternoon and asked me about you. He told me some people he didn't much care for were suddenly taking an interest in me and my activities, as he put it. He basically said 'you tell me, is it worth it, son?'" "Fuck," I said, heart sinking. Clearly we were still on somebody's radar. "And I trust this guy, Dana," he added. I found the nearest bench and sat down heavily. He sat down next to me. "This is it, then," I said, with finality. He looked grim. "I didn't say that." I shrugged. "You don't have to." "If I thought..." he began, but trailed off. "What?" He was blushing. "It's just, you know, if I honestly thought your heart was in this, I'd be willing to say to hell with them." I grabbed his hand and held it. "John, you're an awfully good man," I said. "I wish I could give you what you're looking for here, but I can't - at least, not on this kind of timetable. And even if I loved you with all my heart right here, today, with no doubts or questions at all, I think I still wouldn't want you to take on this kind of risk." He lowered his head. I sighed. "I should have realized. I guess I hoped they weren't paying attention anymore. Obviously I was wrong." It was impossible to keep the bitterness out of my voice. He nodded bleakly. "Well, you've certainly managed to change my view of the world in a very short time." "I'm really sorry," I said. "I guess it's better to have some idea of what's going on," he said. "And besides, Dana, being with you sure was sweet while it lasted." "Likewise," I said, "I think you singlehandedly made me feel like a young and desirable woman again." I squeezed his hand and lifted my face to his. He obliged with a chaste kiss and a fierce hug. "Dana - if you're ever in a position where you have no one to turn to, you call on me," he said. "At the very least, think of me as a friend of the family." I nodded, beginning to tear up. "Shit," he murmured, and gathered me for another hug. "I don't like this one bit." After a moment, I pulled away from him. "You can call on me, too, John," I said. "And right away if they don't back off. We have friends who can help, sometimes." Given the situation I couldn't help but feel that this was a fairly hollow promise. "You take care," I said, thinking it was time to head back to my apartment and think this one through. "You gonna be all right?" he asked. "Yeah," I said. "Be careful," he said. I smiled. "I will," I promised, and then I walked back the way we had come. xxxx And so ended my first attempt at getting a life. I talked to Karen about it in my head all weekend. "See?" I was telling her, "This is why I've gone so long without having a life. I can't bring anyone into this insanity." Unfortunately, I knew her well enough to also do her side of the argument back: "If a life is really what you want, then why not walk away?" I don't have any choice, I told her in my mind. And it's also what I told myself. There was no choice. They had taken away all my choices and this was what I was left with. So all I could do was try to make the best of it. As Mulder once put it, if I quit, they win. "What would be so awful about losing?" I imagined Karen asking. I also imagined that the ever-pragmatic Karen might suggest trying to date someone who wasn't a Federal employee. But that would just slow them down a little. Why should I make some innocent civilian into a target? I had reached a similar conclusion before -- years earlier, in fact. But in those earlier years I'd felt that Mulder was there to share it with me. And in those days I was still hoping for a little more than partnerly commiseration from him. This was a more serious setback, because I no longer had any serious hope that he and I would ever be together. If nothing else, John had given me a tiny taste of a normal loving relationship between a man and a woman. It seemed far removed from the dynamic I shared with Mulder. I hadn't quite invested all my emotions in John, so my heart was not broken -- but my recent hopes for a future that had love and intimacy in it were dashed. So I was gloomy, but functioning, when Monday rolled around. I debated calling Karen, but didn't. I debated canceling any more appointments with Karen, but also didn't. What was the point of any more sessions now, I was wondering. Closure, perhaps? "So are you going to tell me what's the matter?" Mulder asked, late Monday morning as we returned from a briefing upstairs. "John and I broke up," I said in clipped tones. "Oh," he said, with an attempt at looking concerned that came out like a wince. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine." "Of course you are." I glared at him. "A friend higher in the ranks warned him that he was drawing the interest of the wrong sort of people," I explained, not bothering to hide my disgust. "So he bailed?" Mulder asked, not bothering to hide his satisfaction that John was apparently a wuss. "It was a little more complicated than that," I said, annoyed. "At any rate, I guess I was hoping they weren't really paying attention to us anymore, and now it seems those hopes were premature." "You could always leave," Mulder suggested quietly. "I don't think they'd bother you if you left the X-Files behind." "We've already had this discussion," I said, even more irritated. We had made it back to our respective desks. We worked quietly for a short while. Then Mulder stirred restlessly and said, "Actually, I've been thinking of leaving." My mouth fell open and I stared at him. He raised his eyebrows back at me. "Why?" I asked. "Well, why not? I'm not looking for Samantha anymore," he said. "And if aliens are about to take over the planet on a new timetable, I sure as hell don't know anything about it or have a clue how to stop it. I could never prosecute that bastard Spender for his crimes against humanity from within the FBI. And I already told you I don't want to do this alone anymore." "I told you I wasn't leaving the X-Files." "Yeah, well, maybe I didn't 100 percent believe you," Mulder said. I contained my instinctive anger. So what if he didn't believe me? I'm not sure I always believed myself on that particular point. "What would you do?" The thought of Mulder doing anything but this was mindboggling. "Oh, I figure I could do some consulting. And there's stuff available in the UFO community. You would think it was ridiculous, of course." "Yeah, I would," I said. He shrugged again. "Frankly, what you thought wasn't looking all that relevant recently," he said. "Which opened up all sorts of new possibilities for me," he added sardonically. "Going for that 1-900 number after all?" I asked. "Sure, why not?" he agreed. "Or hey, why not phone sex? It works for Gary Coleman." "Yeah, why not?" I echoed bleakly, turning back to my work. Mulder appeared to think he was cheering me up with this line of discussion, but now I felt more alone than ever. The thought that I might lose his driving force -- and lose him at my back -- was more than I could bear on top of everything else. Maybe they would win after all; from where I was sitting it looked like checkmate was just one short move away. Mulder was scheduled to go give a deposition on one of our old cases. Just before he left, he dropped a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?" "Yeah," I said, in one of my less successful lies. He wasn't fooled. "You know I'm totally full of shit, don't you?" he asked. "I'd never leave the Files if you were still here. I don't think it would be physically possible." I gave him a tiny smile. "Thank you for saying it," I said softly. He ruffled my hair a little and left. I took a deep cleansing breath and returned to the background checks I was poring through. If I still had the work, and I still had my partner, then I could get through this. xxxx "How do you see yourself ten years from now?" Karen asked. I had brought her up-to-date on John and my newfound resolution to just forget about romance and concentrate on my job and the positive advantages of a single life. "Well, assuming I'm still alive, I guess I'll be 45 years old and working as a Special Agent for the FBI. Maybe I'll have managed to buy a condo or something. It would be nice to have a better security system. Maybe I'll have a dog -- or maybe not, it's kind of hard dealing with the travel thing when you have a dog." "No children?" I gave her a dark look. "And your sex life?" "Well, barring the odd adventure, I'd say it's going to be pretty limited. Though maybe at 45 what's left of my sex drive will be starting to tail off anyway and it won't bug me." "I wouldn't count on that," Karen muttered, and I realized with some embarrasment that she must be just about 45 herself. "But you see, I've essentially been menopausal for years," I explained. "Hormone pills are the only things that keep me running on a cycle. Maybe I'll just stop taking them." "At 45?" I shrugged. "How long do you expect to live?" she asked me. I shrugged again. "With luck, at least as long as my father did. Or I could die next year. Hell, we could all die next year." "You know, Dana, you never fail to cheer me up," Karen commented. "So tell me, where's Mulder in all of this?" I snorted. "Probably just the same as he is now, only with some grey in his slightly receding hair -- and bad knees." "And have you two ever made love in these ten years?" I thought. It wasn't a totally unreasonable possibility. "If we have, we were probably drunk, or you know, it just hasn't worked out, and we had to pussyfoot around it until we got our balance back," I said. "But I don't really see it, personally." Karen just gazed at me. "What?" I asked. "What if Mulder dies next year?" she asked. "You both have dangerous jobs. Or maybe it's just a car accident. Any rate, he's dead. For nine years Mulder has been dead. Does that change anything about the way you see yourself in ten years?" Mulder has been dead for nine years. For nine years I've lived and Mulder has been dead. So I'm ... I try to think. It's a blank. I think harder. So I'm 45. I'm still working on the X-Files, right? But there would hardly be any left, would there? Without Mulder pushing us to chase after his monsters? I couldn't say, "Mulder, why are we here?" I'd have to get the 302's approved myself. "I'm not sure the X-Files would survive with just me," I admit, finally. "So I guess I might be doing something else." "What?" "I don't know," I say. "Pathology. Violent crimes. I don't know. Does it matter?" "You tell me," Karen said. "Does it?" I shrugged. "So, if Mulder were to die, you think you might end up not in the X-Files anymore." I waited uncomfortably. "But you've completely ruled out leaving the X-Files while Mulder is there, even though that commitment is effectively destroying any opportunity for intimacy with other men." "So, in other words, I'm setting things up to avoid intimacy." "Well yes -- with anyone other than Mulder," she said. I folded my arms across my chest. "But that amounts to the same thing." Karen sighed. "Does it? By your own admission, this is a man who has told you he loves you on more than one occasion." "Yeah, but he can't bring himself to come over for a pizza, so I don't see that a whole lot of intimacy is going to arise out of it." "You know, you might want to consider the possibility that this man is even more terrified of rejection from you than you are of rejection from him." I just sat there, dubious. "So is that an inside tip?" I asked, since he was still in therapy with her too, as far as I knew. "Just raising a possibility," Karen said, obviously uncomfortable. "I continue to recommend a joint session. Barring that, I recommend you talk to this man about your feelings and concerns. And barring that, I'll look forward to our usual appointment. So are we set?" I nodded. Yeah, I was set. From here to 45 my life stretched out before me, a parade of various monsters, ghosts, and aliens -- assuming Mulder didn't get himself killed, of course. xxxx Back in the office, perhaps with that ten-year vista in mind, I found myself in a suddenly reckless mood. "So Mulder, are you terrified that I'll reject you?" I asked, as I woke up my dozing computer. He looked up from whatever he was doing. "You've already rejected me on numerous occasions," he drawled. "But yes, I'd say I live in a constant low-level state of terror that you'll continue to reject me." "Ah," I said, amused. He smiled. "Explains a lot, doesn't it?" I continued, my eyes on my computer instead of on him. "So would terror of rejection play a role in your decision to, for example, not want to come over to my place for pizza?" He didn't answer right away, so I turned to look at him. His face had clouded over. "That's where I screwed up, isn't it?" he asked. "I mean, not just right there, but that's when you decided to hell with it." There was a long awkward pause, because I couldn't answer him. My throat had suddenly closed up. "Ask me again," he suggested softly, getting up and walking over to me. I shook my head. If he said no, even as a joke... He looked down at the floor. Then he looked earnestly at me. "Scully, would you like to come over to my place for pizza tonight?" I found my voice at last but it was a tad querulous. "To go over a case?" "No. Just to spend time together." I bit my lip, watching him as he waited for my answer. There was no outward sign of retreat. I nodded nearly imperceptively. He smiled briefly and let out a breath and we regarded each other with wide, frightened eyes. Then he turned back to his desk. "Seven okay?" "Yeah." "That's good, I'll have time to clean the toilet," he said. "My place is kind of a wreck lately." "We don't have to do it tonight." "I think we do," he said. "I mean, the pizza thing. Let's agree that the other 'it' is not on the agenda, okay?" "So we're setting ground rules?" I asked. "Just doing a little terror control," he said. xxxx I showed up at his door that night at seven sharp with a six-pack of Sam Adams. "Drinking allowed?" I asked. He looked nonplussed. "One each." I felt a surge of irritation, and handed him the six-pack. "So, Mulder, is this how you are in relationships?" "What?" "Setting all the rules?" "But we don't have a relationship yet, remember?" he asked. Okay, why was I here again? "Look, I'm sorry," he said, running his hands through his hair so that it stood up in spikes. "Have you ever noticed that being nervous turns me into a shithead?" "Well I figured something was doing it," I said. "So you're nervous?" He ignored the question and opened a beer for me, stowing the rest in the refrigerator. "Sure you don't prefer to keep your wits about you?" he asked. "Am I going to need them?" He gave me an intense look and I felt a little shiver of fear in my belly. The doorbell rang. "Pizza," Mulder said, and went to pay the delivery guy. We sat at Mulder's table to eat, with no files to look over, no case to discuss. He was quiet and didn't eat much. I babbled a little about the traffic and my mother and then I shut up, industriously chewing pizza that tasted more and more like cardboard. "Well, this is going well," I volunteered after a long silence. He grimaced. "Told you I'm no good when I'm nervous." "Mulder, it's me. You know me. What can be so awful?" "Are you done with this?" he asked, gesturing at the remains of dinner. He took the plates and the half-full pizza box to the kitchen and came back. "You want to talk here or in the livingroom?" he asked. "This is fine," I said. He sat back down and gave me a strange, searching look that reminded me somehow of a farewell. My heart began to pound in my chest, and I got the strangest sense of time slowing down. This was one of those moments in life when everything can change, for good or for ill. "There are things you don't know about me," he said. He swallowed. "And, frankly, knowing them may change the way you see me." I waited, heart thumping. "In a way that I'm really going to regret," he added heavily. "But you're going to tell me anyway," I prompted him. "Yeah," he said. "Assuming you want me to." "Isn't the truth what we're looking for every day of our lives?" "Sometimes the truth just plain sucks, Scully." "Tell me," I said, sounding steadier than I felt. He took a deep breath. "When I was a young man in college in England, I had a fair number of sexual partners." He paused and added, "You met Phoebe, of course, but she was just one of them." He paused, twisting his hand together. I had this sudden horrible thought that he was going to tell me that some of them were men -- and that this was the way he really liked it. "So, anyway," he continued, "Somewhere along the way from one of my many lady friends I contracted herpes." Lady friends. My first thought was relief: Fox Mulder was indeed heterosexual, thank God. But then it sank in. "Genital herpes?" "Yeah, Type II. I never found out who from." Oh. Well, that was a drag. "So how come I've never seen it in your medical records?" Mulder shrugged. "If they don't ask, I don't tell. I don't tend to have many problems with it. Maybe one or two episodes a year, nothing too dramatic." I sat there and thought furiously. As a doctor, I knew that the herpes simplex virus was very contagious and actually very widespread; I'd even heard figures of up to 90% of Americans having it. But it wasn't one of those movie of the week diseases or something that came up in conversation, and until I actually noticed that someone had a cold sore, I never thought about it. And herpes simplex on the lip was one thing; on the genitals, it was quite another. Type II, unfortunately, was the more virulent of the two. Mulder wasn't finished with his story. "So about eight years ago, Diana Fowley and I were in a relationship and we were going along pretty strong and beginning to talk of moving in together, when she got it from me. I hadn't told her about it before, and I didn't really think I needed to because I was taking precautions, but she got it anyway. And she had a very bad primary episode; it lasted three weeks and she even ended up in the hospital for a couple of days with meningitis symptoms." "That *was* an extremely bad case," I agreed. That particular development was very rare in adults. "I've sometimes wondered if that affected her personality in some basic way," Mulder said softly. "Or perhaps set her on the road to later changes." There wasn't much I could say to that. I hadn't known Diana before. "Anyway, I felt terrible about it," he continued. "I'd had no idea what risks I was exposing her to. And I knew I should have told her from the beginning, but I thought I was taking all the necessary precautions." "There aren't any really perfect precautions for herpes," I commented, still in clinical mode. "Yeah, well I know that now," he said impatiently. "But I didn't want to believe it then. Anyway, she couldn't believe I hadn't told her; she felt betrayed and was very angry and bitter, and as things turned out, that was pretty much the end of our relationship." He sat and waited for my response. "But she did forgive you eventually," was the only thing that came to mind immediately. "I suppose she did," he said. "I was never sure. Besides, after you've lived with herpes awhile there's a certain comfort factor if you can find a partner who already has it." "Oh." I'd had suspicions in this direction. "So you and she --" I prompted him, figuring I might as well hear all the bad news at once. "No," he said, somewhat to my surprise. "She wanted to, but I never took her up on it. It was certainly tempting, in some ways, but I knew it would very possibly destroy our partnership if I got involved with her. Besides, it would hardly be fair to her -- I was in love with you." Oh, Mulder. I put my hand on his. "Hopelessly in love," he continued. "Because I knew from the beginning that I could never be with you in that way." He was speaking with a chilling finality. "What do you mean?" "Scully, I just told you I have herpes," he said, as if that explained everything. "Mulder -- lots of people have herpes. There are plenty of worse things." "Look, you told me yourself it's not very easy to prevent. Diana was extremely ill," he said. "I know that almost never happens, but it can be very bad, especially for women. I've kept an eye on the research, you know -- I keep hoping they'll find a cure. Or at least a vaccine, which seems like it will happen eventually. Herpes is nothing you want to have to deal with, Scully. It can be particularly bad if you have a compromised immune system." Realization dawned. "Like cancer." He nodded, laying his hand over mine on the table. "It was so hard, watching you dealing with that, wishing I could be more to you before it was too late ... and knowing that it could do you so much harm." "Mulder..." "I made a vow to myself after what happened to Diana that I wouldn't do that to anyone ever again." "A vow?" I asked, incredulous. "So, what does that mean? No sex with a woman for the rest of your life?" "Well, not with an actual live woman," he said. "I tend to make do with other versions, as you've no doubt noticed." "And you've felt this way all these years and never thought to say a word about it? What if *I* had genital herpes?" I demanded. He looked stunned. "Do you?" "No, I don't," I said impatiently, "But what if I did?" "It's irrelevant, Scully, because you don't." "Would you entertain having sex with me if I already had it?" "Well, yeah. I mean, I know there are professional reasons why we shouldn't, but I think I gave up on those years ago." "So in other words, you're telling me that if I want to have a sexual relationship with you, I've got to go out and purposely expose myself to genital herpes from some stranger and actually develop the disease. And then we can talk." "That would be really stupid," he said, offended. "Yes it would," I agreed. He sat there and stared at me. Then he shook his head. "See, this is something I've always known about you, Scully. If you loved somebody, you'd gladly throw your own health away for him. But that doesn't mean I have to let you." "What if I were the one who had herpes and you didn't?" I asked. "Would you say, oh well, that's a pity, and move on with your life?" He shook his head. "It's not the same. I haven't had cancer ..." I was getting pretty pissed off at this point. "Jesus, Mulder! We risk death practically every damned day for each other and you can't deal with the possibility that you might eventually give me an unpleasant but non-life-threatening social disease? What if one of us got shot and ended up in a wheelchair? Are you saying we could never be together because we couldn't have sex like normal people?" He was frustrated, too. "Damn it, Scully, I never said we couldn't be together. Just not like that." "So is your idea of being together just working as partners? Or is there a little more to it than that?" He opened his mouth to answer, but I was on a roll. "And when were you planning to fill me in on this? Has it ever occurred to you that what destroyed your relationship with Diana wasn't the herpes, but the fact that you hadn't told her about it?" "Yes, it did occur to me," he said. "But you may have noticed I'm not exactly the luckiest guy in the world at romance. I didn't want to scare her off." "Well, I'm not Diana," I said, "and in case you haven't noticed I'm not all that easily scared." He stared at me and I watched the argument drain out of his face, to be replaced by something akin to amusement. "Well, you have a point there," he agreed. I got up and went to stand in front of him. "Look. You have already admitted you love me. In case it's not completely obvious to you already, I also love you. This has been going on for years, and we're neither of us getting any younger. I say it's long past time we got it on, G Man." "Got it on?" he asked, disbelieving. I leaned down and kissed him long and hard, and after a moment he responded, though there was an unmistakeable restraint to it. When I stood back up, he put his hands on either side of my waist and smiled again, but it was a strained smile. And when I tried to lean down again, he used those hands to hold me back. To my puzzled look, he said, "Sorry, Scully, but I'm invoking the lemon law of herpes revelations. This is something you have to think about for three days." "I don't need to think about it." "Sorry, ma'm; it's the law." I folded my arms. "This *is* how you are in relationships, isn't it?" "Better get used to it," he said affectionately. xxxx So, the requisite and thoroughly maddening three days later, we made love. At last. It was not the least bit spontaneous -- he insisted on precautions galore and right up until the end was still trying to steer me away from something I'd set my heart on: Fox William Mulder buried inside me, damn it. Even after I had persuaded him that this was something he was going to do, he was clearly inhibited until I reminded him that the amount of fun you were having during the act really wasn't relevant to any little viruses that might or might not be lurking invisibly on the sidelines. After that he cut loose a bit and I like to think he found it at least as pleasurable and completing as I did. Though I admit that I was also hoping future liaisions would demonstrate the benefits of practice and increased confidence. Still, just to lie there in Mulder's arms was a miracle, and one I was very thankful for. "Well, here's a good test of my little theory," he said, afterwards, as we spooned in my bed. "What theory?" "You know -- that little theory from your dating days that God likes to torture me personally." "Yeah?" I asked, a little concerned at the turn in the conversation. "Because if he just allows us to go on together like this, then I'd have to say my theory is completely wrong." "Your theory *is* completely wrong, Mulder." "But if you were to get sick ..." "Look," I said, getting up one elbow and going into lecture mode. "If there's any certainty in this life it's that eventually we're both going to die, so me getting sick wouldn't prove a thing. If anything, it would just show that God was looking out for us and giving us this great gift while we still had time to enjoy it." "But if you got sick *because* of this..." "Mulder," I said. "Herpes doesn't kill healthy adults. Furthermore, there are drugs to help treat it these days. Beyond which, I'm a doctor and I'll be alert to any early signs and be able to keep a primary episode from getting really bad, something Diana couldn't do. And who knows, maybe that vaccine will come along soon." He sighed. "Such a romantic conversation we're having here, Scully." "Yeah, well, hearts and flowers are not really what either of us is known for," I said. He sighed. "I can't help thinking that you deserve much better than this." "Mulder -- shut up and kiss me." "Now who's controlling everything in this relationship?" "Better get used to it," I said affectionately. So, we kissed. THE END Author's Note: Apologies if I grossed you out. I know that herpes has a big "yuck" factor and is certainly nothing we'd ever want to ascribe to the lovely Fox Mulder, although it is far more common than anyone realizes. (It isn't exactly a water cooler conversation topic, so how would you know, right?) When I was wondering why the hell these two smitten people aren't already going at it like bunnies (at least not that WE'VE seen), this struck me as a possibility. If you have questions about herpes, I recommend you do a search to reach tons of resources at www.medem.com. I also highly recommend the book The Truth About Herpes, by Stephen L. Sacks, M.D., available at Amazon. Also, I feel I must add that this story probably owes a debt of gratitude to MystPhile's No Regrets series. Her John Kresge made Scully/Other something I could definitely cope with -- and having gotten two parts posted it finally occurred to me that I named my Other John, too. At any rate, I wouldn't even be posting fanfic at all if it weren't for MystPhile, who encouraged me at the very beginning. Many thanks to her -- for that and for much more.