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Chapter Text

The sun is just setting over Vermont as he sinks gratefully into his seat. He's seated in an aisle as usual (to better accommodate his long limbs), but through the window he's getting a glimpse of the gorgeous mix of reds and oranges and pinks with just a tiny dash of purple which graces the sky. He stares at it appreciatively as each and every muscle in his body protests against the confines of his position. He's still incredibly sore following his struggle with Ellen Adderly several days before. I'm getting too old for this, he thinks wryly, turning sideways with the intention of rolling his eyes while uttering the same sentiment.

Then the bitter truth hits him and he turns away miffed as he's reminded of his solo investigation. Scully is back in Washington, probably getting a much needed rest in the wake of her grueling stakeout assignment. If he's being honest, there's nothing he wants more than leave this imperfectly perfect place, and do the same. But alongside the welcome thoughts of home and unwinding comes the slap of his grim reality, of what awaits him when he gets there. Things between him and Scully have been less than ideal recently, to say the least, but the last few days have given him a lot to think about, and as the plane takes off, he closes his eyes, meaning to lay out a plan to set the mess of his life in order. Nevertheless, within minutes he's fast asleep, overcome with exhaustion.

He cannot really tell exactly when it's gone so wrong.

It all started well enough – perfect really, given the fact that the universe seemed dead set on them not ending up together at times. She wanted this, wanted to be with him, and despite his initial qualms (of course he was terrified it would ruin everything; when was the last time anything good had happened to him, since she'd been assigned as his partner?) he plunged headfirst into this newly-discovered, mind-blowing physical relationship, with ardor and devotion he hoped she appreciated. And she seemed so certain at first, unintimidated by the potential risks, that when she turned prudent and hesitant several weeks later, it caught him completely off-guard. He didn't think there was any catalyst for the change; he really was doing his damnedest to maintain the boundaries between the personal and the professional. He wondered if she realized how difficult it was for him to refrain from brushing his lips against the top of her head at the office just because he felt like doing so, or sneaking into her side of the room while out on a case, but he never succumbed to those temptations, knowing this was not what she had wanted.

It began small. One night he asked her about an autopsy she had performed a second before they fell asleep, triggering a complaint about how he was constantly preoccupied with work, even after hours. He thought she was joking; it actually took him a moment to realize her words weren't said in jest. He didn't mean to do it; he certainly didn't mean to upset her by it. It's just that his work had become so ingrained in him over the years. He couldn't shut down that part of him when he got home, no matter how hard he tried. They didn't get into an argument over it. To be honest, she'd stormed out before things escalated. But she was obviously distraught that evening and he didn't want to hover, knowing she would want to resolve this on her own. The next morning started a bit awkward, but several hours later it was as if it had never happened, and so he put it out of his mind.

He hoped things would get better once she let it out, but it got impossibly worse.

Even regardless of the sudden strain on their relationship, it was a rough time all around. His mother died, by her own hand. He learned the truth about his sister; that she wasn't coming back. Although Scully had been there for him through the worst of it – that sleepless night following his mother's apparent suicide, the funeral, packing up the house in Greenwich – the change was palpable. He could feel them regressing. It had been days, then weeks, since they'd been intimate, about the same amount of time since they'd last spent the night at each other's apartments. At first he thought she had wished to give him some space following his personal tragedy, but as time passed, it became obvious there was more to it than just that. Something was making her clam up, retreat back inside her shell, and it killed him that he couldn't figure out what it was. It was so frustrating. He had made himself a fine reputation as a profiler over the years, and yet she was the only person he couldn't for the life of him decipher. Not that it was anything new; it had been the case since the moment they met.

And then she did what was arguably the stupidest thing she'd done in a while – worse than hooking up with a psycho and ending up getting a tattoo – she disappeared for four days with the smoking son-of-a-bitch without telling him where she was going. He was out of his mind with worry from the moment he realized whom she was with, and it was getting harder to keep his emotions at bay following that useless meeting with Skinner. He called the Gunmen as soon as he got home, and watched them as they worked tirelessly in his living room, trying to find a lead on her whereabouts based on the little input he'd had. They would have to do a more thorough search from their HQ later, Byers informed him. Possibly hack into her computer to get to the bottom of this. He was mostly staring at the three of them blankly, helplessness crawling in by the minute. Because if they wouldn't be able to locate her...

"Mulder, I wish I didn't have to ask, but I can't unsee what I've just seen," Langly said somewhat dramatically on his way back from the bathroom. "Have you and Scully been partners for so long that you use the same personal care products now? Is this the equivalent of dogs starting to resemble their owners?"

In his state of distress and exhaustion it was a moment before the question even registered. He blinked as the blond man resumed his seat on the couch next to him, still looking at him inquiringly through his spectacles. "What are you on about, Langly?"

"There's a lavender-scented shower gel in your bathroom," he pointed out with the tiniest roll of his eyes. "And some lipstick," he added, taking the familiar tube out of his pocket and showing it to his friends. "Check this out, you guys. Berry Bruise. I bet that's a good color on you."

"Oh," he said sort of dumbly, stalling. What he was actually thinking was shit. His next thought was, hell, if she was allowed to act stupid, so was he. Besides, even though he wasn't strong on social connections, keeping their relationship a secret had taken an actual toll on him. He didn't want to hide anymore. And technically, he wasn't breaking any rules. They had agreed not to go public about this at work. The Gunmen weren't their colleagues; well, not exactly.

"Right, they're Scully's," he admitted sheepishly. Just because he wanted to be out with it didn't mean he wasn't embarrassed about being caught red-handed. He didn't say anything else; he knew the guys were sharp enough to put the pieces together. And indeed, before long Byers' eyes bulged with astonishment, Langly all but jumped back to his feet, the lipstick dropping to the ground as he howled in shock, and Frohike seemed to be attempting his most vicious glare.

"You dog!" he said, and it sounded like mirth rather than an accusation. "How long has this been going on?"

"Not too long," he affirmed, and felt his cheeks begin to redden under the three's wide-eyed gazes. He ran his hand through his hair awkwardly, then aimed the best warning glower he could muster at the three of them. "You three will keep your mouths shut, right? If she finds out you guys know..."

"She'll shoot you. You're a goner." Byers' voice was resolute, but also highly amused.

"Who knew you're one to kiss and tell, Agent Mulder?" chided Langly, waggling his eyebrows sort of suggestively.

"Hey, I didn't say anything, you figured it out!"

"I did say he seemed more easygoing recently, did I not?" Byers gleefully reminded his friends. They all turned to look at him in a way that made him cringe. He felt relieved the shower gel and lipstick were the only incriminating evidence they had. Had it been a stray bra, or worse... He shuddered at the thought. They would have had a field day. Scully would have killed him, and he wouldn't blame her one bit.

Well, they would have to find her first. The grim thought reminded him of the mission at hand, and he shook his head into focus. Time was of the essence, and they were gossiping like teenagers at a slumber party. "Can we get back to the issue at hand? Please?" he implored.

"Of course. We could torture you later," replied Frohike with seriousness that implied that they would do just that.

"And we will," affirmed Langly. "Don't think you'll be able to avoid it."

"Help me find her first, then do your worse."

"I don't get it," said Byers, shaking his head. "If you guys are... together," he said it slowly, incredulously, as if it was hard to wrap his head around it, "she would have told you where she was going."

"Not necessarily." He lingered, reluctant to elaborate, but then sighed with resignation. He might as well tell them the whole story. "We've been having issues... lately."

"Lately? You said you just got together."

"I know, it's... complicated."

Frohike eyed him suspiciously. "What have you done, you fool?"

And so he told them how it started, back with her asking him to be the father of her child. He spoke at length of the process they had undergone together, the pain and anxiety on her part, the doubt and concern on his. He hinted at what transpired the night of the failed procedure, then recounted everything that happened since. As he concluded his tale, their late night conversation remained an echo at the back of his mind. Our baby would have been perfect. The words, the conviction with which they had been uttered, still brought tears to his eyes. Knowing he was not alone, though, he struggled to keep his emotions at bay, and shook off that melancholy that seemed determined to consume him.

As he looked up, he met the stunned expressions of his friends. Very little had shocked the Gunmen. This he had known for a fact, their friendship going back a long time. He could tell they weren't expecting to hear a story about the usually reserved Dana Scully making such a momentous request of him, close as they were, let alone being the one to initiate the next step in their relationship. They were probably expecting the run-of-the-mill "and then we hooked up" plotline. Then again, when had he and Scully ever done anything even remotely conventional?

After a moment of silence, Frohike shook his head in dismay. "No, seriously, dude, what have you done?"

"I don't know. I think she's... having second thoughts."

"Please," snorted Langly as if that was the most absurd observation on the planet.

"Regardless of what you've just told us, we were all there when you two got into an argument about Agent Fowley a while ago," Byers reminded him.

"She's in love with you, you moron," barked Frohike, not unkindly.

"In other words, she's not having second thoughts," confirmed Langly.

"It's more likely you've done something," concluded Frohike, resuming his scowl.

Maybe he had. Maybe he was coming on too strong, and his intensity frightened her. But that couldn't be the case, could it? She'd known that about him even before they got together. She'd tolerated it throughout their seven year partnership and never seemed overly bothered by it. Was that any different? He had wanted this for so long that he was going out of his way to make it work. Maybe that was his mistake? Where had it gone so wrong? When had he gone wrong?

He only wakes up as the plane jolts once the wheels meet the tarmac. He looks around him in shock – he's never slept so deeply on a flight, let alone such a brief one. He makes his way out of the terminal in a haze and hails a cab. He begins to give the driver her address in Georgetown, then changes his mind and heads home instead. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of his dingy apartment and his worn out knickknacks, a stark contrast to the picture perfect town he's left behind.

As he takes a long, well-deserved shower, he reflects on his conversation with Ellen about significant others, on her advice that he should not miss out on home and family. In hindsight, her words hit home more than he's realized at the time. As the steam slowly lifts in the tiny bathroom, he stares at his reflection. Then his gaze falls on the shelf above the sink, where her lipstick and toothbrush lay side by side, abandoned. They've barely spoken recently, somehow remaining civilized enough at work to interact, but not much further than that. He knows it's immature, but following the incident with Spender, he's simply unable to look passed her transgression. Now her absence hits him like a punch. Ellen's words continue to haunt him, as well as Frohike's reproach. She's in love with you, you moron.

Suddenly he's restless, and strangely determined. The only thing he wants is make things right again. Getting into bed, he pulls the phone unto his lap, and dials. He doesn't want to wait until the next morning, partly out of fear he will lose his nerve. Besides, doing this over the phone feels right, a closure of sorts. It is what they do best, after all.

"Shit, were you sleeping?" He wants to kick himself at the huskiness he hears in her voice upon picking up. He glances at the digital clock by his bedside, then does a double take. It's almost eleven. You idiot.

"Mulder," she sounds surprised, then snaps out of it. "No, I'm in bed, but I wasn't sleeping." Before he gets a chance to ask her what has kept her awake, she clears her throat. "Are you back?"

"I've never been happier to put creature comforts behind me." She hums in reply, but doesn't say anything further. She's wondering why he's called. He can't make sense of the recent shift in her behavior, but that's easy enough to tell. It's his turn to clear his throat. "Listen, Scully, I... I don't want to fight," he says tenderly.

"Me neither. This is silly, we're better than this."

Her soft reply eggs him on. He wants to tell her that he's missed her, that he's been thinking about her nonstop since he's been assigned the case in Bethany. He wants to ask her over because it's been too long since he's last lost himself inside her, since he's watched her sleep and woken up beside her. He wants to tell her he loves her more than anything and anyone else on the planet and beyond.

Instead, what comes out is, "I just don't understand why you would do that."

It is only as he hears her exasperated sigh that he becomes aware of what he's just said, and realizes that the romantic reconciliation he has meticulously constructed in his mind is about to spiral out of control. "Mulder, we've been through this," she reminds him gently.

He doesn't know why he persists, but he does. Fury rises higher than affection as he lashes out with force she doesn't deserve, certainly not at this late hour. "Why would you go with him, knowing how I would feel about it? Because you obviously knew, or you wouldn't have gone out of your way to keep me in the dark."

There's a stunned silence on her end, just long enough for his self-loathing to increase. He thinks of Frohike's admonishment from a few weeks back, and hangs his head in defeat. He is a fool. "First of all, and I'm pretty sure I've said this to you before, Mulder, not everything is about you; this is my goddamned life." It isn't often that she speaks harshly, so when she does, it resonates. And she had said that to him before, only back then the words didn't sting as much as they do now, under these new circumstances. Her tone is malicious, but he welcomes the pain it inflicts. As masochistic as it sounds, he prefers it to the complete numbness that comes with indifference. "And secondly, what gives you the right to even say that to me? You, who've ditched me more times than I can count to pursue some personal cause you didn't think I should be made privy to? Hell, Mulder, you went on a ride with him not too long ago, but you don't see me throwing a fit about it!"

"That's not the same and you know it," he contradicts her as passionately as if they're debating some outlandish theory at work. There's certain satisfaction in learning that his vast experience of proving her wrong comes in handy in times of need. "I was ill, I hardly knew what was going on – "

"You were beyond ill, Mulder, you were circling the drain. Have I gotten there fifteen minutes later – "

"And yet you went with him willingly, knowing he's done who-knows-what to me!" He cuts her off, desperate to veer the conversation back to her faults. He only remembers the fitful dreams he had during whatever procedure that had been done on him, and she didn't elaborate once she hailed him to safety and the urgency of the situation was lifted. He knows it can't be anything good though; which is exactly why he shudders to think what the bastard has had in store for her. Just thinking about it now makes his skin crawl.

"I have taken every precaution," she says slowly, as if she's speaking to a child. "Mulder..." She exhales, her tone softening almost despite herself. "A while ago you told me not to give up on a miracle. That's what he offered me. A miracle. How could I not take that chance? Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't have followed him too? We both know you would have, without a second thought."

"This is not what I meant when I said that to you." The memory of that night is painful, despite the way it ended. He's still grieving for the baby that will never be, now. "I don't mean to be an ass about it. It's just... I was so afraid that..." He lets the words trail off, suddenly not willing to voice his trepidations. I was afraid I was going to lose you so soon after we got together. Funny. Before, he has relied on the darkness to shield them from the world, to make confessions such as this one easier to let out. Now it's as though the balance has shifted. The darkness that has once been their biggest protector now threatens to swallow him whole, to destroy the single best thing that's happened to him in a while.

"Mulder, I've made a mistake, but it's done, I can't undo it." She pauses for a moment, hesitates. "Look, I know I've been... difficult lately. But I don't want this to come between us, as well." He's taken aback by her admittance, by her acknowledging her recent aloofness. So he's been right. Something has made her keep her distance. He's so preoccupied with this revelation, with its possible implications, that he nearly misses the other part of her sentence, once again an echo of his own words. "Can't we just move passed this? Please?" When he doesn't reply, consumed as he is by his own sullenness, she misinterprets his lack of response as refusal. He isn't sure why he doesn't correct her. "I thought you didn't want to fight."

"I don't. Or maybe I do. I don't know."

They both fall silent. For a brief moment he thinks it may be possible to salvage the conversation after all. She certainly sounds desperate to make amends, despite the fact that her previous actions are proof to the contrary. He can still tell her all those things he's thought of before. There's still hope. The darkness can still grace them with a second chance; a happily-ever-after can still prevail.

Instead, he lingers, and she sighs sadly, as if finding meaning inside his silence. "Look, it's been a long week. I think we could both use some rest. I'll see you at work tomorrow, okay?"

Her tone is more tender now, reconciliatory. He feels so defeated that he barely finds the energy within him to care. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Chapter Text

She wakes up with a jolt. It is a moment before the room swims into focus. She's in Mulder's living room, snug and warm beneath his afghan which she doesn't remember tucking so neatly underneath her chin. Her lips curl in a sleepy smile at his thoughtfulness. Yet another sign that there's finally light at the end of the long tunnel they seem to be treading for months now. The silence is piercing except for the constant gurgling sound from the fish tank in the corner. It is also the only source of light in the room. She shifts a little, looking around her. The digital display on the VCR reads way past midnight. Their tea mugs are gone. Mulder is nowhere to be seen.

She shivers a little as she removes the afghan, then wraps it around her shoulders instead. She just sits there a moment, focuses on the rhythm of her breathing. She does that now, or at least makes an effort to do so, ever since Colleen Azar has advised her to slow things down. She envies the serenity that has wrapped around Colleen like a mist, longs for it. She's determined to get there at some point, but at the moment, it is still work in progress.

She tries to remember at which point in their discussion she's blacked out. Honestly, she isn't sure, but it doesn't really matter either. The one thing she knows for certain is that for the first time in weeks, they've been able to have a conversation without getting at each other's throats. There have been undertones of affection in the exchange, rather than animosity. There's some relief in that. She begins to feel like her old self again. And finally, finally, he seems willing to listen.

She's made the right choice. Whereas she's been sure before, now she knows it now with absolute certainty. This is where she belongs. She's needed a good slap from the past in order to be reassured of the present. Hopefully of the future as well. As befitting her line of work, she has made an educated decision based on evidence, hard proof. She's made up her mind, and she has no regrets.

"Are you happy, Dana?" Maggie Waterston asked her that afternoon, once they had resolved their issues surrounding her father. They had agreed she would be the one to speak to Daniel; she was shamelessly stalling, dreading the task at hand.

"As happy as I can be, I guess," she replied after some deliberation. Maggie didn't seem convinced, but didn't offer any further comment. "This is the life I've chosen," she added, as if that was enough of a justification. But she honestly couldn't say she was happy that very moment, not with her and Mulder's relationship in tattered, mostly her own doing.

It was a while before the failure of the IVF and its consequences had really hit home for her; not for three weeks or so after the fact, what with the shift in her and Mulder's partnership in such close proximity to it to take her mind off things. Everything about their newly-discovered intimacy was new, fragile, and so utterly incredible she sometimes had to pinch herself to make sure it wasn't all in her head. Among its other side effects, it had eclipsed anything cruel and awful about the world. And so when the failed procedure returned to haunt her, it did so in the most unexpected way – namely, her period was late. One day her gaze fell absentmindedly on the calendar on her desk, and after doing a double take at the date, she mentally began to count backwards, do the math, almost despite herself.

She had always considered herself a rational person, her logic always functioning on a higher plane than her emotions. She had taken pride in it; it allowed her to remain level-headed. Plus, she was a doctor. She knew that being late couldn't mean what she hoped it did, but her heart was racing nonetheless. For the first time in her adult life, heart overshadowed reason, and for a split second, she let herself believe she might actually be pregnant. There had been an opportunity; numerous opportunities, as a matter of fact, she thought, blushing. Besides, he told her, didn't he? He told her not to give up on a miracle, and she didn't, and now this.

The rude awakening arrived several days later, obviously, with menstrual cramps that weren't half as painful as the feeling of her heart shattering all over again. This time was worse because she knew it wasn't possible, but still allowed herself to yearn. For once not caring if she would be late for work, she curled on her bathroom floor and sobbed, wishing she could disappear inside the cool tiles. She felt numb with loss and hopelessness. With her own stupidity. All she could think of were his words, spoken with soft conviction under cover of darkness. Our baby would have been perfect. Yes, it would have been. If only.

It was a long, grueling day, and she was more than happy to be putting it behind her as they returned to her apartment that evening. Mulder could obviously tell something was troubling her, but he was keeping his distance and she loved him for it. This was why she hadn't cancelled their plans to spend the night at her place. As much as she wanted to be left alone, she figured she was better off with his company, mostly to save her from herself.

Little did she know how much she would regret it before the day was done.

They spent the evening in weary yet comfortable silence; cooked dinner together, read for a while, got ready for bed. She sank into the sheets gratefully, breathing in her new favorite scent – the intoxicating blend of Mulder and laundry softener. She closed her eyes and exhaled in relief. And then, just as she felt herself being pulled into blessed oblivion, she felt his chin nuzzle the side of her neck.

"Have you got that toxicology report back, by the way?"

"What?" she blinked into the darkness, sleep slipping away from her by the second.

"For the Tanner autopsy. The double murder."

"Why do you always do that?" she groaned, more frustrated by feeling wide awake again, than by his complete obliviousness.

"What did I say?" he sounded puzzled.

"We're home, Mulder, it's late. Give it a rest."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She shut her eyes against the obvious hurt in his voice; realized how harsh she'd sounded. It didn't stop her from complaining even further. "It means I don't particularly enjoy discussing work with you 24/7. Isn't it enough we have to handle the lowlifes of the universe while on the clock, now we have to bring them home with us? I had a long day, I'm exhausted, I couldn't care less about that autopsy right now. I just want to go to sleep."

"Are you serious?"

The shock in his question infuriated her even more. She sighed with exasperation. "Do I sound like I'm kidding?"

"No," he said slowly, as though realizing it for the first time. He cleared his throat, as if unsure what to do with himself. "Fine, sorry I asked," he said eventually, then wrapped an arm around her in what was probably meant as a conciliatory motion, had he not placed his hand on her stomach, just above her barren, empty, useless womb. Her chest constricted; her eyes immediately filled with tears. As if he heard the gasp she'd struggled to hold back, he tensed, then asked hesitantly, "Scully, is everything alright?"

"Fine," she managed, then murmured some excuse before slipping out of bed, ignoring him as he called after her with concern.

She knew it was wrong of her to take her frustration out on him, but she didn't seem able to help it, all the same. She was furious with the world, and Mulder was an unsuspecting victim, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the days that followed the incident she didn't apologize, nor did she provide any sort of explanation, and he didn't push her. He seemed to be going to extreme lengths to keep work at work. Honestly, it didn't bother her that much when he talked about work off hours – mentioning an interesting case he had heard about while they were having dinner, cracking one of their own cases while watching a movie all curled up on his couch or working the crossword puzzle on hers. Sometimes she even found it endearing, how their work was such an integral part of him. But the damage had already been done. As if they needed any more trouble.

She didn't tell Mulder what had triggered her outburst, not even weeks afterwards. He was undergoing a dark time of his own, following his mother's death, and she didn't want this to be another burden, but she knew he could sense the change in her. She had become withdrawn and contemplative, hardly said two words while in the office, took her lunch by herself. She was overcome by indifference. Nothing seemed to hold her interest anymore. She was wallowing in her own grief and missed opportunities, her failure as a woman, as a mother. Her nights became sleepless, and she arrived at work groggy each morning, ignoring the worried glances he cast at her from across the office when he thought she wasn't looking. She knew he was probably finding ways to blame himself in whatever she was going through, but couldn't bring herself to get out of the funk.

Her vulnerable state was also fertile ground for doubts, and those hit her so frequently and ferociously she could hardly breathe. Perhaps taking the next step forward wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. Not to mention asking Mulder to be the father of her child. It turned out he was right – it had come between them, in the worst way imaginable. Why did she have to invite him over that night? What was she trying to prove? Was this truly what she'd wanted, or was she acting on some desperate need to love and be loved, turning to him by default? The thoughts tormented her nightly, which in turn soon became a daily torture as well, as making eye contact at work had become unbearable. How could this possibly be a mistake when he was looking at her so tenderly? His eyes were beseeching, wordlessly pleading with her to tell him what was wrong. Still, she kept silent, her mind in turmoil. The more she avoided him, the worse it got. She didn't even know why she was acting this way, why she was singlehandedly destroying this so soon after it began.

Then there was the incident with Spender that really sent him over the edge. She thought their argument over the phone upon his return from Vermont was the worst of it, but then he randomly decided to go off to England chasing crop circles, and she simply had it with his whims, and exploded. All that was left in the wake of that confrontation was his wounded expression, seared into her brain, making her feel impossibly worse about herself.

But in his absence, she had never expected to be facing her past in such a way that would put everything else into perspective. Because had she chosen to stay with Daniel and consummate their relationship, she would never have met this man who both incensed and aroused her, this man she had trusted so implicitly, but whose beliefs made her cringe and roll her eyes more often than not. She would never know a love like this, so deep and so consuming it often left her breathless. She would never realize she must hold on to it with all her might, and never let go.

She couldn't tell Maggie all that though, still fearing the volatile young woman would change her mind yet again. Her presence in the life of the Waterstons had left behind a deep scar – the scars she'd been carrying all of these years didn't feel so severe anymore, in comparison. It had been a struggle, but she was finally able to put this behind her, whereas it had been their grim reality from the moment she left. She couldn't imagine what it was like, living like this, carrying this baggage for an entire decade. She had always prided herself on leaving on time, believing that the fact she hadn't slept with him prevented the wreckage of his marriage. How wrong she had been; how naive.

But she isn't naive anymore. And despite what she's told Daniel a few days ago, she knows exactly what she has. She doesn't want the life she hasn't chosen. What she wants is right here in the next room.

She crosses the small living room barefoot, her stockinged feet barely making a sound against the hardwood floor, and stands at the entrance of his bedroom to watch him for a moment. He's sprawled on his back, fast asleep, a fact which surprises her given his constant battle with insomnia. She guesses even he has his limits. A round trip to England would do that to a person. Still, she moves stealthily, staying as quiet as possible as she sheds her clothes and slips into one of his tee shirts, uses the bathroom and brushes her teeth. Somehow he sleeps through all of that. He doesn't even stir as she crawls into bed beside him. She hates waking him, but feels compelled to do it now or she'll lose her nerve. It is time to put an end to this. She scoots closer, and begins to spread butterfly kisses across his naked chest.

His eyes snap open as he wakes up with a start. "Shhh," she whispers soothingly; "It's me."

"Scully?" he rasps, and her name turns into a groan as she maintains her ministrations. From the corner of her eye she notices him grab the sheets. She lightly sucks on his skin once to watch him squirm; he doesn't disappoint. "What are you doing?"

She pauses only to look up and smile angelically at him. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean you..."

"I fell asleep earlier," she states the obvious, then feels silly for doing so.

"I'll try not to take offense."

His crooked grin is disarming; she wills her weary mind into focus. "But I need to tell you something."

She's reluctant to pull away from him, but feels it needs to be said first. She moves to lie beside him, and taking the hint, he shifts until they're facing one another, like that first morning in her bed. He seems apprehensive as for what she's about to tell him, but doesn't say anything, just watches her attentively, waiting.

"I didn't mean to push you away. I was going through something and I needed time on my own to get myself together." She doesn't elaborate, determined not to tell him about her meltdown over the pregnancy that never was. She won't do this to him, break his heart again. She hopes he doesn't insist.

His eyes seem distant and contemplative for a moment before he meets her gaze. His bottom lip trembles ever so slightly, as if he's about to cry. "I thought it was me. I thought it was something I did that made you shut out."

"Mulder, no," she says fiercely, reaching out to touch his cheek. Of course, she knew he would think that, find a way to take the blame. She hates herself now for hurting him, desperate to reassure him. "Don't think I haven't noticed how hard you tried. Don't think I don't appreciate all of it. You were... are... the sweetest, most attentive lover I've ever had. You haven't done anything wrong. It was all me. I don't know what came over me. I just couldn't shake out of it."

"Were you having second thoughts?" He seems frightened by the possibility.

"Not second thoughts exactly. I guess that as soon as the enormity of it all came crushing down on me, I was beginning to question my motives about all this." She dares meeting his gaze, and recognizes the agony in his expression. She knows it well. She remembers that dark sensation, that excruciating pain.

"And then that bastard..." She sees rather than feels him tense, but doesn't let it deter her. She has to let it out. "He said I would never allow myself to love you and that made things even worse because it was as if he could read me like a goddamned book. And these past few days with Daniel..." She's getting emotional; she inhales deeply in an attempt to restrain herself, then looks at him earnestly. "Of course I love you, Mulder. I've loved you for so long and so intensely that it scares the hell out of me sometimes."

"It scares the hell out of me too," he says. "This is why I freaked out when I realized you ran off with him. I guess I thought he somehow found out about us and was going to use it against us in the worst way imaginable."

She ponders this for a second, then shakes her head in dismay. "That's paranoid even for you," she chides him gently. He shrugs, as if saying guilty as charged. "Regardless of all that. I messed up and I want to make things right again." She looks at him imploringly. His gaze is wide-awake now, boring into hers. "Please let me make things right again," she whispers, blinking away tears. She isn't used to making such confessions face to face. But his room is dark, and it fills her with courage. She rests her palm against his cheek again, and smiles through her tears. "Kiss and make up?"

She barely manages another breath before his lips lock with hers with fierceness she's almost forgotten, and then he's everywhere at once as his hands begin to wander, as do hers. She lavishes attention on that bottom lip which has made him appear so forlorn before, biting it slightly, making him hiss her name into her mouth and buck his hips against her. She threads her fingers in his hair to hold him closer, his own name escaping her in a murmur as his lips trail along her jaw.

"Can I confess something too?" he breathes into the hollow of her neck, biting the collar of her shirt – his shirt. She hums an affirmation but doesn't let go. She hitches her leg around his waist to keep him in place. Surprisingly enough, it doesn't distract him. "The Gunmen know... about us."

She tenses, then pulls away just enough to give him a look that is half incredulous, half amused. "How?"

"They sort of figured it out... Long story." He sums up, then grins apologetically. "I'm sorry – "

She places a finger on his lips; his voice trails off at once. "I don't care," she declares, then adds softly but seriously, "I don't want to fight," and he smiles when he realizes those are his words. He nods, and they kiss again, and he begins to peel the shirt off her body just as she tries to get rid of his pajama bottoms, pulling them down with her feet.

As they become one, their souls once again conjoined, their bodies slowly readjusting to one other's rhythms, all she can think about is how perfect this feels, how right. And she really doesn't want to fight anymore. Not ever. Never again.