The Choice VI: Home
by Leigh Alexander
leigh_xf@geocities.com

First posted: April 9, 1996

RATING: PG
CATEGORY: SA
SPOILERS: None
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance
SUMMARY: Mulder comes home.

DISCLAIMERS:
1) Dana and Fox belong to Chris and Ten Thirteen Productions
and the other Fox. Absolutely *no* copyright infringement is
intended - I'm not doing this for money, I'm doing it for
love. I *love* these characters, I wouldn't want to hurt
them! :)
2) OK to archive, but if it's going anywhere other than
Gossamer, please drop me a line just so I can keep track.
3) Feel free to distribute and discuss this, as long as my
name and addy remain attached.

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The Choice VI: Home
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Mulder watched the passing scenery in bemusement. The feeling
of confusion he was now experiencing had started not long
after they had left the hospital parking lot. In fact, if he
hadn't still been suffering from the physical after-effects
of his long hospital stay, he probably would have questioned
things sooner.

Three weeks had gone by since his awakening, and the doctors
had finally decided that he could be discharged. Upon hearing
this news, Scully had immediately offered to drive him home.
This is where he should have first caught a glimpse of
something awry; but he didn't, his mind had been dulled by
the pain and most of all by his absence from reality. He just
didn't even think to question her.

Yet now, driving through the streets of Washington, the
questions were starting to pierce through the fog of his
mind. The familiarity of their route caused his brow to
furrow, as he sought the answers. It was no use asking Scully
- she was in one of her tight-lipped, say nothing moods. He'd
just have to wait and see...

Eventually Scully pulled up to the curb and switched off the
engine. She twisted around and reached out to the back seat
to get her bag, and in doing so, she had a clear view of
Mulder's face, which was inches from hers, staring at her in
complete bewilderment.

"What are we doing here, Scully? I don't understand..."

"I said I was taking you home, didn't I?"

"You mean...?" He didn't finish the sentence straight away -
her expression, a sort of embarrassed, yet coy smile,
answering his question for him. But he had to be certain,
"You kept it?"

"I paid the rent, yes."

His face softened as he realised what she was saying. He
started to speak, to thank her, to ask her why... but she cut
off his questions with her next words.

"You didn't think I was going to move your damn fish into
*my* apartment, did you?" She smiled broadly, and before he
had time to reply, she got out of the car.

He grinned, and stepped onto the sidewalk, locking and
closing the car behind him.

Scully had already started to head towards the building, so
he quickened his pace and caught up with her.

As they stepped into the elevator, Mulder felt a sharp,
stabbing pain in his head. He winced, and brought his hands
up to his head, pressing his fingers tightly against his
temples.

Scully looked at him worriedly, "What's wrong Mulder?"

"It's nothing - just a headache..."

"I'm sure you'll probably be having a few of those until you
recover fully. There's some aspirin in the apartment." She
said matter-of-factly.

Mulder looked at her curiously, but before he had time to
ponder the thought of how she knew about the aspirin, the
elevator had stopped, and she had stepped out onto his floor.

Scully walked rapidly down the corridor towards his apartment
and he followed closely behind, his hands now swinging
loosely by his sides.

They arrived at apartment 42 and she pulled out her keyring.
Despite the number of keys in her hand, she deftly picked out
the one for his apartment - the ease with which she found it
a subtle indication to him that she had done this many times
before.

Mulder's key no longer bore the identifying label that had
been there for so many years. It had fallen off a long time
ago, and Scully had never bothered to replace it, not because
she was too lazy, but simply because she no longer needed the
key to be labelled. She could find that key, could recognise
its familiar shape and weight, with her eyes closed; she had
no need of labels.

With a well-practised movement, she unlocked the door and
pushed it open. Once in the apartment, Scully tossed her bag
onto the coat rack and quickly removed her coat, placing it
alongside the bag.

Mulder continued to study her; her every gesture was
suggesting to him that she was at home in this apartment,
that she knew it as well as her own apartment, and the
thought both moved him and scared him a little.

She turned and looked at him - he was still standing in the
doorway, somewhat nervous about entering. She walked towards
him and lightly took hold of his hand, gently pulling him
into the room and shutting the door behind them.

The pair stood silently for a few moments, suddenly aware of
the intimacy of their pose - they were standing only a few
inches away from each other with their hands linked. Their
eyes met, and although Scully suddenly felt like looking
away, she didn't. His hazel eyes were full of warmth, and
something more - something that had been there on a number of
occasions since that day in the hospital. An emotion that she
was only just starting to recognise, without being fully
cognisant of its intentions.

Mulder looked into Scully's eyes and saw fear. And
hesitation. And... a deeper emotion that caused his head to
pound even harder. He understood her fear - saw it for what
it was: not fear of him, rather, apprehension about what was
happening between them, what was to come.

Mulder hadn't forgotten what Scully had said to him in the
hospital that day <It wasn't until you were gone that I
realised how much I needed you...> and yet neither of them
had brought the subject up again. Perhaps it was the
constraints of the hospital, perhaps it was out of shyness,
or maybe it was because they just needed time to process
their thoughts, to figure out where to go from here...
Whatever the reason, the intervening three weeks had passed
without further revelations from either of them.

Scully finally averted her gaze from Mulder's, and slid her
hand out of his. As she moved away, she said softly, "Are you
going to take that aspirin?"

His eyes remained fixed on her, until finally - realising
that the moment was gone - he bowed his head in a familiar
gesture and moved towards the bathroom.

Scully walked over to the couch, and flopped down heavily in
it. Everything was so strange all of a sudden. After all
those years of searching, waiting, hoping - now he was back,
and she felt suddenly shy, uneasy and hesitant around him.
She had dreamed about this moment for so long, had wanted it
so desperately, and now that it was here, now that he had
returned, she didn't know how to act, didn't know what to do.

She sat in pensive silence for few more minutes, until slowly
she became aware of the fact that Mulder still hadn't emerged
from the bathroom. He was taking a long time just to swallow
a pill, and, suddenly worried, she leapt to her feet and
walked over to the bathroom.

The door was open, and she hesitantly called out his name,
before venturing inside.

As soon as she saw him, her face relaxed, until she saw what
he had in his hand. He was standing in front of the bathroom
mirror, an empty glass in one hand, and in the other he held
a box of Tampax. He was staring at it bemusedly, and at the
sound of her entrance, he lifted his eyes to her face and
said, in a mischievous tone, "Well - *these* definitely
aren't mine..."

Scully could feel her cheeks reddening, and she started to
move forward, her hand outstretched, preparing to take the
box from his hand.

"I... uh... I forgot they were there... Here, let me take
them..."

As she drew nearer, he tightened his grasp on the box, and
shook his head slowly. Then he placed the glass he had been
holding on the edge of the sink, and with his free hand, he
reopened the medicine cabinet, and deliberately put the box
back in its original position, alongside an unfamiliar
toothbrush, and a few odds and ends of makeup. He looked at
Scully intently, and said, "No. Leave them." The meaning
behind his words was clear, and she couldn't help drawing in
a shaky breath.

He stepped closer to her, narrowing the distance between
them, and she had a sudden flash of memory: he used to do
this often when they were working together. They would be
involved in an intent discussion about some aspect of the
case they were working on, and he would invariably move
closer to her, bend his head down, so that they could whisper
softly to each other without being heard. She remembered how
she had felt on those occasions: slightly put-out by the
invasion of her personal space, although she would never step
back from him, feeling that he was almost daring her to do
so. And at the same time, she would feel overpowered by his
presence, his proximity... sometimes to the point where she
would almost forget what they were talking about. She had
even felt an overwhelming temptation to shorten the distance
between them even more, by kissing those tempting lips. Of
course, she never had. She had never even betrayed the
slightest nuance of the emotions that would be coursing
through her on those occasions. She had always wondered
whether he did it deliberately, intentionally forcing his
presence on her, compelling her to assess her feelings for
him, maybe hoping that one day she would let the barriers
break and would place her lips on his... She never knew.

And he was doing it to her again. Only this time, there was
no case, no X-Files, no Bureau, no Skinner, no hospital...
there was only the two of them - Mulder and Scully, standing
in Mulder's apartment, the only sound between them was their
breathing... They could do anything they wanted to now. They
were free.

Scully knew that he was waiting for her to take the lead. She
knew what he desired, but she could feel his hesitance too,
as if afraid that she didn't want the same thing.

She lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, deliberately
mimicking the gesture she had made two and a half years ago,
when she had been convinced that she would never see him
again.

She looked up at him and smiled, "Mulder..."

"Yes, Scully?" He smiled back at her.

"Let's just take it slow, OK?" And with that she moved away
from him, and returned to her previous position on the couch.

He felt deflated, but he knew she was right. They had all the
time in the world now... There was no rush.

He left the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him, and
headed towards his living room. As he stepped into the
archway, he was hit with an overpowering sense of
familiarity. The black couch, where Scully was now seated,
the desk under the window, the bookshelf with the fishtank -
all were objects that he had taken for granted when he had
been living here, and now they suddenly seemed to resonate
with meaning. A feeling of comfort settled over him: he was
home - finally.

Only... something was different. It took him a few minutes to
figure out what it was, and when the realisation finally hit
him, he couldn't help breaking out into a huge grin.

Scully smiled in response, and asked with puzzlement, "What?
What is it Mulder?"

He looked over at her in amusement and said, "Been doing a
bit of tidying up, hey, Scully?"

She quickly ducked her head, and attempted to suppress the
grin which threatened to invade her features.

"Honestly Mulder, I just don't know how you could live like
that! The place was an absolute pigsty!"

He didn't reply, his eyes travelling the room once more. Yes
- it had definitely been "Scully-fied". The books on his desk
were arranged neatly in piles - from this distance, he
couldn't tell, but he was willing to bet that they were
grouped together in subject order. The miscellaneous crap
that he usually had lying all over the floor was gone, no
doubt neatly put away in its proper place. He moved closer to
his desk, and opened the drawers - she had even organised his
personal papers! The drawers were full of folders he'd never
seen, neatly labelled (in Scully's handwriting) with titles
such as "Banking", "Insurance" and "Registration".

"I hope you don't mind - I had to go through all that stuff,
when... when I was looking for you, looking for some clue as
to what might have happened to you. I came here, and I hoped
that there might be some sort of information....
something..." Her voice drifted off; she suddenly felt
foolish, she should have just left all his stuff exactly as
it had been when he left. He would probably see it as a sign
of her having given up on him - organising his papers, so
that when he didn't return, it would be easy to deal with all
the official stuff.

"It's OK, Scully - I understand." His tone was completely
unrecriminatory, and she felt instantly relieved.

He continued searching through the drawer, curious to see
what other changes she had made. His hand came across a
familiar object and he pulled it out of the drawer, suddenly
nervous.

He held it aloft: it was a black journal, its cover tattered
and well-worn. He asked hesitantly, "You didn't...?"

She replied immediately, "No, of course not."

His face relaxed into a smile, and he crossed his arms in
front of him, the book still clutched in his hand.

"You know Scully, I'm getting the distinct impression that
you spent a bit of time here while I was gone..."

She didn't respond straight away, her fingers nervously
picking at the fabric of her skirt; "Uh... well, you know...
I didn't want any burglars to think that the place was
deserted. So, yeah, I stayed here a few times." That was all
she was going to tell him. There was no way she was going to
elaborate and tell him the truth: that the reason she had
stayed here at least once a week while he was gone, was
because it was the only real link she had left to him. There
would be times during those years, where his absence would
become so unbearable, the need to see him so painful, that
the only solution had been to come to his apartment and
absorb its "Mulderness".

She had developed a ritual; once a week, usually Friday
nights after work, she would come back here. She would walk
in the door, hang up her bag and coat on the rack, kick off
her shoes and go into his bedroom. Once there, she would shed
her uncomfortable work clothes and pull one of Mulder's many
football jerseys on, along with a pair of his boxer shorts.
Wearing his clothes - which still bore an unmistakable Mulder
aroma - gave her the impression of being near to him once
more.

Then she would go to the kitchen, prepare herself some
dinner, and eat it in front of the TV. She would usually turn
the channel to Fox and watch their hoky series about a pair
of FBI agents - scoffing all the while at the implausibility
of it all.

Sometimes, when she was at her lowest ebb - if she had been
having particularly morbid or hopeless thoughts about
Mulder's whereabouts - she would pull out one of his videos
from the collection that he kept on the bottom shelf of his
bookshelf. She would watch the film with an almost clinical
detachment - amazed at the contortions that the participants
managed to achieve, and she would wonder what it was that
Mulder had gotten from those films. Did they actually turn
him on, she would speculate, or would he watch them with the
same detached interest with which she had seen him look at
those magazines he subscribed to? She didn't know.

She never really watched those videos for their content - for
her they were a conduit of sorts, some sort of connection
between herself and Mulder.

And sometimes, she would lie there on his couch - the couch
where he had spent so many hours sleeping, watching TV, or
videos, and her thoughts would become dominated by Mulder,
her desire for him would inundate her senses... She would lie
there and close her eyes and imagine him being there with
her. Sometimes, she could almost feel his presence, feel the
waves of warmth filling the room, feel his body close to
her... And her hands would become his hands, running along
her torso, caressing her, wanting her...

Scully was jolted out of her reverie by Mulder, who she
realised was speaking to her.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

He looked at her curiously, noticing her flushed cheeks, and
hazy eyes, and repeated his question, "I said, what happened
to the fish?"

He was standing in front of the fishtank, peering into it
intently, as though to reassure himself that yes, it was
indeed empty.

"They died, Mulder - not long after you left." She spoke the
words absent-mindedly, her thoughts still drifting back to
those nights spent alone in this apartment.

"Guess they didn't like their new owner." He looked over her
and smiled, adding, "I can't understand why."

She pulled her mind back from its wanderings and returned his
smile.

He continued to study the bookshelf, and his eye was caught
by another detail: he crouched down and leaned in closer to
examine his video collection: it had been arranged in
alphabetical order. He swivelled his head around and fixed
Scully with a look of surprise;

"Scully - you didn't... watch--"

She felt the colour rising to her cheeks and cut him off
abruptly, saying, "No I didn't, Mulder." She lied adeptly,
forcing her face to remain blank and unemotional.

He accepted her words at face value, and stood up slowly. He
looked over the room once more, surprised at his lack of
discomfort about the change his apartment had undergone.
Although he had lived with its ordered chaos quite
comfortably for years, for some reason, seeing it now - its
tidiness leaping out at him - didn't upset him as he might
have thought it would. Somehow, it felt right. The room cried
out "Scully" to him, while still retaining enough of "Mulder"
to reassure him. It hit him suddenly - this room, the whole
apartment had taken on a physical representation of his and
Scully's partnership. This room embodied the blending of
their two spirits, their similarities and their differences,
and that was why it felt right.

Mulder closed his eyes, and stood, transfixed, in the centre
of the room for a long time . Silence filled the room, its
only interruption the steady breathing of its two occupants.
Emotions that he'd rarely experienced welled inside Mulder -
he couldn't put them into words, couldn't even visualise
them, he could just feel them. They filled his spirit to the
point where he felt his body was almost humming with joy.
<Scully>. The name tingled in his head, coursed through his
blood and filled his body...

He let out a long, slow breath, and opened his eyes, turning
around so that he was now facing her.

She was leaning forward, her hands rested on her knees, her
fingers linked, in a prayer-like pose. She had been watching
him intently, and she was startled to have his gaze suddenly
fall upon her. She didn't have time to hide the feelings that
were displayed rawly, almost savagely on her face. The power
of her eyes, the intensity of her expression hit him with
such force, he felt physically sore. God, he'd never had
anyone look at him in that way...

She allowed her feelings to stay openly displayed on her
normally reserved face for a few seconds. Then she removed
it, hid it away with all her other expressions that he hoped
he would one day get to see. She replaced it with a gentle
smile - warm and welcoming, and he was irresistibly drawn to
it - moving over to the couch with a motion so subtle, he
barely even felt his feet move.

Her eyes remained fixed on his, and she followed his
progression as if her life depended on it.

He sat down. The air hissed out of the cushion and broke the
deathly silence that engulfed them.

Mulder looked at Scully. Her face was so serious, so intent -
he knew, just from looking into those pale blue eyes, that
the fine line that they had been precariously treading since
the start of their partnership was soon going to be crossed -
finally.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that
he hadn't noticed before. He broke his gaze from Scully's
face and turned his attention to the object on his coffee
table.

The photo.

It was the photo of Samantha. The one that he had taken with
him whenever he left Washington. The photo that had been a
sort of talisman for him - something solid to grasp and hold
onto. Something to remind him of his quest in life, remind
him of her, of her innocence, of her need for his help.

Samantha.

That night - the night she had been taken away, she had
called out to him, had needed him - if he'd only done
something, then she would still be here, would still be
alive...

It was his fault. It had always been his fault. And now he
would have to pay for that for the rest of his life. Whereas
before, he had been able to live with the hope, the faith,
now all he had was the truth. The irony didn't escape him -
all his life, all he'd been searching for was the truth, the
ultimate truth. And now he'd found it and it was causing him
more pain than his ignorance had ever done. The truth was
that Samantha was dead and that he was responsible... The
truth was that he couldn't fight the enemy, because he didn't
even know who the enemy was, all he could do was fight his
own shadow, struggle with red tape, and search in vain for a
lost cause...

He picked the photo up in his hands. He felt a warm pressure
on his arm, and realised that Scully had wrapped her hands
around his lower arm. Somewhere deep inside of him, he
registered this gesture - was aware of her comfort, her
empathy - but he didn't acknowledge it in any way, his mind
was too busy delving into the darkness that had so often
overwhelmed him whenever Samantha was concerned.

And as he stared fixedly at Samantha's face, and felt the
subtle touch of Scully's hand, he remembered when she, too,
had disappeared. And that had been his fault also. And then
Melissa had been killed, an innocent victim in his personal
war. He could feel the tears burning inside of him, but he
pushed them down.

"You were right, Scully." His voice was shaky, yet clear.

"About what Mulder?" She spoke so tenderly... so gently.

"About them. About me. They were using Samantha as bait, just
like you said. And I came running, right on command."

"No, Mulder, you're wrong. Why would they have let you
return, if they just wanted to kill you, like I said?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't as good a catch as they'd hoped
- maybe they just threw me back to sea to fend for myself?"

She was silent. She couldn't argue with him on this. She
didn't know why that man had come for Mulder, and she
certainly didn't know why they'd allowed him to return.

"All my life has just been a waste."

"Mulder! How can you say that?"

"Look at me Scully - I've devoted almost thirty years of my
life to searching for someone who died twenty years ago!"

She started to protest, but he cut her off, continuing, "And
in the process I've dragged you and your family, and even
Skinner down with me, Scully."

"Just stop it Mulder - we've been over this before: I don't
blame you for all that - look, my abduction, Melissa's death,
none of these things were your fault! Were you the one who
took me from Duane Barry? Did you fire the gun that killed my
sister? No!" Her voice started to break, but she continued,
"They are the *only* people that I hold responsible for those
events Mulder, not you - never you..."

He continued to stare at the photo, his thumb gently sliding
along the cool glass, caressing the two-dimensional image.
Samantha smiled at him - it was her smile that got to him.
The innocence of ignorance: she was able to smile then, when
this photo was taken, she was unaware of her fate, ignorant
of her own destiny, oblivious to the pain and suffering she
was soon to experience, and invoke...

And finally, the tears that he had been holding back for
weeks could no longer be quelled. His lips and eyes tugged
down at their corners, and then his whole face crumbled. The
rough sobs that emerged from his throat were heart-wrenching.
In them hid years of agony - they expressed his grief, his
deception, his misery, his torment and the betrayals that he
had suffered with more precision than any words could have
done.

His anguished sobs tore through Scully's heart and she
couldn't stop tears of empathy springing to her own eyes. And
yet, despite her comprehension of his pain, all she could do
was to comfort him physically. He was leaning forward, his
head in his hands, and his elbows resting on his knees. She
moved up closer to him, and wrapped her arm around his back.
Her head descended gently, so that it rested next to his, and
she could feel the deep shudders that assaulted his body as
distinctly as if it were she who was shuddering. Whilst one
arm stayed protectively traversing his back, the other
reached underneath his lowered head, and touched his
shoulder, the gesture a signal for him to move into her
embrace, which he did - willingly. Scully tightly wrapped her
arms around his body. His face was buried in her shoulder,
and she rocked slowly back and forth, like a mother with a
sick child in her arms. The intention was to soothe Mulder,
but it was she who was as much in need of the soothing
rocking as Mulder. Her own torment was now pounding through
her - the only emotion she was aware of was grief: at this
point she didn't even know if it was Mulder's, or her own.

Her voice came to her from a long way away. "Shhh... it's all
right, Mulder..." She stroked his head softly with her hand,
"I'm here for you... I'm here..."

At some point during this time, it occurred to her that for
as long as they had worked together, she had never comforted
him in this way. It had always been the other way round - not
that it had happened very often - it would be Mulder drawing
her into his embrace. He would soothe her, by holding her
body against his, running his hand through her hair, and
whispering the same reassuring words that she had just
whispered to him. But this was the first time that he had
allowed himself to be comforted by her, had surrendered
himself into her embrace, had exposed himself to her in such
a way... And whilst the rational part of her mind felt
grateful at this sign of trust, the emotional side couldn't
help being devastated by the force of his agony.

Time passed, and his sobs continued to rack his body. Scully
gripped him tightly, the wetness of their tears dampened each
other's shoulders, almost as if even the tears themselves
knew that they belonged together. Their individual pains were
joined as they had never been before.

Over the years, the pair had become supreme experts at hiding
their feelings - not just from each other, but from everyone
else around them. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that
when these emotions finally did surface they did so in such a
dramatic, and traumatic, way. And yet, Scully realised that
this was more than just a sharing of their suffering - it was
almost an exorcism: the final cathartic step before they
could move on to the next step, and leave all the tragedy
behind them...

Mulder could feel the engulfing waves of grief so tangibly
that he could almost visualise its touch as it reached into
every pore of his body. Reason deserted him, and he couldn't
stop the words from pouring out.

"My fault... it's all my fault..."

Scully shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt
to arrest the flow of tears which continued to engulf her.
She replied almost angrily, her voice choked with pain,
"Mulder, stop it! Just stop blaming yourself..."

"My life's just a waste. There's nothing here for me..."

She couldn't bear to hear those words. She placed her hands
on either side of his face, and pulled his head up so they
were looking into each other's tear-filled eyes.

"Mulder." Her voice was firm, decisive, "Don't you *ever* say
that. Don't you even think that! *I'm* here for you Mulder -
I'm here, and I'm never going to leave you..."

Before he had time to fully grasp her words, she pulled his
head closer to her own, leaned forward and placed her lips on
his.

The first time they had kissed, it had been brief, soft and
tender. That had been a kiss of lost hopes, of abandoned
dreams, of sorrow and of regret. Their second kiss was
fierce, almost violent. Their mouths were wet with the debris
of sorrow. Their lips slipped over each other clumsily, and
yet they clung on desperately. It was a urgent kiss, one born
of hopelessness, desire, anguish and need...

And still the tears continued, their saltiness mixing in with
the kiss, and fuelling their desire. Their mouths played with
each other searchingly - in an instant their relationship had
changed, had finally crossed into the forbidden territory
that they had each craved for so long. And, as with all their
more intense moments, it had only been arrived at through
grief and pain.

Scully's hand was intertwined in Mulder's hair, kneading it
through her fingers, teasing and pulling it, as her tongue
searched his mouth longingly. Mulder pulled her closer to
him, closer than she'd ever been, not only in a physical
sense, but in a psychological one also.

Their tears clogged them up, and they had to pause
repeatedly, inhaling deep gulps of air, breathing in with an
insistence that highlighted their physical yearning. And yet
neither of them could let go - they clung to each other
tightly, the deepness of their kisses an indication of the
force of their hunger for each other. They had both waited so
long and so patiently to explore this final unknown territory
between them.

Finally Scully pulled her lips away from his, and she sat
back, examining him. It wasn't in her nature to be carried
away by emotion, she needed to stop for a moment, to assess
and analyse the situation. They had been platonic partners
for too long for it all to vanish in an instant without a
moment's hesitation.

Their faces were inches away from each other. Mulder's
cheeks, like hers, were saturated with tears, whilst his lips
were damp from her kisses. She had a sudden urge to lay her
fingers on his cheeks, wipe away the tears, with an ease with
which she could never erase the rest of his pain. For once,
she allowed her instincts to take over and she brought her
thumbs up to his face, sliding them along his cheeks and
gently brushing the moisture aside.

He brought his own hands up so that they, too, rested on her
face. As they had done so often as partners, he mirrored her
gesture. His fingers were warm and knowing as they slid along
her cheeks, and then travelled across the rest of her face.
She closed her eyes, wanting to enjoy this touch on a purely
sensory level. His thumb played teasingly with her mouth,
stroking her lips with a delicacy that caused her to shudder.
Then his fingers glided over her eyelids, the slight pressure
causing a rainbow of colours to swim before her eyes. When
his fingers left that spot to continue their journey, she
couldn't stop her eyelids from flickering open - she had a
sudden urgent desire to see his face, to look into his eyes
with a new familiarity.

At her contemplation, he smiled and said softly, "We're here
for each other."

... And Scully was finally able to decipher that feeling that
had been present with her for as long as she could remember.
A feeling that had started as a mere stirring, and had grown
over the years into something much more meaningful, while
still resting unacknowledged. Almost from the very start of
their relationship, the feeling had teased her, played with
her, taunted her. She had managed to ignore it most of the
time, deny its presence, refuse its admittance into the deep
core of rational thought that guided the rest of her life.
And yet, despite this treatment, despite the abuse, the
feeling had remained, silent, yet strong.

She looked into Mulder's eyes - God, how many times had she
done this? - and finally realised that she was in love with
this man. Her comprehension of this emotion did not come in
an epiphanic-like flash of light, rather, its vagueness
finally solidified - it had always been there, it had just
been waiting for the right moment to announce itself.

Mulder watched with eerie perception as these thoughts
flashed across her face and shone out of her eyes. He knew
that face so well - knew its expressions of joy, of hatred,
of anger and now, finally, of love. When he saw that she had
finally recognised the true nature of her feelings, a slow
smile crept across his face.

That he loved her had been an accepted fact in his own mind
for a long time now. Like Scully, it had taken him time to
recognise the feelings he had towards her for what they
really were.

He had first had an inkling of it when she had been taken
from him. At the time he had tried to convince himself that
the depression into which he had sunk, both before and after
her reappearance, was merely linked to his feelings of
helplessness and guilt, and most of all, the resurrection of
old memories of Samantha's disappearance. At least, that was
what he told himself, on the rare occasions that he actually
took time out from his self-pitying despondency to analyse
his feelings.

There had never been any doubt in his mind that those few
months had been the turning point in their relationship - it
was then that he had realised that the wall he had built
around his emotions had a small crack in it... and - even
worse - that *they* knew his weakness. From that moment,
everything had started to deteriorate. The pair had been
constantly dogged by death and pain, to the point where their
own working relationship had begun to suffer. And yet it was
almost ironic that at the same time he had felt the unfolding
of an emotion deep inside of him that he could never
acknowledge, could never deal with...

Until now.

Now they had both acknowledged their true feelings. It had
taken more than eight years and yet... it was worth the wait.
Neither of them would have wished it any other way - their
long-time platonic friendship had neatly paved the way into
something more, something deeper. It was through knowing each
other so intimately as partners that they had each - in their
separate ways - realised how dependant they had become on the
other, how necessary their partner's presence was in order
for life to be worthwhile.

Scully was still looking intently at Mulder. However, the
intensity of her gaze was softened by the delicate smile that
graced her features.

She had finally realised why it was that being with Mulder
felt so right. Why his absence had affected her so
profoundly, and why their future felt so secure... It was
simple really.

They were partners. In every sense of the word.

~ THE END ~

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