Ordinary People 
Author: Diana Battis
Classification: MSR S, Angst
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sometimes love isn't enough to sustain a relationship. 
This is the third installment in the "Ordinary" series. 

--
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never have, never will, damn it! 
Author's Comments: Thanks to Kristy, who gave so much of her time to make it possible. 
Without her support and encouragement, this would still be sitting on my hard drive!

******
Part One
******

It was dark in the room, but the absence of light didn't bother the man walking its length. 
Gloom and doom, that was his metier. He was more comfortable in the dark, more at home with 
his demons in that atmosphere. Somehow, it made their torment easier to bear.

They were out in full force tonight.

His eyes turned to the desk, where the blinking light of an answering machine stood out in the 
blackness. Its constant flashing reproached him for his inattention. Dropping his keys on the 
surface of the desk, Mulder's hand reached out and pushed the message button.

*click* "Mulder, it's me. Just wanted to let you know my plane is scheduled to arrive at 11:42 
tonight. Flight 226 from San Diego. I've missed you. . ." He heard Scully clear her throat before 
she continued. ". . . see you then." *click*

He dreaded this night, dreaded what was coming. He knew he had to handle it carefully. The 
situation called for a delicate touch, something he wasn't noted for. He sighed, thinking how 
easy it would be to just put it off. Easy, but not right. Pacing back and forth in the shadows, he 
went over the situation, debating the pros and cons. 

*She'll be okay. Scully is smart, and strong -- a survivor. I don't have to feel like a total shit. It's 
better to tell her now than to string her along. She deserves better than that.*

He checked his watch. It was almost time to leave. His booted feet paced across the floor, the 
measured footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the room. The air crackled with nervous 
tension, like lightning to the thunder of his stride. 

He looked back at the answering machine, barely discernible in the gloom. Turning swiftly, he 
stepped back to it. With unerring resolve, his hand found the save button, causing the red light 
to begin blinking again.

Satisfied, Mulder grabbed his keys and headed for the airport.

He knew what he had to do.

******

Closing the tray table, Scully turned sideways in her seat. As the plane was nearly empty, she 
was able to stretch out, her jeans-clad legs resting across the seats. Leaning her head against the 
window, she looked out at the darkness, remembering her past week.

She sighed deeply at the memories. The vacation had been her mother's idea -- five short days 
spent with her brother, Bill, and his family. Maggie had pushed her daughter to go, reminding 
Scully that she hadn't seen them in over a year, and a visit was long overdue.

It hadn't been an enjoyable experience. 

She'd gone alone. That, too, had been her mother's idea, a way of bridging the emotional gap 
she saw between her two children. But Scully had been too preoccupied with Mulder, 
something Bill had noticed right away. Of course, he couldn't let it pass without comment.

"I thought you were here to spend time with us, Dana? Did you have to bring Mr. Mulder with 
you?" His voice, loud and strident, grated on her nerves, but she hadn't responded to his malice. 
It was pointless -- nothing she'd say could change his mind. But the vacation had been ruined, 
and she'd spent the rest of the time counting the days until her departure.

Now she was on her way home, finally. They should be landing shortly, and in ten minutes 
she'd be back where she belonged -- with Mulder.

God, she'd missed him. Closing her eyes, she conjured up his image, mentally cataloging his 
attributes. His long, lean body, beautiful hazel eyes, sweet, sensuous mouth. And his voice -- 
deep and smooth, like fine aged wine. Just hearing that voice on his answering machine had 
aroused her in a way that was almost embarrassing, and she'd nearly screwed up the message. 
She smiled, remembering what she'd wanted to say before settling for the more discreet 'I miss 
you'.

Sudden heat colored her cheeks, causing her to press them against the cool glass. It had been a 
long week. She wondered how others stood these little separations. It wasn't easy. 

And it wasn't easy giving up control, either. She loved him so much that, frankly, those feelings 
scared her. She'd never felt this way about anyone before. Not even Jack.

Life with Mulder was like being on a roller coaster, she decided. Living it at ninety miles an 
hour, with lots of ups and downs and hidden turns that took your breath away. Frightening and 
exhilarating at the same time. And never boring.

The voice of the flight attendant, asking them to fasten their seatbelts, interrupted her thoughts. 
Shifting her feet to the floor, she pulled the belt tightly around her. She didn't have much longer 
to wait. Grabbing the arms of the seat and holding tightly, she prepared for their descent and 
landing.

******

The plane was late, leaving him to pace back and forth in the clinical sterility of the airport 
waiting room. Though it was cool in the lounge he was perspiring, tendrils of hair clinging 
damply to his forehead. He was nervous, and his mission weighed heavily on him.

*I should have planned this. To do it cold is going to be difficult. I need to think.* He shifted 
his shoulders wearily, feeling his muscles protest at the movement. Reaching back, he rubbed 
his neck, trying to ease the tension.

*Where do I tell her? In the car? No, better to wait until I get her home. It'll be easier for her if 
she's in a comfortable setting.*

He couldn't relax. His movements felt stiff and unnatural as he continued pacing. *I've got to 
loosen up. I want to control this situation, and that won't be easy if I can't control myself.*

He walked over to the observation windows in the lounge, looking out at the night. The sky was 
clear, and he could see the stars sprinkled across the heavens, their melancholy beauty mocking 
him. The moon hung low on the horizon. Almost full, he noted absently. A night for lovers. . .

Shrugging off the thought, he strode over to flop into one of the hard plastic contoured chairs 
that passed for seating in the airport. Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he slumped 
down, resting his head against the back of the seat. He was so tired. Though he closed his eyes 
against the glare of the overhead fluorescent lighting, he could still feel it burning into his lids. 

The crackle of the loudspeaker caught his attention. "Flight 226 from San Diego now arriving at 
Gate 12."

The lounge suddenly became a hive of activity. People began to move forward, the buzz of their 
voices filling the air as they waited for the plane taxi into place. There was a lot of pushing and 
shoving as they jockeyed into position, each trying hard to be the closest to the arrival gate.

Hanging back for the moment, he maintained his seat as he nervously contemplated the crowd. 
He wondered if any of them dreaded this moment as much as he did. *Too late to change your 
mind. You know it has to be done.*

Pressing his fingers against his eyes, he strived to shake off the feeling of disaster that was 
coursing through him. *Don't think about it, just do it.* Shaking his head, he looked up in time 
to see the first of the passengers arriving.

"Show time," he whispered to himself. Taking a deep breath, he rose and moved back, watching 
the assembled crowd surge in front of him. He stood against the wall, waiting . . .

******

Rushing off the plane, Scully pushed her way past family reunions and lovers' returns to look 
for Mulder. He always stood head and shoulders above the rest, in her eyes at least. She walked 
through the crowd twice, searching through those assembled.

And suddenly she saw him, standing against the wall, hands in his pockets as he nervously 
shifted from one foot to the other. A lock of hair had fallen over his brow, and she watched as 
he brushed it back, his fingers combing through the unruly darkness. He wore his usual jeans 
and t-shirt, and he looked good enough to eat.

*What I wouldn't give to be just an ordinary woman, coming home to my lover. To be able to 
run to him, right into his arms. To kiss him and not worry about who might see us. To walk out 
of the terminal with his arm draped around me.* But she knew that wasn't possible for them, 
and settled for giving him a small smile and wave as she walked toward him.

"Hey!" He pushed away from the wall to meet her.

"Hey, yourself! Hope you didn't have to wait too long." She was a bit taken aback by his casual 
greeting. They'd been apart for nearly a week, and she knew the toll it had taken on her.
Somehow, she'd expected more.

He smiled at her, but it seemed forced. Up close, he *did* look tired, she decided. There were 
fine lines around his eyes, ones she swore weren't present just a week ago. Coupled with his 
restlessness, it caused a small hint of uncertainty to skitter across her nerves.

He took her bag and they walked through the airport, his hand in the small of her back, guiding 
her. It was the only touch they'd shared.

*****

The street was nearly deserted, the stillness of the night broken only by the faint chirping of 
crickets. The air was warm and slightly humid, its oppressiveness almost tangible. Though it 
was dark, the glare of the streetlights provided sufficient illumination. It cast its glow on the 
car, lighting the features of the passengers.

"Scully, wake up, we're home." 

He hated to awaken her. Hated what he was about to do to her. She looked so peaceful, her face 
relaxed in slumber. "Scully." He shook her lightly, and watched as she began to stir. 

"Ummm. Sorry, Mulder. I didn't mean to fall asleep." She slowly sat up, stretching lightly, 
rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked like a drowsy child, young and innocent, just 
waking up from a much-needed nap. Her hair was slightly tousled, and he reached out to 
smooth back the errant tendrils.

"Don't apologize. It was a long flight. I'd probably feel the same way." His finger stroked 
lightly down her cheek before withdrawing. "Let's get you inside."

He got out of the car and walked around to open the door for her. Surprisingly, she let him. He 
helped her from the car, catching her as she stumbled slightly. 

"You okay?" His arm was quickly placed around her waist, supporting her as she shook away 
the last vestiges of sleep. At her nod, he grabbed her bag from the back. Together, they crossed 
the street to her place.

******

Mulder had his key ready, opening the door, and guiding her into the apartment. Once inside, 
she turned on the lamp, its glow a warm welcome to the familiar surroundings. It felt so good to 
be home again. 

Walking over to the fireplace, she absently ran her hand across the mantle, smiling at the 
framed photos displayed there. She kicked off her shoes, moving to drop her jacket and purse 
on the couch. Turning to watch Mulder shut the door she was again struck by his apparent 
weariness. 

Seating herself on the couch, she examined him closely, care apparent in her look. He appeared 
lost, somehow, standing there in the doorway. An air of defeat seemed to hang over him, his 
sagging posture adding to her concern. Even in the muted light she could see the dark smudges 
under his eyes, silent proof of his exhaustion.

"I'm fine." He responded to her silent regard with a careless shrug. She wanted to laugh at his 
words, the same words she'd spoken to him so many times before, but the look in his eyes 
silenced the urge. 

Something was wrong, she couldn't put her finger on it, but it was more than just lack of sleep. 
His stance betrayed some inner turmoil, and his uncharacteristic silence was troubling.

She thought they'd moved past this stage. He'd been so open with her, allowing her to see his 
vulnerable side, sharing his thoughts and dreams with her. Looking at him now, at the contrast 
his closed features presented, struck the chords of unease that had been softly playing along the 
edges of her consciousness.

"We need to talk." He stood in the center of the room, his face in the shadows cast by the dim 
lighting.

"Okay, let's talk." She patted the cushion next to her. "Sit down, before you fall down. Mulder, 
when was the last time you slept?"

Ignoring her question, he flopped down in the overstuffed chair in the corner, and her eyes 
widened in surprise at the obvious snub. His hands gripped its arms, and she watched his 
knuckles turn white. Shifting her gaze, she studied his face, those familiar eyes, the proud nose, 
the normally expressive mouth, searching for some insight. The air in the room hummed with a 
melancholy undercurrent, and she felt its grim effect as she waited for him to speak.

"This isn't working." His voice was low, and she strained to hear his words. 

"I don't understand. What isn't working, Mulder?" His body was tense, like a tightly wound 
watch spring, and she wondered how long before he spiraled out of control.

"Us. Our relationship. I think it's a mistake." He'd started speaking slowly and carefully, but 
now, once he had started, the words spilled freely from him. "We need some time apart, Scully. 
I've arranged to take two weeks vacation. I suggest you use the time to decide if you still want 
to work on the X-Files."

At first she didn't understand, couldn't comprehend what he was saying. And then her brain 
processed his words, each one like a physical blow crashing into her, leaving her raw and 
aching. 

"Why? Why are you doing this to us?" Though her voice was cool and controlled, her hands 
were raised in supplication. She noticed their trembling, and quickly lowered them to her lap. 

"Scully, there is no 'us'." He stood, and walked to the window, moving the curtains to look out 
at the street. "We've been partners for a long time. Things can get pretty intense in our line of 
work. Neither one of us has much of a personal life, let alone a sex life."

"I don't believe you, Mulder. This isn't you talking. Something's happened and you think you 
have to protect me." She stared at his rigid back, willing him to turn and face her. "I don't need 
your protection. I need your honesty."

He sighed, a note of impatience in the sound. "You're a doctor, Scully. You, of all people, 
should know about biological urges." 

"So you're trying to tell me it was all about sex?" She was stunned. "Mulder, you said you loved 
me." Her emotions were barely under control, tears very close to the surface and she was 
determined not to break down in front of him. Her pride was already in tatters, and she'd be 
damned if he'd see her cry.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Scully." Moving away from the window, he hesitated as he looked directly at 
her for the first time. She saw pain in his eyes. "I'll be in the office early Monday to pick up 
some papers, so if you want to come in late, that's okay." 

He paused, as if to say something more, but shook his head. Then he was gone, and she heard 
the door as it closed quietly behind him.

******

Walking through the corridors at headquarters, she tried to prepare herself for the imminent 
encounter. She'd spent the whole weekend thinking about what he'd said, looking for some 
insight into the situation. There had to be a reason. It hurt him to tell her, the sick look on his 
face bore testament to that. And she sensed a certain lack of conviction in his words.

Her knees begin to tremble. *You don't have to do this now. Let it rest, give him some time 
alone before confronting him. But what if this is a test, some sort of torture he's devised 
because he feels undeserving of any happiness? If I accede to his wishes, I fail. I can't do that to 
us, I have to try.*

Reaching the elevator, she squared her shoulders before punching the down button.

It was quiet in the basement corridor, but as she approached the office she heard movement 
inside. "Mulder, it's me," she called as she pushed open the door. Walking into the office she 
looked up, and an expression of horror crossed her face.

He was there all right, and so was Eleanor, Kersh's assistant. Mulder was kissing her, his arms 
wrapped tightly around her. So close. . . 

Scully heard the urgent sound of their breathing, and saw how hungrily they kissed. Stricken, 
she was frozen in place, unable to close her eyes, to shut out the scene playing before her. She 
watched the blonde reach up to thread her fingers through his hair, touching him . . .

Scully gasped, and at that sound Mulder lifted his head, and looked directly at her. The seconds 
ticked by as they gazed at one another. Mulder was the first to look away. His eyes went back to 
Eleanor, and he pulled her closer, his hands spread over the small of her back, before again 
covering her mouth with his. 

No longer paralyzed, Scully shut her eyes against the sight, feeling the vise-like clamp of 
misery squeezing her heart. Choking out an apology, she turned on her heel, walking swiftly out 
the door.

******

Mulder listened to the rapid footsteps fading into the distance. Pulling back, he thrust the 
blonde away from him with a muttered excuse.

"Oops! Caught in the act." She smiled knowingly, her hands reaching up to pat her hair into 
place. "Don't worry about it. If you decide you want to pick up where we left off, just give me 
another ring. Please. You know where to find me." She turned and flounced out of the office.

Mulder barely heard her. *I've done it.* He felt little triumph in the success. *She has to 
believe me now. Calling, what was her name? Eleanor? to come down here was a stroke of 
genius.* 

That woman had been after him for months, refusing to accept that he wasn't interested in her 
too-obvious charms. It had occurred to him that she'd be just the proof Scully needed to be 
convinced of his seriousness.

He could no longer bear to be in the room. He'd hurt Scully, and he felt sick, remembering the 
look of anguish on her face and the betrayal he saw in her eyes. *Yeah, a fucking stroke of 
genius.*

Grabbing his briefcase, Mulder randomly stuffed files from the paper-strewn desk into it. 
Taking a last look around, his eyes fell on Scully's chair, on the white sweater draped across the 
back of it. Without stopping to think, he yanked the sweater off it and crammed it into his case 
too.

Turning, he left the office.

******

The soft glow of moonlight flooded the room. It's light spread along the floor, touching on the 
gleaming hardwood as the beam flowed to the chair and rested on its occupant. 

She sat there, knees curled to her chest, staring into space. She was cold. It was deep within her, 
this iciness that chilled her to the bone. It was not a cold born of nature, but of need. For in this 
coldness she could escape from the pain that was now an integral part of her life.

She'd lost Mulder.

Though she'd gone over the events of the past few weeks in great detail, she was unable to 
pinpoint when the change had occurred. Nothing in her analysis had provided a single clue. She 
didn't know when he'd begun to feel differently, only that he had.

Immediately following her encounter with Mulder she'd headed to Skinner's office. Told him 
she was sick and needed to take the day off. To his credit, the AD asked no questions. One look 
at her face was enough confirmation, she supposed. And she'd headed straight home.

Cradled within the softness of the chair she'd watched the day pass, the sun fading as twilight 
approached. The moon, heavy and full, moved higher in the evening sky, taunting her with its 
enigmatic smile. She finally fell into a troubled sleep, moonlight shimmering on the silvery 
wetness of her cheeks.

******

Pulling into St. John's lot, she saw her mother with Mrs. Dunn, sorting through boxes of 
donations for the festival. Stacks of cartons were everywhere, some with their contents spilling 
out on to the asphalt. The area bustled with excitement, as volunteers hurried between there and 
the church hall. Others were in the field, seeking to set up the booths and attractions necessary 
to make this event a success.

Reaching over to the passenger's seat, she looked at her own contribution to the silent auction. 
Her finger absently traced the delicate cherry blossom pattern painted on the teapot, which 
rested with matching cups in the carton. The memory of a fortune cookie's message flashed 
through her mind, 'A friend will tell you the truth', and that recollection produced an intense 
wave of pain .

It had been nearly two weeks since she'd seen him. True to his word, he'd taken the time off, 
and she'd been left alone in the abandoned confines of the basement office. She'd spent that 
time seriously considering her options. Though she hadn't made any other decisions concerning 
her future, she knew she could never again work with Mulder.

Blinking rapidly, she grabbed the carton and exited the car, walking over to her mother.

"Dana, you're early!" Mrs. Scully reached out to take the box from her daughter, looking 
surprised at the contents. "Bill bought you this set. I can't believe you're giving it away! I 
thought you loved it?"

Scully forced her mouth into a smile, which didn't quite reach her eyes. "One of the cups is 
cracked, and I remembered you were looking for donations. I think someone will be interested 
in this. It's a beautiful set, and it *is* for a good cause." 

Maggie Scully examined her daughter closely, but said nothing.

Scully sighed. "I don't want to talk about it, Mom." She shifted her attention to the chaos. "Let's 
get started."

******
Part Two
******

Mulder was running, his lungs aching and his legs rubbery from the countless miles he'd 
covered. There was therapy in the repetitive motions, and in the pounding of his feet on the 
sidewalk. Feeling the sweat soak his shirt, running in rivulets down his back to dampen the 
waistband of his shorts helped him feel emotionally cleansed, for a while at least.

He'd spent a lot of time on the streets, running aimlessly until his body was aching and drained. 
Coming home to shower, he would lie on his couch for hours, longing for the oblivion of a 
dreamless sleep, only to be denied its comfort.

Without conscious thought, he found himself running past St. John's. Scully's church, he 
remembered. Pushing back his sweat-soaked hair, he paused, bending at the waist to rub his 
protesting calf muscles.

Looking around, he noted a number of people working in the lot next to the church. The sound 
of hammers and drills vied with the shouts of the crew as they erected wooden booths. Others 
were busy covering the finished structures with colorful striped canvas. A carnival, he thought. 

His eyes scanned among those assembled, looking for a certain petite redhead. It was crazy how 
hungry he was for the sight of her after two weeks apart. 

Instead, an elderly woman struggling to carry several large boxes caught his eye. She was 
slight, and he was again reminded of Scully, though he couldn't imagine her ever having blue 
hair. Jogging over to the woman, he smiled at her as he lifted the boxes from her arms. "Let me 
help you with these. Where do you want them?"

"Oh, you are a lifesaver! Follow me." She led the way into a smaller building, adjacent to the 
church. There were several others already at work in the hall, setting up chairs and covering the 
tables that lined the perimeter of the room. The woman gestured to one of those tables. "You 
can put them down over there. I can't tell you what a help you've been, young man." 

"It was my pleasure. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Well . . ." She tapped her finger on her cheek, thinking. "If you want, you can help me unpack 
the cartons. I need to set up the donations for the silent auction tonight. Is that okay?"

He smiled at her. "Just show me what to do."

An hour later, he was beginning to regret his offer. Straightening up, he arched his back, lightly 
rubbing the back of his neck and shoulders as he tried to work out the kinks. He was tired, but 
she showed no signs of slowing down. Sighing, he reached for the last carton . . .

******

Driving Mrs. Dunn home, Scully allowed her mind to wander as her passenger recounted the 
festival's achievements. *One day left, and I haven't come to a decision. Quantico? I don't 
know. Mom's nearby, but then so is Mulder. . .* She sighed unconsciously. *On Monday, I have 
to talk to Skinner about my transfer. How do I explain to him why?*

"Dana, dear, what do you think?" Mrs. Dunn's sweet voice brought Scully back to the present. 
"Do you think Father McHugh will be angry about it?" She had obviously been asking for 
Scully's advice, and she was at a loss for an answer.

"I . . . guess it depends on the situation. I'm sure he trusts your judgment, Mrs. Dunn. Have you 
spoken to him about it?" *God, I don't even know what I'm talking about!*

But apparently Scully's words satisfied the older woman. "Thank you, dear. I'm glad you 
understand. If you could have seen his face, he really wanted it, and he gave me forty dollars. I 
doubt we could have gotten that much at the silent auction. And he was such a nice boy, too, 
polite and helpful. . ."

Nodding absently, Scully returned to her own thoughts.

******

Mulder's apartment was warm and stuffy when he returned. His body ached, and dropping his 
parcel, he immediately headed for the shower.

The hot water felt good against his sore muscles. He stood there under the splashing warmth, 
feeling the heat soak into him, before reaching for the soap. Lathering up and rinsing, he stayed 
under the shower until the water ran cold. Shivering, he quickly shut off the spray.

His body really hurt, muscles stiffening away from the wet heat of the shower. That hour he'd 
spent at the church had done more to intensify his discomfort than all his running. Grimacing, 
he reached for the sports creme in his medicine chest. 

Rubbing it into his shoulders, he remembered other times, other hands much smaller than his 
but more sure, stroking his flesh with the creme. Alleviating the ache in one place and starting 
it in another.

*Christ! Is this how it's always going to be?* Memories of Scully were everywhere, touching 
on even the simplest matters. Her life was so inextricably woven with his, and while he had no 
doubt she would eventually untangle herself, he wasn't so sure about his abilities to do the 
same. Sighing, he washed the residual creme from his hands and went to dress.

As he was pulling clean clothes from the drawer, he heard knocking at his door. Dropping the 
boxers and t-shirt to the floor, he thrust his legs into the clean jeans he still held. He carefully 
zipped them over his nakedness as he padded barefoot to the door.

"Hey, Mulder, have we got something for you!" Langly pushed his way past Mulder, followed 
by the other members of the unholy three. "Wait till you see these babies!" He was waving a 
large manila envelope. Walking over to the couch, he carelessly pushed the carton to the floor, 
momentarily startled when he heard the crash of the contents.

"Oh, man, sorry Mulder! Hope nothing's broken. . ."

Mulder knelt on the floor, opening the flap of the box to peer inside. His hands, shaking 
slightly, removed two small, jagged pieces of crockery.

"Hey, a little super glue and it'll be good as new." Langly stood there, goofy grin on his face.

"Guys, this isn't a good time." The bleak note in Mulder's voice did not go unnoticed.

"Sorry, Mulder, we should have called first." Byers sensed the tight rein of control Mulder was 
exercising. "We can show him these photos another time." Grabbing Langly's arm, he dragged 
him from the room. "Coming, Frohike?"

"You guys go on ahead, I'll be down in just a minute." He listened for the closing of the door 
before walking over to Mulder.

"It's more than just a broken knickknack, isn't it?" Frohike's obvious concern broke through 
Mulder's control.

"It was hers," he whispered. "The only thing left." The anguish was apparent, and the usual 
cockiness and surety were missing from his voice. 

Frohike was uncertain how to deal with this Mulder. "Hey, buddy, you're acting kinda 
squirrelly. Something you wanna tell me about?" He sat on the floor next to his friend . . .

****** 

Scully was washing up after dinner. She was scrubbing with single-minded intensity at a 
particularly stubborn bit in the corner of the casserole dish, as though removing that trace of 
food was the most important thing in the world. And maybe it was, for it kept her mind from 
other, more disturbing thoughts. 

Swishing the dish under the water, she was placing it in the rack when she heard someone 
pounding at her door. The noise startled her, and she dropped the dish into the rack with a loud 
crash. 

Her hands unconsciously smoothed back the damp hair plastered against her cheek as she 
walked to the door. Peering through the peephole, she was shocked to see Frohike standing 
there. She opened the door quickly to let him in.

"Tell me, is he hurt, is he . . .?" She felt the panic rising in her, closing her throat and making it 
difficult to squeeze out the words.

"No, Scully, he isn't physically hurt. You got a minute? We need to talk." He walked past her, 
settling himself on her couch.

Fear took over, pushing reason out of her mind. She found herself gasping, her lungs starved for 
air. She moved to the center of the room, standing there with her arms wrapped around herself, 
feeling her body tremble as she waited for him to speak.

"Scully, I really like you, but you have a fucking asshole for a brother. Pardon my language." 
His face reddened slightly, and he held up his hand, stopping her as she started to speak. "Did 
you know he called Mulder while you were in California?" 

She shook her head, her eyes mutely begging him to go on. 

"Yeah, he called him. Told Mulder that he was ruining your life and if he really cared about you 
he'd leave you alone. Said you needed to live like ordinary people do, and that as long as you 
were involved with a worthless bastard like him you'd never be able to do that."

"I didn't know . . ." she whispered, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened. *But I 
should have. Oh, God, I should have.*

"Hey, well, you know Mulder, he swallowed that whole load of shit your brother fed him. Made 
it his duty to blow you off. Hurt him like hell. Still does. He's in pain, Scully. I swear, I've never 
seen him like that." He shook his head in shock. "Go to him. He needs you. It won't be easy to 
get through to him. He still thinks he's doing the right thing."

It explained so much. She knew the kind of pain Mulder was experiencing, she'd been no 
stranger to it herself. But she also knew his pain went deeper, the damage more intense. The 
bravado and control he showed to the world were merely a front, hiding his tormented soul. He 
felt unworthy of her love, of any love. That's why it was so easy for him to believe the lies her 
brother told him. 

Rushing over to Frohike, Scully planted a kiss on his forehead, causing the little man to blush. 
"Frohike, you must be my fairy godfather." 

He ducked his head. "Hey, watch who you call a fairy!" He smiled at her. "Go. I can let myself 
out."

Grabbing her keys, she ran out of the apartment.

******

Wandering around his apartment, Mulder noticed the approaching twilight, its shadows settling 
over the room.* Hello darkness, my old friend.* He laughed, but there was no humor in the 
sound.

Sinking onto his couch, he pressed at his temples, trying to ease the tight band of tension. He 
was exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. Baring his soul to Frohike had taken a lot out 
of him. He felt empty, only the sharp bite of loneliness lingering. He was no stranger to 
loneliness. Years of experience had given him a certain comfort with that state. But that was 
before Scully.

*God, I need her!* That was his problem -- being needy. He'd been so afraid that after all these 
years of self-imposed loneliness he'd consume Scully like a sunflower seed, use her up and 
leave only an empty shell.

She'd let him, he knew that. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him. And though he was 
prepared to do the same for her, what did he really have to offer? He was damaged goods, 
battered and bruised by life. The protective armor he wore was pathetically thin and full of 
chinks. It was flawed, as he was.

She was better off without him. Bill Scully knew it, probably others knew it too. They just 
didn't care enough about her to say something. Someday, he'd thank Bill. But not for a while, 
not until after the ache had dulled a little.

Lying back, he reached behind him to bring a covered cushion to his face. The whiteness of the 
material was graying slightly, from many hours of resting his head on it, but he couldn't wash 
it. The sweater that blanketed the pillow still retained the scent of Scully, and it helped him 
through the long, intolerable nights, bringing her close to him again.

His vacation would be up soon, and he would have to get back to work. He wasn't sure he could 
do it, could stay in that office. It was so full of her, everywhere he looked he would see her. He 
was sure of one thing -- no new partner. He would be adamant about that. There was no way he 
could ever, ever, work with someone else. Only Scully. Only her.

Closing his eyes against the pain, he turned on his side, putting the cushion over his face. He 
fell asleep that way, breathing in her scent.

******

Standing outside Mulder's door, her hand raised to knock, she began to have second thoughts. 
Though she'd formulated a rough plan on her drive over, she was still worried. *What if 
Frohike was wrong, or if Mulder hadn't told him the truth? But I need to know for sure, one way 
or the other.* Squaring her shoulders, she knocked and waited.

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, their ominous thudding matching the pounding 
of her heart. And then, the door was opened.

He looked bad, as though he hadn't slept in ages. His normally bright eyes were dull and 
lifeless. And he was thinner. Jeans hung loose and low on his hips, silent proof of the weight 
he'd lost. She could see his bones, more prominent than before at his neck and shoulders. Her 
eyes skittered down his bare chest. She realized she could almost count his ribs. He looked 
nothing like the man she loved. And for the second time that day, she allowed herself to hope.

Wordlessly, he stood there, looking at her. 

"Can I come in?" She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. Her hands were still shaking, 
and she shoved them in the pockets of her jeans, hoping he hadn't noticed. Without waiting for 
an answer, she ducked under the arm barring her entrance, deliberately brushing against him as 
she passed. She felt him shudder at that casual contact, and heard his slight intake of breath as 
they touched.

She stood there, hesitating, before heading to the couch and seating herself. The door slammed, 
and she looked up to see him standing in the doorway. His arms were folded across his chest. 
He said nothing, but his eyes never left her face. 

"Mulder, I have a problem, one I think you could help me with. I realize this may be asking a 
lot of you, but there's no one else I can turn to." She looked down at her hands, clenched 
together in her lap. "I. . .I haven't been sleeping well lately. Probably tension, there's no 
physical reason for my insomnia. Anyway, I remembered how well I used to sleep after we 
made love. I thought maybe you'd help me. No strings, I know you don't want that -- just sex." 

She finally dared to look up at him, as he stood in the doorway. His face remained 
expressionless, giving Scully no sign he had even heard her. His eyes were half-closed, and 
they stayed fixed on her face.

Her mouth was dry, and she nervously wet her lips before continuing. "I won't need to bother 
you for long. I'm sure I'll be able to find someone else who is interested."

"What makes you think I'd be available to *help* you?" His first words to her were spoken 
harshly. "I haven't had your trouble sleeping, thanks to. . .to. . ."

Her heart raced, pounding so hard she was sure he could see it pulsing. "Don't you remember 
her name, Mulder? she asked softly. "It's Eleanor." 

She stood, slowly crossing the space that separated them. "You really should remember it. 
Lovers like hearing you say their name when you come. I did." She kept her voice low, her tone 
deliberately gentle, doing nothing to take away for the vivid pictures her words painted.

"So, what do you say, Mulder? Help me out, for old times sake? I promise not to take advantage 
of your kindness. It's just a little hard for me to walk up to some stranger and proposition them. 
I'm a little bit particular about who I get intimate with. So, if you'd be willing to. . .
accommodate me until I find someone. . ."

His face remained impassive, as though carved in stone. Her words didn't touch him. He stood 
there, unmoving, unmoved. . .

******
Part Three
******

He was losing control. He could feel it slipping away as images of Scully, in the arms of 
another man, flashed through his mind. His jaw clenched, keeping back the words that 
threatened to spill forth. *I'll kill him. I'll kill any man who dares to touch you.*

Quickly striding to the couch, he grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. He held her upper 
arms, his fingers wrapping firmly around them as his eyes bore into her. "What the hell do you 
want from me, Scully?" he asked hoarsely. "Can't you just accept that it's over? Do you have to 
put yourself through this?"

He shook her, tightening his grasp on her arms. She swayed, but he was oblivious to her 
discomfort. It was his pain and jealousy that fueled his frenzy. He could feel it taking over, 
forcing rational thought from his mind. Tormenting visions hammered against him, destroying 
his already fragile armor.

She gasped in pain. The sound pierced through him, making him suddenly aware of his actions. 
He was still crushing her arms, his fingers clenching her so tightly he knew she'd have bruises 
in the morning. *God, what am I doing? This is Scully. Haven't I hurt her enough?* His grip 
loosened, hands releasing her and dropping to his side as he backed away.

She was looking at him, and he was suddenly aware of the silence blanketing the room. She 
stood, wrapping her arms around her body as she walked unsteadily toward the door. "I 
shouldn't have come here," she said. Her head was lowered, and she passed him without another 
word, carefully avoiding him. 

Her hand was on the door, when she suddenly turned to confront him. "You've always been a 
crusader for the truth, Mulder. No matter what that truth might be, or who it might hurt, even if 
you were the one destroyed by it." Her eyes held his, and he was mesmerized by their intensity. 
"I never understood that before, never. Well, now I do."

She softened her voice, and he heard the despair and longing in it. "I can't live like this 
anymore. I want the truth. You say it's over, well prove it." 

Her hand reached out to him. "Tell me you don't miss me, don't dream of me at night. Tell me 
you don't remember how it was between us. I can still feel you, Mulder. I remember what it was 
like to fall asleep in your arms, to wake up with your body wrapped around mine. To feel your 
hands, your lips . . ." Her voice broke on the last words, and her head dipping as she allowed the 
red curtain of her hair to shield her face.

The last vestiges of his anger faded. He covered the few feet separating them, gazing at her 
with a mixture of shock and dismay. She was so small, so defenseless, and yet so strong and 
brave. Willing to suffer whatever it took to get through to him.

"I love you, Mulder." She looked up at him then, and he saw the brightness of her eyes, watched 
in horror as a lone tear spilled over to wash down the porcelain perfection of her cheek. His 
hand shaking, he reached out to touch that cheek, catching the droplet of water on his fingertip. 
Seeing others follow the first, like a rain shower, one after the other, falling from cloudy blue 
eyes. He felt himself cracking, breaking into a thousand pieces, releasing the emotions he'd 
tried so hard to suppress.

Lips replaced fingers, as he kissed each eyelid, brushing over the wetness of her face, down, 
down to the waiting sweetness of her lips. Closing his mouth over hers, he felt her jump, felt 
the answering spark of electricity coursing through his veins. For the first time in weeks, he felt 
alive.

He was hungry for her, kissing her deeply, tongue thrusting into her waiting warmth, meeting 
hers. Dipping and swirling, exploring the territory he'd denied himself for so long. He felt her 
hands travel up his chest, slipping along his ribs to his back, her nails lightly scratching along 
his skin. Feeling them generate heat in his groin, and he grew hard, the jeans becoming 
incredibly tight against his burgeoning erection.

With one push he had her back against the door, his body pressing into her. His hands stroked 
down her body, around her waist and lower, clasping her soft bottom. He pulled her into him, 
feeling her heat as he ground himself against her.

Her head was rolling against the wooden surface, her hands clasped behind his neck as she 
strained closer to him. He pulled her up, bracing her body against him, groaning deep in his 
throat as he felt her legs encircle him to press more surely into his arousal.

With a gasp, he pulled back, pressing her head into his chest as he sucked air into his oxygen-
deprived lungs. Her lips opened against his chest, closing over his nipple, drawing on it with 
pressure before running her tongue over the tiny stiffened center. His fingers threaded through 
her hair, raising her head.

"Scully, forgive me." His voice was deep, rasping with emotion. "It was all a sham. I thought I 
had to protect you from me. I was wrong about everything."

"Everything?" Her eyes, limpid pools of blue, sought his reassurance.

"Almost everything. I love you, Scully." Mulder's entire focus was on her. He couldn't quite 
believe it. That she could still love him, still want him after what he'd done to her was a 
miracle. Capturing her lips again, he kissed her passionately, all the longing and love apparent 
in his touch. He swept her into his arms, their lips still locked together, and carried her to his 
bedroom. 

******

Held firmly against him, the warmth of his flesh branded her through the thin blouse. An 
incoherent cry of longing was wrung from her as the heat of his lips moved across her cheek. 
He was melting her. She could feel the ice inside liquefy, the moisture dripping out, her clothes 
marked with the wetness. His mouth was doing wicked things, nipping along the skin of her 
throat. The light covering of hair on his chest scraped delightfully against her cheek as she 
arched her neck in pleasure.

Reaching the bed, he deposited her by its side, leaving only to flick on the lamp. She swayed 
slightly, and his arms immediately came back around her, anchoring her to him. Her legs were 
quivering, seemingly unable to hold her weight, and she leaned into him, secure within his 
embrace. 

She wanted to tell him what she knew. To try to heal his hurt, but she couldn't. Speech was 
foreign to her. All she could do was feel.

His hands reached for her blouse, she saw his fingers trembling they freed the buttons. He slid 
the shirt off her shoulders, the whisper light touch of cotton caressing her arms. Her white lace 
bra was transparent, her hardened nipples visible through its constricting fabric. His hands 
brushed over the nipples, and she sighed with pleasure as he cupped them, rolling their weight 
in his palms.

Stretching behind, she fumbled with the clasp, finally unfastening it and pulling the scrap of 
material off to free her breasts from its confines. She felt the heat of his gaze as his eyes traced 
their fullness to the coral tips. She reached for his hands, murmuring soft cries of pleasure as 
they finally spread over the engorged peaks, thumbs tweaking over the tightened nubs.

Leaning down, he gently suckled one of the nipples into his mouth, his tongue rasping like 
sandpaper over the pebbled surface. Pulling on the tip, she felt his teeth graze the tender nubbin 
of flesh, causing it to pucker tighter under his ministration. His lips ran over her skin, pressing 
hot, moist kisses into the valley between her breasts before pulling the other turgid crown into 
his mouth, tongue and teeth laving her tender flesh. Pleasure flowed through her, warm and 
gradual, all the nerve endings in her body attuned to the feel of his hands and mouth on her.

"Please . . . please. . ." Her voice sounded strange to her ears, an urgent quality coloring her 
tone. Reaching for his head, her hands tangled in his soft hair as she pulled his mouth to hers. 
She was the aggressor now, nipping gently at that enticing lower lip, thrusting her tongue into 
his mouth. 

Breaking away, she sat on the bed, moving to the center and leaning back to rest on the pillows 
piled against the headboard. Her feet rested flat on the bed, her knees pulled up and legs 
separated. She reached for him, and felt the bed dip slightly as he knelt within the V of her 
spread legs.

She could see his erection straining against the denim. Her hands moved down between them to 
the waist of his jeans, freeing the button and pulling the zipper down, gasping in pleasure as his 
erection spilled free, no boxers to impede her quest. Her fingers encircled him, marveling at the 
heat of him. Moving slowly to the tip, they swiped over the sensitive end, finding the drops of 
fluid there and wetting her palm with his moisture. The slickness of her hand stroked over the 
shaft, pulling the skin and feeling him grow and thicken within her grasp. Ragged sounds 
flowed from him as his hips thrust in time with her motions.

She wanted him. In her. Now. Releasing him, she quickly unfastened her jeans, pulling them 
down with her panties and tossing them to the floor. Resuming her position, she smiled at his 
gasp of excitement, feeling her body respond to his gaze, wetness pooling within her as she 
awaited his touch.

******

*Christ, does she know how beautiful she is?* Splayed before him like some pagan goddess, 
the porcelain whiteness of her skin was a breathtaking contrast to the coral tightness of her 
nipples and the coppery color of her hair. The same copper hue that touched the curls lying at 
the apex of her thighs.

She lay there, open and waiting, an exotic flower waiting to be picked. Standing, he stripped off 
his jeans before coming back to rest between her thighs. He knelt over her, kissing the exposed 
flesh, tasting the honey of her skin as his mouth moved down her torso. He kissed his way down 
her softly rounded stomach, his hands stroking along her sides. Her skin rippled in pleasure, 
and she breathed his name as his tongue circled her navel, dipping inward before gliding down 
to the hollow above the soft whorls of auburn hair. 

Grasping her bottom, he pressed his lips to those curls. He could smell her, the musky aroma of 
her arousal inviting him to sample her sweetness. His tongue dipped into her, sweeping along 
her slit to flicker against the tiny bundle of nerves hidden within. She groaned in ecstasy, her 
hips rolling within his grasp.

She was so hot, so wet. His fingers stroked along the silky skin of her thigh, keeping time with 
the rhythm of his tongue as it played within her. Flicking rapidly at her clit, he felt her buck 
beneath his mouth as he suddenly applied pressure. His tongue pushed against the sensitive 
spot, feeling the tremors rack her body. Opening her wider, he placed his lips over her, sucking 
hard at the tiny bud, bringing her close to the edge before stopping to place a gentle kiss there. 
He soothed her with his lips, wanting to prolong her pleasure. 

She sobbed his name, her hands tangling in his hair, begging for release. Catching her clit 
between his lips, he pulled hard, feeling her arch beneath him. Her body stretched and twisted 
beneath him as she came, his mouth resting tenderly against her as ripples of pleasure racked 
her body.

Raising himself, he loomed over her. Her skin was glowing under its fine sheen of perspiration. 
He kissed her, softly at first, then more urgently as he felt her hand reach between them. Her 
fingers curled around his painfully engorged cock, as her hips rocked against him. She stroked 
him gently, all the while inexorably guiding him to her. His shaft approached the nest of curls, 
and he felt the heat as he probed her slick folds. Slowly, he pushed himself into her, feeling the 
tight wetness close around him, pulling him more fully into her warmth.

Sensations overwhelmed him. He wanted to pound into her, obtaining the release his body 
craved so badly. Swallowing hard, he thrust rhythmically into her, his pace slow and gentle, 
struggling to maintain control

"Mulder. . .oh, Jesus. . .harder. . ." With a frustrated groan, she lifted her legs, linking them 
around him, pulling him into her with a strength that surprised him. He felt her raising her hips, 
forcing him to accelerate his thrusts.

Her arms snaked around his back, digging into his body, her nails scraping his skin as she clung 
to him. There was a violence in this coming together, as they sought to exorcise the demons 
that plagued them. His body slammed into her, his balls slapping against her as she angled her 
body, seeking his deeper penetration. He was losing himself in her, disappearing in the almost 
painful pleasure. Reaching under her, he clasped her bottom, driving more fully into her, 
pushing her to the limit. He heard her breath catch, and then she was crying out his name, her 
mouth against his throat, as another orgasm rippled through her body.

Plunging into her, deeper and faster, he felt the spasms as her muscles contracted around him. 
She was milking him, commanding his response, and with one last powerful thrust he came, a 
harsh cry of surrender forced from him.

Their lips met, kissing deeply as their bodies cooled down, recovering from the profoundly 
moving experience. He rolled on to his side, pulling her against him as his hand stroked the 
sweat soaked strands of hair from her face. She leaned into him, her legs tangling with his as 
she rested her head against his heart. 

He knew he was a lucky man. Through his own stupidity he'd almost lost her, banished her to 
the same life of loneliness he'd faced. But it was over, she was with him again. Undeserving as 
he was, fate had given him a second chance. 

His eyes were suddenly heavy. Pressing his lips into her hair, he reveled in her scent, letting it 
cover him like a security blanket, before giving in to the lure of sleep.

******

Morning's weak sunlight filtered through the window to land across the bed. The line of light 
crept forward, stalking the darkness before obliterating it completely. It touched on the two 
people lying there. She was nestled in his arms, the copper strands of hair sparkling where they 
lay spread across his chest. The rays brushed along his smoothly muscled skin, playing over the 
exposed expanse of flesh. It seemed to linger on their hands, clasped together where they rested 
on his stomach.

It kissed her face with its radiance, causing her to awaken. She blinked, taking in the unfamiliar 
surroundings as her body registered the unexpected warmth of another pressed close to her. A 
momentary sense of alarm gave way to relief as the memories of the past night come flooding 
back. Mulder. . .

She had so much to be grateful for. They'd made it back. It was never easy opening doors, still 
harder yet reopening them. But they had. Snuggling into his warmth, she placed her hand over 
his heart, its strong beat assuring her he was real. And he was hers. 

Moving slowly, she brushed back the soft brown hair covering his brow to press a light kiss 
there. Carefully extracting herself from his embrace, she slid quietly from the bed. She had a 
little business to take care of. Scooping her shirt from the floor, she pulled the soft cotton over 
her arms as she padded barefoot into the next room.

She headed straight for the phone. Punching in the numbers viciously, she listened to the 
crackle of the open line, then the buzzing that signified ringing at the other end.

*click* "Hello?" The groggy voice held irritation, but she didn't let that worry her. 

"Bill, it's Dana." Crisp and to the point, she wanted to waste no words on pleasantries. There 
were too many other things to be said.

"Dana, is something wrong?" No irritation now, just concern, and she could imagine him sitting 
up, his face screwed up as he tried to awaken enough to concentrate on her call.

"Yes, something, or should I say someone, is wrong. You. I know all about your call to Mulder. 
There are a lot of things I could say to you right now, and a lot of names I could call you, but I 
don't want to insult our mother by using them." Her tone was hard, and if Bill could have seen 
her he would have been frightened by the intense, take-no-prisoners look in her eyes. 

"Now listen, Dana, I don't know what he told you, but. . ."

"*He* has a name -- it's Mulder. And Mulder didn't tell me anything."

"Then how, I mean what makes you think I did anything?" She heard him inhale deeply, and 
noticed his slight hesitation. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Dana. Anyway, do 
you realize what time it is?" 

"I do. And don't change the subject. I'm telling you this once, and once only -- if you ever, 
*ever*, dare to interfere in my life again, you're through. I will cut you out so fast you won't 
know what hit you." She realized she was shouting, and she stole a quick glance over her 
shoulder to make sure the bedroom door was shut.

Turning back, she gripped the phone tightly, lowering her voice as she continued. "I'm with 
Mulder now. Deal with it."

"I'm sorry, Dana. I. . ." 

She cut him off. "Bill, I've said what I needed to. The rest is up to you." And with a self-
satisfied smile, she silently hung up the phone. 

Blowing out a huge puff of air, she sat at the desk, examining at her dim reflection in the 
monitor. She didn't look any different, and that surprised her. She felt different. These past few 
months with Mulder had been like walking on a tightrope. One false step and she'd be free 
falling, with no safety net to catch her. It wasn't his fault, she knew that. There were just so 
many reasons why they shouldn't be together, and she'd always believed it was only a matter of 
time before fate conspired to separate them. Well, fate had done its damnedest, and had lost. 
And she wasn't afraid any more. 

A flash of light was reflected in the monitor, and she turned to see the bedroom door opening. 
Seconds later, Mulder poked his head out. 

"Is World War III over?" he asked jokingly, before stepping into the room. Though he'd pulled 
on his jeans, they were unzipped, and she felt her blood quicken at the sight.

She stood, rushing into his arms, feeling his large frame fold over her. His fingers tucked the 
stray strands of hair behind her ears, lingering on her cheek. She turned her head to press a kiss 
into his palm before replying. "Oh, damn! I'm sorry, Mulder. I didn't want you to know. How 
much did you hear?"

"Most of it. Hey, Scully, remind me never to piss you off again."

She grinned, her face pressed into his neck. "I won't waste my time. You can't help it, Mulder. 
But it's okay. I love you anyway."

"Scully, how did you. . .?" His voice was serious, and she felt his sudden stillness, the tension 
pulling his muscles taut.

Sighing, she captured his hands, linking her fingers with his. "Frohike came to see me last 
night. He's a really good friend, Mulder."

"I'm sorry, Scully, for everything. I have no excuses. I should have trusted you, trusted your 
feelings. You'd have every right to tell me to go to hell, and there'd be nothing I could say in 
my defense." He turned away from her, trying to pull his hands free but she refused to let them 
go.

"We've already played this scene. I know you, Mulder. I know your weaknesses, as well as your 
strengths. I accept you and I love you, just as you are." Her hands covered his cheeks, his 
stubble rasping across the tender skin of her palms. Standing on tiptoe, she tugged his head 
until their lips met in a sweet and healing kiss.

She pulled away to look at him. "Breakfast, Mulder. I hope there is something edible in your 
refrigerator?"

"I doubt it, I haven't had much appetite lately." He smiled ruefully at the admission, his hand 
rubbing absently at his stomach. "I might have some eggs, and I think there are bagels in the 
freezer."

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked in mock exasperation.

"Feed me?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and then laughed. It felt so good to be with him. 
She'd missed him so much, missed everything about him. Even the verbal dueling that used to 
tick her off so much.

"Sit down, Mulder. I'll see what I can do." She pushed him down to the couch, handing him the 
remote. "Here, this should keep you out of trouble for a while." 

He was right about the state of his larder. Four eggs, two bottles of beer, an onion, and some 
hard cheese were the total contents of his refrigerator. His freezer wasn't much better, though 
besides the bagels she found a bag of chopped green peppers. His cupboards yielded vegetable 
oil, dried herbs, and an unopened jar of peach preserves. No coffee either, but she spied a box 
of Earl Grey tea that he'd kept on hand for her. Omelets, bagels and tea. Not too bad, 
considering the resources.

She filled the kettle, setting in on the stove and turning up the flame before switching her 
attention to the omelets. She was really enjoying this. Moving efficiently around the kitchen, 
dumping the now-chopped onion and green peppers to the oil sizzling in the frying pan. Adding 
the egg, herbs and grated hard cheese to the mixture and watching it bubble and set, the aroma 
reminding her how hungry she was, too.

While the bagels were toasting, she quickly set the table. The whistle of the kettle found her 
randomly opening doors, searching for a pot suitable for brewing tea. Unnoticed, Mulder had 
entered the kitchen, drawn by the sound. 

"Mulder. . ." She jumped as his hand touched her shoulder.". . .oh, you startled me. You don't 
have any coffee, so I was going to make tea, but I can't find a pot to brew it in."

Wordlessly, he walked over to the far cabinet, opening the door and reaching up to the top 
shelf. Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled down a beautiful pot, white, with cherry 
blossoms painted on it -- her tea pot. "Oh, Mulder." She could feel the tears threatening, and 
shook her head, rapidly blinking them back.

"I was keeping it for you." Setting it on to the counter, he lightly stroked the pink petals on the 
side, unconsciously mimicking her earlier gesture. Hands trembling, she reached out to touch 
his as it rested on the pot. "Thank you." 

He grabbed her hand, squeezing it lightly before letting go. "How about that breakfast, woman! 
I'm starving." His mock growl brought a smile to her face, and she pushed him to the table.

Sitting together, eating and laughing, Scully was reminded of her brother's words to Mulder. 
Bill wanted her to live a normal life. She pictured thousands of families, sitting together, 
sharing breakfast and small talk, just as they were. Picking up her cup of tea, she smiled at the 
man seated across from her. They were ordinary people.

******

The End