*************

Chapter Three

*************


Zachary Morrow regarded the third drawer of Dana's desk with
interest. She kept it locked.  In most aspects of her life Dana
was open and honest, but Zach was aware that there was a depth to
his wife she kept carefully hidden from him.  It angered him in a
way, but it also contributed to the mystique that had attracted
him to her in the first place.  He'd always thought Bill's baby
sister was hot, but as he'd watched her grow into a woman, his
admiration had turned to lust and something more.  Zach wasn't
madly in love with Dana--he would never make that mistake again
after falling so hard for Allison, his first wife.  After Allie's
betrayal, Zach had sworn he'd never re-marry, but the pressure of
raising a daughter alone had been incredible, and Zach missed the
company.  He decided he wanted someone to share his life with, if
not his heart.  Dana seemed the obvious choice.  He'd known her
forever and had always fit in well with the Scully family, and
the older Dana got the more sexy and attractive she appeared to
him. After that partner of hers, Mulder, had been sent to prison
she had acquired a saddened look that Zach thought gave her a
wiser, gentler countenance.  There was something about adversity
that seemed to bring out the best in his Dana.

Curiously he began to explore the desk, searching for the key to
the drawer.  Zach had been drinking today, and when he was
drinking he wasn't himself, as he would be the first to admit.
He'd also been thinking about the money again.  The money that
may or may not be lost to him.  The question uppermost in
Zachary's mind these days was whether or not Mulder had changed
his will.  He'd seen the two of them outside the attorney's
office that day; they'd been arguing.  And when Dana had arrived
home from the hospital that night after visiting the bastard,
she'd been very quiet.  He wondered if they'd had a fight, and if
the fight had led to a change in the will.  There was no delicate
way to ask that question, and Dana closed off every time he
mentioned anything having to do with Mulder.

Having exhausted his search of the contents of the desk top and
after rifling through the unlocked drawers, Zach began to run his
hands absently along the underside of the desk.  Sometimes, he'd
been told, people would tape keys in a place like that.  Not a
very good hiding place, in his opinion, but still... Examining
underneath the desk more thoroughly, Zach arrived at the
conclusion that Dana really was smarter than the average woman.
On a hunch he drew out the middle drawer and slid his hand
inside, carefully feeling the surface of the wood.  He was almost
ready to abandon the search when his fingers grazed something.
Touching it more carefully, he smiled in triumph, and a moment
later withdrew a key, pieces of masking tape still clinging to
its shiny surface.  He drained his glass and victoriously fitted
the key into third drawer, smiling when it clicked in the lock.

His smile faded when he saw the contents of the drawer.  Not a
thing resided there except a very large, very musty dictionary.
Puzzled, he felt around and behind the book, even lifting it to
look underneath, and when that yielded no results, he pulled the
book from the drawer and set it in his lap.  Idly he began to
flip through it, not expecting to find anything, when to his
surprise it fell open to reveal a photograph carefully tucked
away in the middle.  It was a picture of Dana with her
ex-partner, obviously taken before Mulder's arrest all those
years ago. Jealously Zach noted the expression of relaxed
happiness on his wife's face.  He couldn't recall ever seeing her
look like that with him.

Drinking directly from the bottle this time, foregoing the glass,
he regarded the man in the picture with contempt.  Fox Mulder.
The cause of so much dissension between himself and Dana.  He
really believed when they were married that she had gotten over
the bastard.  His own attraction to Dana had more than a little
to do with the money she had been almost certain to inherit, but
still--a man expects his wife to love him.  Dana could be a
little intimidating with her smarts and her adherence to science,
but Zach was equally strong.  He tried his best to control and
subjugate her, and it only added to his excitement that he was
never successful. Dana wasn't a woman to be cowed--she was a
wildcat.  She was also a demon in the sack when she wanted to be.
Now he allowed himself to wonder if, on those occasions, it had
been Mulder she saw behind her closed eyelids.

Carefully and deliberately, Zach placed the bottle of Jack
Daniels on the desk beside the open dictionary.  Open to 'M'. 'M'
for 'Mulder'.  How sweet.  With a sneer he ripped the picture in
half.  Too bad he couldn't rip the heart right out of Mulder as
easily.  God knew, he had tried. The first time had cost him five
hundred dollars.  The guard he had paid to beat the s.o.b. had
done a fine job, but he'd been interrupted before he could
complete the task.  He'd lost his job and Mulder had spent three
weeks in the hospital recovering.  The second attempt--Zach
grinned coldly. That one had been for free, and the glee he'd
felt at the satisfying 'thunk' of his truck bumper against
Mulder's body almost compensated for the fact that the prick had
survived yet again.  He and Dana had had one of their worst
fights ever that evening, before she'd run off to comfort the
guy.  She hadn't stayed out long, though, he realized now, and
had been none-too-happy when she'd arrived home.  She had also
made fiery love to him that night, but there had been an anger in
her, a passion that had nothing to do with sexual attraction.
He'd thought at the time it was due to their earlier argument,
but now he wondered if she'd had a spat with Mr. Perfect.  It
would explain a lot. Like why she hadn't seen or heard from the
guy in the month since he'd been released from the hospital.  At
least Zach didn't think she had.

"What do you think you're doing?"  The unexpected sound of her
voice behind him made him jump.

"Damn it, Dana!  How many times have I told you not to sneak up
on me like that?" he demanded irritably as he swung around to
face her.

"Zach?" she questioned, her eyes widening as they fell on the
ripped picture. "Why are you going through my desk?"

He gave a short bark of laughter.  "Maybe you could tell me," he
began, leaning back in the chair and taking another swig of the
Jack, "why my wife has a picture of another man oh-so-carefully
tucked away in a drawer." His comment was deceptively mild, and
Dana wondered how full the whiskey bottle had been when Zach had
begun.  It was two-thirds empty now, and if he'd had that much to
drink--she sighed inwardly.  She'd better try to get him to bed.

"Come on, Zach," she began soothingly, and flinched when he
slammed his palm down forcefully on the desk, causing the pencil
holder to shake.

"Don't patronize me!" he flared.

"Shh, you'll wake Emmie," she pleaded, wondering if this would be
another of their memorable arguments.  Usually after one of those
he would roar away in a rage, truck tires squealing, and she
always wondered if he would make it home alive.

"Emmie," Zach informed her in a cold voice, "is used to her
mother behaving like a slut.  Her real mother did the same."

Scully winced inwardly when she remembered Zach telling her the
story of his first wife's death. She had been on her way to a
tryst with her boyfriend when the small plane in which she was
flying crashed, killing everyone on board.  Emmie had been just
under two years old.

"I'm not behaving like a slut, I'm trying to persuade you to stop
acting like a drunk!" she returned angrily.  She managed to jump
aside a split second before the liquor bottle crashed into the
wall behind her.

Dana stared at her husband in horror.  She had never seen him
like this before.  She knew he'd been jealous of Mulder
throughout their entire marriage, but that didn't explain why a
simple photograph should send him over the edge tonight.  Not
long after they'd been married, back when Zach still thought he
could control her, he'd even insisted she drop her efforts to
help obtain Mulder's release. She had complied with his wishes in
the interest of family harmony, secure in the knowledge that
Skinner and the others would never give up.  She'd seen ugly
greed in Zach whenever Mulder's money was mentioned, and there
had been extreme anger the night she had gone to the hospital to
be with Mulder, but never had she witnessed this exhibition of
cold, murderous fury.

Deciding the most intelligent way to handle the situation was
probably to beat a hasty retreat, Scully turned to leave the
room, a look of supreme disgust on her face.  Zach was out of the
chair like a shot.

"Not so fast," he growled, grabbing her arm just above the wrist
and jerking her around to face him.  She stared at his fingers
gripping her forearm, marking her exactly as she'd been marked
the night she'd seen Mulder in the hospital.  She raised
dangerous eyes to his.

"Let me go," she hissed in a deadly voice.  Zach dropped her
wrist and she turned away, missing the pure hatred that darkened
his features.  She never saw the first blow coming.
     
*****

Mulder struggled to rise out of sleep enough to answer the
ringing phone.  Groping on the nightstand for it, he finally
located it and managed to push the appropriate button.

"H'lo," he mumbled, yawning and rubbing at his eyes with his free
hand. He sat up straight in bed when he heard the sound of Maggie
Scully's voice.

It was a sound he'd heard frequently in the past month--she had
called him several times a week just to chat with him, seeming to
understand that he still had feelings for her daughter--but this
time it was different.  She'd always sounded happy when she spoke
to him before but tonight there was a tone of hush in her voice
that frightened him.  It spoke of tragedy.

"Fox, you should come down to the hospital right away," she said,
and he could hear the tears she was fighting back.

"Mrs. Scully, what's happened?" he demanded, feeling the old
familiar terror beginning to squeeze at his chest.  Forcing
himself to breathe evenly, he switched on the lamp beside the
bed.  Things always seemed worse in the darkness.

"She's going to be all right, Fox, I don't want you to worry--"

"Is it Scully--Dana?" he asked anxiously, glaring at his fingers
and inwardly ordering the tingling in them to disappear.  He knew
the signs of an impending panic attack well, and he simply didn't
have time for one now.

"She's been beaten.  She and Zachary got into an argument, and
he--"

"Where is she?" he interrupted harshly, already climbing out of
bed and searching for his clothes.  "What hospital?"

He listened while she told him the details, then threw the phone
to the bed and began dressing.  He really thought he had himself
under control until the vision of Scully's lifeless, battered
body swam unbidden before him.  His eyes widened and with a loud
gasp he found himself sinking to the floor, all his strength
draining away.

"No, no, no," he heard himself murmuring from a distance, and
with the part of his brain that hadn't yet shut down he reached
again for the telephone.  He knew he needed help.  He had to call
the man who had become his lifeline.

Skinner answered the phone somewhat grumpily, never at his best
when awakened suddenly.  For a moment Mulder was afraid he'd made
a mistake, but by then he was beyond retreat.  Skinner was
equipped with Caller ID.

"Mulder?" Skinner asked when no sound came from the line.
"Mulder, is that you?  Is everything okay?"

"Scully," Mulder managed, desperately working to take in enough
air.

"What about Scully?" Skinner asked soothingly.  He was concerned
for Dana, but right now his primary goal was calming Mulder
before the man did something rash and injured himself.

"She's been hurt."

Skinner could hear Mulder's labored breathing over the wire. "How
badly?" he asked, sitting up and switching on a light.  It was
already apparent that sleep was over for the night.

"I--I don't know--her mom called--"

"All right, Mulder.  Is Scully in the hospital?"

More breathing.  "Yeah."

Skinner headed for the bathroom, grabbing up clothing as he went.
"Then you hang up the phone, get dressed, and sit tight.  I will
be there to pick you up in twenty minutes and we'll go together.
Do not try to drive in this condition.  Do you understand me,
Mulder?"

There was silence for a minute, then a weak, "Yes, Sir."

"All right.  Go and get dressed now.  I'll be right there."

Skinner threw on clean clothes and hurried out the door, fearful
that Mulder might disregard his directions and try to drive
himself to the hospital anyway.  The last thing he wanted was a
near-hysterical Mulder in control of a vehicle.

To his relief, he arrived to find Mulder waiting quietly and
obediently, fully dressed, his panic apparently under control for
the moment. Skinner ushered Mulder out to his car and, after
ascertaining exactly where Scully was hospitalized, drove there
silently.  He was sure he would get a more coherent account from
Maggie Scully than from Mulder. The pale face of the man in the
seat beside him was grim and firmly set, and silently forbade
conversation.

When they reached the hospital they were quickly directed to
Scully's room, and as they approached it they met her mother
coming down the hallway.  She was finishing a conversation with a
doctor when she caught sight of them, and her relieved smile gave
Skinner hope that Scully might not be badly injured after all.

"How is she?" Mulder asked in a rush, his eyes glancing toward
the nearby hospital room.

"She's going to be all right, Fox.  He didn't manage to hurt her
too badly, probably because he was drunk.  I guess his aim was
off," she said bitterly.

"Can I see her?"

"She's asleep, but you can go on in if you like."  He hurried
toward the door she indicated.  "Fox!" she called suddenly, a
thought occurring to her.

Mulder turned back, his hand already on the doorknob.

"She looks bad.  A lot worse than she is."

He nodded and slipped inside.  At first he couldn't bring himself
to look at the figure in the hospital bed.  His ears took in the
softly beeping monitors, one delivering pain medication and
another attached to an IV bag.  There was a catheter bag hanging
from the bed and Mulder felt his stomach churn when he caught the
tinge of red in her urine.  The bastard must have damaged her
kidneys in some way.

Finally he forced himself to raise his eyes slowly, allowing them
to creep up the blanket hanging off the bed, over the raised
bedrail and finally come to rest on what should have been her
face.  It was half-covered with gauze, a few wisps of her hair
creeping out from underneath.  One eye was completely hidden. The
arm that lay across her chest was already marked with those
familiar finger-bruises that Mulder had seen before.

Unconsciously backing away in horror from the image of Scully in
this condition, Mulder felt his back hit the wall.  He raised his
hands to his face to block out the vision and heard himself
moaning as if from a far distance.  Knowing he was losing control
but utterly unable to prevent it, Mulder slid slowly down the
wall, tears forming in his covered eyes, as his knees gave out
completely.

This could not be happening.  She was supposed to be the one
constant--even if he couldn't have her he could know with
certainty that she was out there, happy, alive and vital.  This
woman who lay before him breathing shallowly, the beauty of her
face marred by bandages, could not possibly be his Scully.  Of
course, he reminded himself dimly, she wasn't *his* Scully any
longer.  If she were, she wouldn't be here. He would never have
hurt her, never have harmed her in any way and that bastard--

His fists clenched and he was filled with a rage that he hadn't
felt in a long time.  The urge to take a life simply because the
owner of that life didn't deserve to exist was coursing through
him, and for a moment Mulder considered how good it would feel to
put his gun to Zachary Morrow's forehead and pull the trigger. In
the next instant he felt Skinner pull his hands away from his
face and stared up at the man in horror.  Had he really been
considering--?  But no, Mulder knew deep in his heart that
tracking down Morrow and killing him was out of the question, no
matter how satisfying it might sound.  There was no way in hell
he would risk going back to prison.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Skinner asked anxiously, helping his
friend to his feet.  "Come over here, sit down."

Mulder allowed Skinner to lead him to the other side of the bed
and lower him to a chair.  Mrs. Scully appeared at his side with
a cup of cool water, which he accepted with a muttered, "Thanks."
After taking a minute to compose himself, Mulder let his eyes
stray back to Scully.

She didn't look as bad from this side.  There were faint bruises
on the area of her face that was visible, but for the most part
it looked normal.  The hand that lay at her side was unmarked as
well, and slowly Mulder reached out his own and laced his fingers
through hers.

"Scully," he murmured, leaning forward to catch the whisper of
her breathing.  The steady rise and fall of her chest reassured
him. Finally he turned to Maggie and asked, "How badly is she
hurt?"

She explained Scully's wounds to him, none of which were too
serious, and he began to relax a bit.

"She's going to need your strength, Fox," she told him, patting
him on the shoulder.  "She always did depend on you."

He stared up at her for a moment, swallowed hard, then turned his
gaze back to his ex-partner's tiny form.  He was supposed to be
strong?  How? He had no strength left for himself any longer.
Scully had always been the one who carried him on her back during
bad times.  She'd been a fountain of strength when he was ready
to lie down and give up, and her determination had brought him
through more than one rough patch.

He barely noticed when Skinner and Mrs. Scully left the room, so
engrossed was he with his thoughts.  If I'd only told her, he
kept berating himself.  If I'd only told her how I felt that day
at the prison instead of turning her away, she wouldn't be here
now.  She would have waited for me, I know it.  She'd have waited
forever if I'd given her something to wait for.  Instead I drove
her right into the arms of another man, one who hurt her.  If
only I hadn't lied.

Mulder bit back the sob that wanted to escape.  His fault. This
was his fault for not being honest with her, or with himself.
Scully was a grown woman, she was capable of making her own
decisions about what to do with her life, but he had taken that
right away from her.  He had made the decision for both of them,
and it had been the wrong one. In an effort to relieve himself of
guilt he had brought them both to this point--Scully was married
to a man she didn't love, a man who had managed to injure her
finally, while he was as lost in his own life as a sailboat
adrift at sea.

No more lies, he told himself firmly.  Ever.  From now on I'll be
honest with her and with myself.  I'll tell her how I feel, even
if it means losing a little dignity.  She may not feel the same,
but I'd rather lose her honestly than to a lie.

That decided, Mulder lay his head on her bed, beside their
clasped hands, and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

*****
     
"Scully?"

The voice penetrated her consciousness through a blue haze as she
fought to identify it. Struggling, she was at last able to open
one eye, gradually realizing that the other was covered with
gauze.  Finally focusing, Scully located the source of the voice.

"Mulder?" she murmured weakly.

He tenderly brushed back a tendril of hair that had fallen over
her forehead and smiled. "Welcome back."

"How...how did I get here?" she asked, her uncovered eye scanning
what she could see of the room.

His smile disappeared.  "A neighbor heard the commotion and
called the police," he told her seriously.  "It's a good thing
she did or that bastard might have killed you."

The eye closed, as if blocking out the memory.  She swallowed and
a moment later Mulder pressed a spoonful of ice chips to her
lips.  Gratefully she accepted his offering, sucking slowly as
the ice melted.  When her throat was sufficiently lubricated she
spoke again.

"Zach?"

"In jail," Mulder told her bluntly.  "Right where he belongs."

"Mulder, he tried--"

"He tried to kill you, Scully."

She shook her head in frustration.  "He tried to kill *you*,
Mulder.  He's the one."

Mulder's eyes widened as he made the connection.  "The driver who
hit me?"

She nodded.

"Are you sure, Scully?"

She smiled grimly.  "I can't prove it, but I had my suspicions
before.  I examined his truck, but..."

"That truck was so big my scrawny self probably didn't even make
a dent," he finished wryly.

"There was a dent," she told him, and gave a real smile at his
expression. "Very small.  I couldn't prove anything, I still
can't.  But I know, Mulder."

His turn to nod.  "You're probably right," he agreed.  "What made
you suspect him, though?"

She waited, gathering her strength and her thoughts.  The
conversation was tiring, but it was the first time in years
Mulder had spoken to her as if she were human, and she didn't
want it to end.  He seemed like the old Mulder, the one she
missed.  The one she had loved.

"His truck," she explained softly.  "Big red truck, just like the
witness described.  And he was angry at losing the money."

His eyebrows shot up again.  "My money?"

"Bill told him about it.  But there was no evidence, and
I...didn't want to believe he was capable."

"And yet, he was capable of this," he pointed out, indicating her
bruised and battered body.

She shifted uncomfortably.  "I know what you're thinking, Mulder,
but you're wrong.  He's never hit me before."

It was clear he didn't believe her.  "C'mon, Scully, this kind of
thing doesn't just happen overnight.  There must have been some
signs of it.  I saw the bruises on you before."

"But those were different."  She saw his expression and suddenly
it became very important that she convince Mulder she was telling
the truth.  "He would grab me a little too hard," she confessed,
"when we were fighting, usually.  But Mulder, I swear, he's never
raised a hand to hurt me before. Those other things were done in
the heat of the moment.  Zach would just forget his own strength
when he was caught up in an argument.  And he was always sorry
afterwards," she insisted, her visible eye drifting to the
television set, the window, the bare wall--anything was better
than facing him and seeing his disappointment in her.

His fingers reached out and gently swiped away the tear that
escaped her. Firmly she fought back the ones that wanted to
follow.  Mulder settled back in his chair, as if realizing the
subject had grown unbearably uncomfortable.  Sniffing, she
focused her gaze on him at last.

"So why are you here?" she asked, the gentleness of her tone
softening the words.

A little smile.  "Because I want to be.  Because I needed to be.
Because I decided to stop lying."

She shifted again to give herself a better view, and winced at
the sharp pain through her ribs. "Lying?" she asked.

He pursed his lips for a moment, as if deep in thought, then
fixed her with his steady eyes.  "To both of us.  I know I said I
didn't want to see you again, but it was a lie, Scully.  I did
want to see you, because I...I'm still in love with you," he
finished in a rush.

"Oh, Mulder--"

"I know you don't feel the same," he continued, holding up his
hand to stop her, "and I want you to know that I'm okay with
that.  It's not what I want, of course, but I understand.  You
have a husband--"

"Not for long," she inserted bitterly.

That stopped him.  "You're filing?" he asked, his chest
tightening with hope.

"Mulder, I told you I'd never loved him like--well, like I
should. This whole thing has really brought home to me what a
mistake I've made with my life.  I should have been stronger when
I was weak."  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "I should have
waited for you."

"Oh, Scully, I should have let you," he whispered, and lowered
his head to the crook of his arm, leaning forward onto her bed.
She carefully stretched her hand to reach his hair and stroked it
gently. After a moment he raised a face to her that was,
thankfully, dry.

"You know, it's almost funny in a way," he observed as her
fingers trailed down his face and returned to the bed.

"What is?"

"Of all the things 'They' did to us, the worst thing of all we
did to ourselves."

She smiled sadly.  "Are you saying we let them win?"

"They don't have to win, Scully.  The outcome depends upon us as
well.  The game isn't over until we stop playing.  Or until we're
dead.

     'No matter how the winds may blow
      or waves that swell against us,
      We will still our journey on
      and reach the farthest shore
      ahead of twilight...'"

Her eye filled this time.  "That's beautiful, Mulder.  What's it
from?"

He looked surprised at her question.  "I don't remember."

She laughed through her tears at the comically shocked look on
his face. Mulder didn't remember everything, of course, but damn
near, and to hear a confession like that from him was completely
out of character.  It even surprised him, apparently.

"Something I learned in junior high school, I think," he told her
lightly. "The point is, we're only defeated if we say we're
defeated."

"You mean until they make you cry 'uncle'?" she asked, amused.

He smiled.  "Nobody ever has, although I've been close a time or
two," he told her lightly.  "So let's keep playing the game,
Scully.  Let's keep playing until we win."

"Or until we die."

He nodded.

"Well, Mulder, unless you're planning to go back to investigating
government conspiracies and the paranormal, there's no reason for
anyone to want us dead any longer."

"Except Zach."

"And he's in jail.  And I *will* be pressing charges against
him." She repositioned herself again, more carefully this time.
"Are you planning to go back to investigating government
conspiracies and the paranormal?"

He threaded his fingers together and rested his chin on them, a
faraway look in his eye. "Not right now.  In fact, right now I
don't have any plans at all.  I'm sort of...drifting.  I bought a
house, though, so I'm out of Skinner's hair--so to speak."

She ignored his attempt to change the subject.  "How long are you
planning to drift?"

He sat back in the chair and bit his lip for a moment, and she
could tell he was waging an inner battle against his 'no more
lies' policy. Finally he spoke, and from his tone she knew it was
the truth.

"I never thought of myself as a coward, Scully, but now I think I
must be one."

"How so?" she asked, reaching to capture his hand.  She sensed
the difficulty this conversation was causing him, but it was time
for the two of them to sweep away the baggage between them.  Time
to start rebuilding their relationship, in whatever form it might
take.

"Remember all those times I said I wasn't afraid of them?"  She
inclined her head in assent.  "Well I'm afraid of them now.  I'm
afraid because I know what they can do--and what they won't do. I
used to think that if I got to be too much trouble, they'd just
kill me, but now--now I know they won't.  They'll send me to hell
instead."

"You don't think they'd try to send you back?"

He shook his head slowly.  "I don't know.  I don't want to find
out.  I *won't* find out.  I do know this--I'll commit suicide
before I'll go back to prison, ever."  The words were more
forceful than he'd intended, and Scully felt her body chill at
their vehemence.  He really meant it.

"And what about Samantha?  What about your father?  Melissa? What
was done to me, what was done to you?  Are you just giving up on
all that?" Her voice held no anger, only a question, but it
frightened her to think that Mulder may have lost his passion.

"Melissa's dead, and so is my father.  No truth, no answer will
ever bring them back.  As for Samantha--how many years have I
been searching for answers about her, only to come up with
nothing?  I've been told so many conflicting stories about my
sister that I don't know who or what to believe."

"So you've decided to believe in nothing?"

He sighed.  "Right now it's all I can do to work up a belief in
myself."

She might have said more, but the door to her room opened and
Maggie Scully entered.

"Mom."

"Dana, you're awake!  Fox, why didn't you call me?" the woman
asked reproachfully, but her eyes smiled at Mulder.

"I--we were just talking," Mulder stammered, still not quite at
ease around Scully's mother.  He didn't know yet if Scully was
aware of her visit to him while he was in the hospital the month
before, or of the numerous supportive phone calls he had received
from Maggie since.  Some days they had been all that kept him
going. Mulder knew without the encouragement of her, the guys and
especially Skinner, he'd have been a basket case by now.

Maggie smiled fully then, taking the chair he had vacated beside
her daughter.  "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked Dana.

"Stupid," Dana told her flatly.  

"Oh, now--"

"No, Mom, you were right about him all along."

"No."  The word was said abruptly.  "Don't give me too much
credit, Dana.  If I'd ever have suspected Zachary would do
anything like this to you, I'd have found a way to somehow
prevent your marriage. I didn't see this coming either."

Scully tried to glance at Mulder, to see if he was picking up on
this, but couldn't find him without turning her head, which just
hurt too much.

"All those years he was a friend of your brother," Mrs. Scully
was continuing, "all those times I welcomed him into our home,
and then to have him do something like this to my daughter..."

"Mom, he was drunk, he wasn't himself--"

"Don't make excuses for him, Scully!" Mulder ordered sharply from
the corner where he'd retreated.  He came back into her view,
realizing she wasn't able to see him.  "Most people have gotten
drunk at one time or another.  That's no reason to beat the shit
out of your wife."  His voice was unforgiving, and Scully knew no
matter how she tried she would never get him to see the situation
from Zachary's point of view.  Not that Zach didn't deserve to be
punished, oh he certainly did, and she meant to see that it
happened.  But he wasn't one hundred percent guilty either, she
reasoned.  After all, she had married him, knowing she was in
love with another man.

"Fox is right, Dana.  There is no excuse under the sun for this."
Maggie's face was hardened, and Scully suddenly, achingly
remembered the only other times she had seen that expression on
her mother.  Melissa's death.  Her father's death.  It brought
home to her how close Maggie thought she had been to losing her
only remaining daughter.

"I know," Scully whispered then, closing her good eye.  "I know
you're right.  Both of you. Mulder?"  She sought him out again.
"Could you look me up a good divorce attorney?  I'd like to get
things started right away."

He grinned, a real Mulder grin.  The first one she'd seen
in--God, how long had it been? Years.  "I'll call Pamela today
and ask her to recommend one," he said, referring to his own
attorney.

Scully remembered Pamela Mondale well.  She was tall, slightly
heavy but with a face and demeanor so cheerful that her tendency
toward overweight was scarcely noticeable.  She'd had the
remarkable ability to put her clients at ease immediately, Scully
recalled. Everyone involved in Mulder's case had instantly known
Pamela would give everything she had to defend Mulder.  Scully
had no doubt that, in a fair fight, Pamela would have easily
managed to get Mulder acquitted.

"And now I should be going," he told her, coming over to lean
down and kiss her cheek. She relished the soft touch of his lips
on her skin. This was something else they'd lost, something
nobody had taken away from them but that they'd managed to
sacrifice themselves.  Maybe they could get it back.

He raised his head and started to straighten up, but she reached
behind his neck and pulled him back down to her.  She returned
the kiss on his own cheek, then softly whispered in his ear, so
softly only he could hear her, "I believe in you, Mulder."

He stood, averting his eyes, and she understood that it was
because of the rush of emotion engulfing him.  She'd almost made
him cry.  That hadn't been her intention, but it was important to
her that Mulder know he could count on her belief even when he
couldn't count on his own. Just like in the old days.  With a
quick peck on Maggie's cheek as well, Mulder left the room
without looking back.

*****

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The unwelcome voice hit him like a brick wall as he exited
Scully's hospital room.  Raising his eyes from the floor, Mulder
gazed directly into the angry face of her brother, Bill.  He
looked scruffy, tired, and Mulder realized he must have driven up
from Norfolk as soon as he heard the news.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving," he said, attempting to step around
Bill.  He didn't want to have a confrontation here in the
hospital, and certainly not right outside Scully's door.  He made
a face of impatience when Bill moved to block him.  "Excuse me,"
he said levelly, meeting the other man's eyes and forcing himself
not to back down.

"You're the cause of this, you know," Bill informed him.  "Just
one more thing you've done to my family."

Instead of defending himself, Mulder decided it might be best to
let Bill get it out of his system now.  He intended to be at the
hospital as much as he could while Scully was recovering, so her
brother would have to get used to his presence, or at least learn
to live with it.

"The only reason Zach was drinking was because of you!" Bill
hissed, lowering his voice a little when he saw a nurse staring
at him.  "He found that picture of the two of you together.  It
upset him so much he got drunk, and then he and Dana had an
argument--also about you--and one thing led to another."

"One thing led to another?" Mulder asked, amazed at Bill's
capacity to blame him for everything under the sun.  He wondered
dimly just how world hunger and overpopulation could be his
fault, but had no doubt Bill could use circuitous logic to pin it
on him if the chance arose.

"Yes.  And now Zach's life is ruined, Dana's life is ruined, and
it's all because of you."

"And how do you know all of this?" Mulder questioned.

"Because I've just come from seeing Zach.  He's really broken up
about this.  He feels terrible.  I just hope I can talk Dana out
of doing anything stupid before you convince her to take action."

Mulder had reached the end of his endurance.  Face darkening, he
stepped closer to Bill, who instinctively took a step backwards
and found himself pressed against the wall with his enemy
uncomfortably close.

"Are you telling me," Mulder began ominously, "that after driving
half the night from Norfolk because your sister is in the
hospital, you first went to visit the man who put her there?"

"I wanted to get his side of the story.  I'd want to kill any man
who hurt my sister, you of all people should know that.  But Zach
and I have been friends for a long time, and he's not the kind of
person--"

"And are you furthermore telling me that you plan on trying to
convince her *not* to divorce this sonofabitch?"  Mulder's voice
remained dangerously low but he pressed slightly closer to Bill,
enjoying the shift of discomfort his nearness prompted.

"I don't expect *you* to understand our faith, Mulder, but we
have strong beliefs about the sanctity of marriage.  Besides,"
Bill insisted, staring at a spot over Mulder's shoulder, "Divorce
isn't the answer.  Marriage counseling--"

Mulder went on as if Bill hadn't spoken.  "And as for Zach
feeling terrible--your sister is in a lot of pain right now
because of that man. She's covered in bruises, her face is a
mess, she has a cracked rib, and it's all because of him.  I'm so
happy to hear *he* feels terrible.  Want to know how much pain
medication your sister is on?"

Bill's face registered his disgust.  He put his hands on Mulder's
chest and shoved him back a few steps.  Turning away, he flung
over his shoulder, "At least I know where my sister is, Mulder. I
didn't lose mine, the way you did."

There was an audible gasp from the doorway of Scully's room, and
both men turned suddenly to find Mrs. Scully standing there, the
glare on her face reserved for Bill.  He had the grace to flush
and look guilty, at least.  She retreated back into the hospital
room, closing the door firmly, and Bill made as if to follow her.

Mulder felt his stomach drop to his shoes, both at Bill's words
and Maggie's overhearing them, but wasn't about to let the
bastard walk away with a cheap shot like that.  Reaching out he
grabbed Bill by the arm and swung him around.  "If you go in
there and encourage Dana to stay with the man who did this to her
you might just experience the pain of losing a sister yourself,"
he warned.

Bill dropped his eyes to Mulder's hand, then shook it off and
entered Scully's room without another word.  Mulder leaned
against the wall, eyes tightly shut and fists clenched against
the shaking, carefully concentrating on his respirations.  Slow
and steady, slow and steady, he told himself.

"It's the new me," he muttered sarcastically.  The difficult
honesty he'd displayed with Scully and now this confrontation
with Bill had drained him emotionally. Since his release from
prison he'd only been required to exhibit such a show of
assertiveness once, when he'd told Skinner he was moving out.
The older man had not been pleased, being of the opinion that
Mulder still wasn't ready to be on his own, but Mulder had
refused to retreat. Finally Skinner had managed to make a deal
with Mulder--he wouldn't try to stop the younger man from leaving
if Mulder would promise to get some counseling. He'd shoved a
business card into Mulder's hand--Mulder had realized later that
Skinner had been planning to hit him with it soon anyway--with
the name of a therapist.

"She's good.  She's worked with people who've been in prison. And
I hear she won't jerk you around," Skinner had added with a
smile.  "I'd appreciate it if you'd return the favor."

Mulder had dropped his eyes to the card, simultaneously angry at
what he percieved as presumption on Skinner's part and awed by
the depth of compassion and understanding this man with the gruff
exterior could exhibit.  At last, in order to keep peace and
because he didn't want to alienate one of his few friends, Mulder
had nodded agreement.  Mulder had begun looking for a house the
next day, and Skinner had been supportive when he finally
announced he'd found one to his liking.  It wasn't far from
Skinner's apartment, which made the AD breathe a secret sigh of
relief.  He was certain Mulder had more crises in his future,
both major and minor, and he didn't want to be too far away to
help out when needed.

Closing a deal on a house when paying cash didn't take long at
all, they found, and within two weeks Mulder was moved in, if not
settled. He'd been happily living out of boxes ever since,
putting things away when the mood struck him but mostly just
enjoying his independence.  He liked Skinner, had found his
company entertaining, but he hated feeling like a burden.  It was
bad enough to have to call on him for the occasional pep talk,
which Mulder congratulated himself on being smart enough to do.
He knew that after years of being imprisoned he couldn't simply
go it alone all at once.  Skinner had made it plain that, should
Mulder need him and not call, he would make Mulder very sorry,
and though the words had been spoken in a jesting tone, Mulder
sensed the underlying steel beneath them.  So when he needed
help, he'd called.  The last thing Mulder wanted was to get on
Skinner's bad side.

*****

Dana looked up as her brother entered her room, smiling through
the bandages.

"Bill," she said, reaching out a hand for him.

"How are you, Dana?" he asked softly, moving to take a seat
beside the bed.

"How is she?  Just look at her!" said their mother furiously,
turning from the window where she'd been standing.  "That friend
of yours could have killed her!"

"Mom--"

"Don't 'Mom' me, Bill.  I've already lost one daughter and I am
not about to lose another."  The fierceness behind the quiet
words shook Bill.

"It wasn't Zach's fault about Melissa," he pointed out.

Scully rolled the eye that was visible.  "Don't start in on
Mulder, Bill," she warned weakly.  All the activity of the
morning had begun to wear on her strength and she knew she wasn't
up for an argument.

Bill smiled, rubbing the back of her hand.  "I'm not here to
cause a problem, Dana," he told her gently.  "I came to see how
you were."

"I'll live," she said dryly.

He nodded.  "I've...seen Zach," he told her hesitantly.

She stared at him.  "You went to see Zach?  This morning?"

"Yeah, I--you know, just wanted to give the guy a chance to
explain himself, Dana."

She shifted a little in the bed and he noted the wince as her
ribs pained her.  "There's nothing to explain," she told him
coldly.

"Dana--"

"No, Bill.  He lost control and like Mom said, he could have
killed me." She stared straight ahead at the wall, refusing to
even glance his way, the section of her face that was visible set
grimly.

"Has he ever done anything like this before?" he prodded quietly.
When she didn't answer he went on, "Dana, you know he loves you.
He just...lost his temper.  I know that's no excuse," he added
quickly, raising his hand to stop the angry words he saw about to
spill from her lips.  "He's sorry--hell Dana, the guy is
devastated.  He's so disgusted with himself for doing this to
you, and he's so afraid...he's going to lose you."

"He is going to lose me," she told him firmly, steel in her blue
eye. "He's already lost me.  It's just a matter of paperwork."

He was shaking his head before she finished.  "Don't do this,
Dana. Don't make any hasty decisions--"

At that Maggie Scully had had enough.  "How can you say that?"
she demanded of her son.  "How can you look at your sister lying
in a hospital bed and tell her the man who did this to her loves
her?"  She clenched the rail of the bed so tightly her hands went
white.  "He never loved her, not really.  It was the money he
thought she might inherit that he cared for."

Bill managed to look shocked.  "Mom, that's not true!" he
protested.

"It is, you know it is," Maggie insisted.  "Bill, you're not as
blind as all that."

"Still, divorce may not be the answer," he said stubbornly after
a moment of shocked silence.  "She needs to talk to Father
McCue--"

"Will you two please stop!" Scully demanded, gathering all her
strength into her voice.  "This is *my* decision and *nobody* has
a say in it except me!"

Bill turned to glare at her.  "What about Mulder?" he questioned
angrily.  "You'll listen to his advice and ignore your own
family!"

She stared him down until he dropped his eyes to the blanket
covering her.

"Bill, I know you mean well," she said firmly.  "Both of you do,
but I'm far too old to be told what to do.  I won't stay married
to a man who tried to kill me, and I can't believe God would want
me to."

"What about Emmie?" her mother asked anxiously.  "If Zachary's in
jail who will take care of her?"

"She can probably stay with Zach's parents until I get out of the
hospital," Dana returned.  "Then she can live with me unless the
courts forbid it for some reason."

"After the divorce is final there won't be any guarantee that
you'll have custody of her," Bill reminded her.  "If you send
Zach away--"

"I'm pressing charges, Bill, that's final.  Don't try to talk me
out of it."

"I'm only saying you ought to think of the child."

He took her hand and she let him, not returning the squeeze he
gave her fingers but not pulling away either.  "What do you think
I should do, Bill?" she asked finally.  "Tell me exactly."

"I think you should forgive him," Bill told her promptly.  "I
think you should go for some marriage counseling--no, Dana, hear
me out," he overrode her as she tried to interrupt.  "You two can
work this out, I know it.  You said yourself he's never raised a
hand to you before, what makes you think he will again?"

"Why should I let him have another chance?" she demanded.  "What
will he do to me next time he gets drunk and angry?"

"He won't get drunk again.  He promised me he'd go to AA.  And as
for angry...if you'd get rid of the pictures of Mulder, cut that
guy out of your life for good, there wouldn't be anything for him
to get angry about."

"He found a picture," she told him in a low, fierce voice.  "He
pried into my personal things and found a picture of me with a
man I worked with very closely for years.  If that's all it takes
to set him off--"

"Enough!" Mrs. Scully interrupted.  "Bill, you're only upsetting
her.  Dana's old enough to make her own decisions."

Bill stood abruptly, then bent to kiss his sister on the cheek.
"I hope you know I love you, Dana," he told her softly.  "I'd
never urge you to do anything I thought was bad for you."

She sighed.  "I know that, Bill, but I don't think you fully
understand the situation."

He shook his head and left the room, and Scully was suddenly
transported back to another day, another time, when she lay dying
in a hospital bed and had had almost the same conversation with
Bill.  He hadn't wanted to open his mind then, either, having
already accepted her death as fact.  He'd been resistant to the
possible remedy Mulder had presented because it was something
neither he nor the doctor had encountered before.  It was a stark
contrast between her brother and Mulder--one always ready to
believe and one sure he already had all the answers.

She glanced over at her mother.  "Mom, what do you think I should
do?" she asked, wondering what answer the staunchly religious
Maggie Scully would give.

Mrs. Scully pulled the chair close to the bed and clasped her
daughter's hand tightly.  "I think you should reach the decision
that's right for you," she said simply.  "Your brother may not
approve of it, but Dana, nobody has to live with it except you.
Trust in God, honey.  He understands more than we give Him credit
for, I'm sure of it."

Dana smiled through the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes, and
her mother wiped them away gently.  "No matter your decision, I
will always love you, baby," she said.

Scully clutched blindly at her mother's hand.  "I know, Mom. I've
always known that.  Even when we had our differences."

The knock at the door ended their moment, and Maggie smiled when
she saw Mulder's head appear.

"If I'm interrupting--" he began hesitantly, but she motioned him
inside.

"Come on in, Fox.  I need to step out for a bit anyway, and I'd
be more comfortable if you could sit with her."

"Sure, Mrs. Scully, I'm happy to," he told her, taking the seat
she vacated, and watched while she left the room, closing the
door behind her.

"So.  Did you and Bill have a knockdown dragout fight in the
hall?" Scully asked with the ghost of an impish smile.

He laughed shortly.  "Not quite, but we did come close."  He
leaned intently forward.  "I called Pamela and she's sending an
attorney friend of hers over here to talk to you this afternoon.
Scully, I think you might want to consider a restraining order."

She wrinkled her brow.  "Why, Mulder?  I'm going to press charges
against Zach, he's staying in jail."

"Bill's on his way to post bail right now."

"What!  Did he tell you that?"

Mulder shook his head.  "No, but I just know.  And I think you're
the first person Zach's going to want to talk to when he's
released."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then glanced over at him. "What
do you think will happen, Mulder?  You've obviously spent some
time thinking this through."

He sat back in the chair and crossed his legs.  "I think he's
going to come here and try to convince you how sorry he is.  I
think he's going to promise you anything you want to hear in
order to avoid a divorce."

"Why?" she asked.  "He doesn't love me, not really.  Why would he
be so determined to stay married to me?"

He smiled.  "Simple.  You're still named as the heir in my will.
Somehow I suspect Bill has informed him of this."

Her mouth dropped open slightly.  "Still?"

He shrugged.  "There's no one else I'd want to leave the damned
money to, Scully."  He grinned.  "After all you went through with
me and all you put up with out of me, you deserve it."

"Mulder, you have to change it," she told him urgently.  "Change
it and make it very well known that you have.  Otherwise, you'll
still be a target."

"Not if he's in jail.  You'll send him there, and I'll be very
careful until then."

She shook her head, a thoughtful look on her face.  "No," she
said slowly, "I think this might go a lot deeper than you
realize."

He felt his stomach tighten again.  "What do you mean?" he asked,
trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Something I remember Emmie saying..."  Scully's brow furrowed as
she reached for the memory of her step-daughter's chatter.  "She
had a phrase she liked to use for a while, I remember it because
it annoyed me.  'His ass is dead'."

Mulder laughed, surprised he could feel amusement at a time like
this.

Scully gave him a mock glare.  "You can laugh, Mulder, you've
never been embarrassed in the middle of the grocery store by a
four year old!"

"Okay," he grinned, "but what does that have to do with Zach?  Or
me?"

"Emmie told me where she heard that phrase, and I'm trying to
remember..."  She gnawed on her lip, feeling the memory slowly
make its way back to her befuddled mind.

"Zach gave him money," she finally recalled.  "Emmie said her
daddy gave a policeman a dollar--"

"A dollar?"

"But she's just a little girl, Mulder.  She recognizes a dollar,
but it could have been any amount of paper money."

"But why a policeman?  I still don't understand--"

"Maybe it wasn't really a policeman," Scully told him softly.
"Maybe it was a prison guard."

Mulder froze, his eyes wide and staring.  "You mean the one who
beat me?" he finally asked, keeping the tremor out of his voice
with supreme willpower.  It wouldn't do to let Scully know how
frightened he was at the idea that Zach might have been behind
his attempted murder.

"It was right around that time that you were hurt so badly that
Emmie trotted out her favorite phrase," she confirmed, taking his
hand again and squeezing it comfortingly.

"Shit, Scully!" he breathed softly, feeling the knot of fear
grow.  "Do you think it could be true?"

She nodded somberly.  "I'm afraid it might be.  He's always had
an inordinate interest in your money, Mulder."

"What can we do about it?" he asked, helplessly running a hand
through his short hair, grown out a little now.  Angrily he told
himself that there was a time he'd have come up with an iron-clad
solution to a problem like this one, but he wasn't that man
anymore.  The Fox Mulder who had been able to quickly handle
complex equations like this one had died on the day the guilty
verdict was handed down.  Today's Mulder could sometimes barely
make it from day to day, let alone evade a killer.

"We should tell the police--"

"No!" he interrupted sharply.  "No police.  I'm done with them
for the rest of my life."

"Mulder--"

"Scully, I don't trust them.  We already know they can be
bought," he added bitterly.  "I don't want to have anything to do
with law enforcement.  Besides, we can't prove a thing, can we?"

She shook her head regretfully.  "I guess not."

"So what are my other options?"  He was pacing now, jumping up to
stride back and forth across the room with agitation.  "How can I
protect myself from him?"

"Like I said, change your will.  Change it now, Mulder, today, as
soon as you possibly can."

He paused, turning to her for reassurance.  "Do you think that
will deter him?"

She shrugged.  "I can't imagine Zach would want to kill you if he
had nothing to gain from it."

He looked at her uncertainly, thoughts running quickly through
his mind. "Maybe," he finally agreed.  "Maybe."

************

Chapter Four

************


Mulder opened the door to his new house and stood back carefully
to allow Scully to enter.  She was better, but still walking a
bit slowly. Silently he thanked the stars he'd been able to
persuade her to stay with him while she recuperated from her
injuries.  The obvious answer had been for her to go to her
mother's, but Scully had been reluctant to impose.  He suspected it
was because she was weary of family discussion about her
impending divorce.  Even though Mrs. Scully had told her daughter
she should make her own decision, Mulder knew deep inside she had
trouble reconciling that with her deep religious beliefs, and the
conflict was beginning to wear on Scully.  Knowing she had
nowhere else to go, he'd offered her his second bedroom and she'd
accepted with visible relief.

He had held his peace about Zachary, knowing when Scully made up
her mind to do something it was done.  The divorce papers had
been filed already, and now they were simply waiting on the court
system, typically backlogged.  According to Rick Lee, Scully's
attorney, the quickest they would be able to get their case
before a judge would be two months from now.  In the meantime,
she had followed Mulder's advice and taken out a restraining
order against her soon-to-be-ex husband.  It hadn't happened
quickly enough to protect her from his visit, however, and Mulder
still got a tightness to his jaw when he thought of Zach at
Scully's bedside.

He'd shown up at the hospital late that afternoon after Bill had
posted his bail, bearing flowers and wearing a forlorn
expression. Mulder had watched him enter Scully's room from the
end of the hall where the coffee machine was located, and had
immediately taken up residence outside her door should his
assistance be required.  After less than ten minutes Zach had
come storming out of the room, glared spitefully when he caught
sight of Mulder, and left the hospital without a word.  When
Mulder had crept carefully back into Scully's room, unsure what
he would find, he had been pleased to see a triumphant smile on
her face.

"He tried to threaten me with Emmie," she reported.  "He said
he'd never let me see her again."

"What did you tell him?"  Mulder had asked curiously.

"I said that unless he wanted Emmie raised by strangers, I was
his only option once he was sent to jail.  His parents are in
poor health.  They can't take care of her."

"I take it he was less than thrilled with that response?" he
commented dryly.

"He was livid," she replied, satisfaction in her voice.  "Do me a
favor, Mulder, throw those in the trash, would you?" she asked,
indicating the bouquet Zach had left on the bedside table.

Mulder had been happy to oblige.

Now Scully looked around the living room of his new home, her
face registering a combination of exasperation and familiar
affection.  "Not quite finished moving in?" she asked, one
eyebrow raised.  The bandages had been removed from her face, and
the bruises and swelling were just beginning to diminish.  The
vision in her left eye had cleared, for which they were both
thankful, but she was still sore all over and the cracked rib
would take time to heal.

Quickly Mulder moved a pile of old magazines from the couch so
she would have a comfortable place to sit.  Scully accepted his
helping hand gratefully, sinking with relief onto the leather.
Absently she rubbed her hand over the arm of the couch for a
minute, then looked up at him with a wistful smile.

"This sure brings back memories," she told him softly.

He nodded, unable to speak for the moment.  It had brought back a
lot of his own memories as well.  He'd actually considered
sleeping on it as he used to, but after living at Skinner's place
for so many weeks he'd learned to appreciate the luxury of
comfortably stretching out his six-foot frame. One of his first
purchases after signing the papers on his house had been a
king-sized bed. Mulder decided he was never again going to sleep
on anything that reminded him of a prison cot.  He still loved
his couch, but it was no longer his bed.  The other bedrooms he
hadn't gotten around to furnishing quite yet, so the day before,
once Scully had agreed to be his houseguest, he'd made a hasty
trip to a furniture store to purchase the essentials for what
would be her room. He'd managed to have them delivered that
morning by adding a hefty fee to the usual delivery cost, but it
was worth it to have everything in readiness for her.  Seeing the
contentment on her face now, he was glad he'd made the effort.

"I'll put your things in your room," he said, starting down the
hall with her suitcase, and she followed him slowly, taking in
the layout of the house.  It was larger than she would have
expected Mulder to purchase.  He had always seemed content in his
tiny apartment.

Mulder entered the bedroom, just two doors down from his own, and
dropped the suitcase on the bed.  He turned to find Scully right
behind him, a bemused expression on her face.

"What?" he asked.

She gave a little laugh.  "I don't know, Mulder.  Somehow I just
never pictured you in a house, certainly not one this big.
Whenever I would think of you, it was always in your old
apartment.  You just seemed to belong there."

Seeing the look on his face Scully opened her mouth to apologize,
but he shook his head at her.  "It's all right, Scully."

"I didn't mean--"

"I know."  He sighed.  "I always pictured myself there, too.
Always thought that if I ever got out of prison, somehow I'd find
myself back there.  I actually had the chance, too, but I
couldn't take it."

"Memories?" she asked softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

He nodded.  "So many memories, Scully," he almost whispered.  His
eyes locked with hers and suddenly he knew, they both knew, that
their kiss started so long ago was about to be completed.

His hands came up to tenderly cup her face, mindful of the
bruising, and he felt hers reach around his waist, drawing him
closer.  Slowly, more slowly than before, more slowly than he
could have imagined, her lips came nearer and nearer until
finally he felt their soft brush against his own.  He intended
the kiss to be short, gentle, so as not to aggravate her
injuries, but Scully wanted more.  She kneaded his back with her
hands as her mouth pressed more urgently against his and before
he was expecting it her tongue slipped inside, tentatively
exploring.

Mulder melted into her then, letting her take the lead, not
wanting to find himself guilty of rushing her into anything she
might not be ready to face.  He opened his mouth to her and let
her taste him, all of him, sliding his tongue against hers with a
passion that grew quickly out of hand.  He could feel himself
becoming light-headed, felt his arousal growing, and finally,
before he lost his senses completely, he withdrew from her kiss,
his breathing ragged.

"Scully, we can't--you're not ready for this," he stammered,
feeling his knees giving out as he lowered himself to sit on the
edge of the bed.

Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it
heavily. "You're right, Mulder," she said finally, after
regaining her own equilibrium.  "As much as I'd love to push you
down on that bed and make love to you right now, I can't."  She
lowered herself to sit next to him and took his hand in hers.
"Repulsive though he may be, Zach is still my husband, and I just
can't...with you...not while I'm still married to him."

"Scully, I don't expect you to--" he began, but she shushed him.

"I know you don't, Mulder.  You wouldn't."  She met his eyes,
clear and honest.  "The truth is, I want to have a relationship
with you--that is, if you still want me."

"I think that's pretty obvious," he grinned.

She returned the smile.  "When my divorce is final, Mulder...then
we'll talk about it.  But until then, we'll have to be just
friends, no matter what we may feel.  Because one more kiss like
that and I swear I'll forget all my ideals."

He stood up then, rubbing his sweating palms lightly on his
jeans. "I'd better leave you alone for a while," he said,
abruptly changing the subject.  "You should get some rest.  Do
you need help unpacking?"

She shook her head, already arranging herself on the bed.  "A nap
sounds good right now," she admitted, yawning.  "I think I still
have residual painkillers in my system."

He helped her crawl beneath the covers and left the room, turning
out the light and closing the door.  Outside, Mulder leaned his
head against the wall, feeling suddenly exhausted.  He wasn't
sure how he would endure being in such close quarters with her
and being unable to touch her, but he knew he had to make the
effort.  At least she was here.

*****

Days melted into weeks, and somehow they managed to contain their
passions, maintaining a properly platonic relationship at all
times.  He made sure she took care of herself physically,
recovering from the injuries Zach had inflicted on her, and she
was there to pick up his mental pieces when he had a crisis.  She
was particularly helpful after a bad therapy session.  He'd been
seeing the therapist Skinner had recommended once a week for the
past couple of months.  Skinner and Scully had both urged him to
follow the therapist's advice and go for twice weekly sessions,
but he had steadfastly refused.  Mondays were enough, he
insisted.  He was doing fine.

Actually, Mulder was doing more than fine, considering the
baggage he had to deal with.  His panic attacks had decreased and
he was able to get through most days relatively painlessly.  The
memories that constantly plagued him were getting easier to live
with, aided largely by the fact that Scully was in his life
again.  The old pain that had become so familiar was beginning to
diminish.  He found that he had forgotten what hope felt like. It
was nice to remember.

Life had become a bit like the dream he'd always had of the two
of them together--laundry, shopping, sitting around the house in
the evening sharing conversation--everything but the sex, and
Mulder fervently hoped that when her divorce was final they could
begin an intimate relationship as well.  He wanted to ask her to
marry him, but was afraid to press her for that committment.
Maybe she wouldn't be ready to dive in again so soon after
ridding herself of one husband, he reminded his eager inner self.
That in mind, he carefully avoided the topic, allowing himself to
imagine them in that situation only in his most private
fantasies.

*****

"What is it?" Mulder asked when he saw her face.  He had just
returned from a brisk run, and was anxious to hit the shower and
wash away the sweat, but the sight of Scully sitting quietly and
forlornly on his couch halted him.

She looked up at his voice, her face betraying an emotion he
couldn't pinpoint.  There were tear streaks on her face, and
Mulder was suddenly hit with the certain knowledge that this had
something to do with Zach. Sinking to the couch beside her he
pulled her into a comforting embrace which she willingly
returned.

"I've done something," she confessed.  "Agreed to something, and
Mulder--I'm afraid you're going to be so disappointed in me."
Her shoulders hitched with the sob she bit back.

Mulder turned her face up to his and brushed back the hair that
had fallen over her eyes.  His expression was tender as he waited
for her to go on.

"I've agreed...to drop the assault charges against Zach," she
said in a rush, closing her eyes momentarily while she waited for
his eruption.

It never came.  When she opened them, she found him staring down
at her in puzzlement, but no trace of anger was evident on his
features.

"Why?" he questioned softly, settling them back against the couch
and pulling her even closer.  "You must have had a good reason."

She nodded against his chest, enjoying his warmth and the sound
of his heartbeat.  It had been so many years since he'd held her
this way, and never before had the understanding of their love
been so palpable between them.

"I received a visit from his parents," she told him, and he made
a rumbling noise in his chest.  "It's all right, they're very
nice people," she informed him, raising up to look him in the
eyes for a minute, then settling back comfortably.  "They just
wanted to talk to me."

"They wanted to ask you not to send their son to jail," Mulder
corrected, controlled anger finally seeping into his voice.

"Well, yes and no," she confirmed.  "They were very upset with
Zach for what he did, but at the same time they were concerned
for Emmie.  They can't raise her, Mulder, they're in poor health
and they're too old. And Emmie doesn't have any other living
relatives."

"But you said you'd try to get custody of her," he pointed out.

Scully sighed.  "I don't want to disrupt her life too badly," she
said, "and Emmie does adore her father.  Zach is very good with
her."

"What did they promise you?" he asked bluntly, and felt her tense
in his arms.  Mulder refused to relent.  "Did they tell you that
you could see her if you dropped the charges?"

She was silent for a moment, and he could tell she was choosing
her words carefully.  "Zach has agreed to that.  I'd get her one
week a month, and his parents would drop her off and pick her up.
It wouldn't violate the restraining order.  Zach still wouldn't
be able to come near me."

"And if you refuse?"

She raised her eyes to look at him now.  "They didn't threaten
me, Mulder, if that's what you're getting at.  They told me this
was Zach's idea, and I believe them.  Apparently Emmie misses me
and wants to see me."

"So you drop the charges, and then what?  Do you still get to see
Emmie after the divorce is final?"

"Yes.  I made certain of that.  Look Mulder, I know this is hard
for you to believe, but Zach and his parents are concerned for
Emmie.  They want her to be happy, and it's hard enough to lose
one mother without her having to lose another.  She's been crying
and asking to visit me, and Zach finally devised this plan to
make her happy.  On the other hand, he isn't stupid, and he
doesn't want to face trial," she added wryly.  "The opportunity
to strike a deal was probably too tempting for him to resist."

Mulder nodded, remembering briefly, with a shaft of pain, his own
trial. The moments before the verdict was read had to qualify as
the most terrifying of his life.  Clinging to the practically
invisible hope that he would somehow be acquitted, and feeling
his stomach turn to lead when the jury had pronounced him guilty.
For a second he almost felt sympathy for Zach, until he
remembered the sight of Scully, in pain and covered with
bandages.  He swallowed hard.

"You've already agreed to this, I take it?"

She pulled away from him gently, changing position so she was
sitting facing him on the couch.  Equals.

"Yes, I have," she admitted.  "I want to see her too.  And they
said they would bring her over on Sunday night if I agreed.
Mulder, it's still your house, and I'm fully recovered now.  If
you don't want to deal with her--"

"No, no, Scully," he assured her hastily.  The thought of her
moving out struck him with fear.  He couldn't lose her again.
"I'd love to have Emmie here.  Will she still go to her daycare,
or stay home with me?"

Scully laughed then, a sound of happiness mixed with relief.  "I
wouldn't do that to you, Mulder," she promised.  "She'll go to
daycare same as always.  She likes it there, anyway, she has lots
of friends there.  She'd have nothing to do around here except
drive you insane."

"I'll drive her, then," he promised, pulling her back into his
arms.  He wasn't ready to relinquish the feel of her pressed
close against his body.  It was all he could have of her these
days.  "To the daycare, not insane," he clarified, and she
laughed again.

Scully gave him a brief, tight hug in thanks, then relaxed
against him. They sat that way for a long time, simply enjoying
the nearness of one another.  Soon, she vowed to herself, soon we
can have more.

*****

Mulder lounged beside the pool, soaking up the warm sunshine
after a vigorous swim.  His eyes were closed as he drowsily let
his mind drift from topic to topic, enjoying the heat of
impending summer on his skin. It had been forever since he'd been
able to do this, and they were enjoying the first really warm day
since his release from prison. Without warning a shadow crossed
him, and he shivered a bit with a sudden chill.  Lazily he opened
his eyes and squinted up into Scully's smiling face.

"If you fall asleep out here and get sunburned, I'll end up
having to smear lotion all over you," she told him, grinning
wickedly as her eyes took in his swimsuit-clad form.

"Ooh, Scully, promises promises!" he replied cheekily, reaching
for his towel.  Wrapping it around his shoulders casually, Mulder
scooted to a sitting position.

"How was your day?"  He felt a bit awkward at the fact that
Scully was still gainfully employed while he'd done nothing
worthwhile since his release, but it just felt so damn good to be
on his own recognizance. For the first time in years nobody was
telling him what to do or when, or where to go, and the
liberation was exhilirating.  He had been giving some thought to
the rest of his life, finally, and had almost formulated a
definite plan, but he'd been afraid to run it by Scully.  He was
a little concerned at what her reaction would be, considering the
man he had been a few years earlier.  That Mulder would have been
discontented with his vision of his own future, but the person he
was today welcomed the challenge, and most importantly, the
relative safety of his intentions.

"Long and tiring," Scully sighed, flopping into a chair beside
him. "Sometimes I wonder how some of these kids managed to land
jobs with the FBI.  Is it just me, or are people getting stupider
by the day?"

Mulder laughed, and Scully watched him, enjoying the sound.  She
didn't hear it often.  He was much more somber than he'd been
before, and she missed his sarcasm and wit more than she'd
realized.

She shook her head in exasperation.  "I had two students pass out
at an autopsy today," she told him in disbelief.  "And these
people want to hunt down our country's worst criminals?  They'd
head for the hills if they saw some of the things you and I
investigated."

Mulder sobered immediately.  "Scully, if people knew the things
you and I found out, the entire country would be on the verge of
collapse. Maybe 'They' were right all along.  Maybe we should
have kept our noses out of it."

She stared at him, completely taken aback by his statement.
Scully was constantly surprised at the changes in Mulder, and
this was one of the most pronounced.  She'd tried to lure him out
of his occasional bouts of depression with stories of the unusual
or paranormal, but Mulder was completely uninterested.  None of
it mattered any longer, he had informed her, and she realized
that what he really meant was that he wanted to concentrate on
the things in life he couldn't live without. The rest was
decoration.  The Mulder she had known in a previous life had
never had to fight for his freedom or safety on a daily
basis--those things were a given.  This man before her had
learned how easily it could all be stripped from him, and was now
determined to focus on those things that meant the most.  He
simply didn't have time for the interests that used to be his
bread-and-butter.  Not yet, anyway.

"I guess," she began hesitantly, "I've always hoped that once you
got used to your freedom you'd pick up where you left off in one
way or another.  I can't imagine you not seeking out answers to
questions nobody else has thought to ask."

He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.  "I
don't want the answers anymore, Scully.  I don't even care about
the questions.  That sounds defeated, I know," he went on, seeing
her expression, "and I don't mean to come across that way.  One
thing I've made myself believe is that nothing is going to beat
me.  Not after all I've endured.  I suppose you could say it set
me back at the beginning, though.  Sort of made me want to get
back to the basics of myself."

"What do you mean?" she asked, kicking off her shoes and tucking
her feet up as she crossed her legs Indian-fashion.

"I mean, going back to what I originally intended to do with my
life," he told her seriously.  "I never sought out the FBI, they
were the ones who recruited me.  Apparently one of my professors
was impressed enough with my senior thesis to share it with a
friend of his in the Bureau heirarchy, who passed it on to VCU.
They decided I was some kind of boy-wonder and offered me a job
profiling if I made it through the Academy.  I took it because it
was a chance to begin earning money and making a life several
years earlier than I'd planned.

"It was nice at first, too, until it started to wear me down and
drive me crazy," he added, rubbing his nose where it was already
beginning to blister.

"But then you found the X-files," she prodded.

"I found the X-files," Mulder agreed.  "And then I found you.
And then they took it all away."  His voice drifted into
nothingness as he stared across the yard, the late afternoon sun
reflecting off the water to illuminate his saddened face.

"And you don't want it back?  To prove to them they haven't won,
if nothing else?" she asked, mystified.

Mulder shook his head firmly.  "No.  I never want to get involved
with that stuff again.  Actually, I've been thinking of going
back to school, working toward my doctorate so I could practice
as a psychologist."

"When I was first assigned to work with you I thought you were
already a psychologist," she smiled.  "I remember being terribly
intimidated because you appeared to have obtained your education
so quickly."

He grinned back at her. "Lots of people thought that, Scully, but
I really only have an undergraduate degree.  I can't hang out my
shingle just yet.  I think I might like to, though.  I was always
good at relating to other people's problems and helping them work
through to the solutions," he told her. "It's what I planned on
doing for the rest of my life when I was much younger.  The FBI
was a detour, and one I very much enjoyed for the most part, but
maybe it's time I got back on track."

"Are you serious?  You really want to go back to school?"

He nodded again.  "I'd like to work with kids.  I have to do
something, Scully, and I do still love psychology.  At least I
have the luxury of not having to hold down a job while I study."

Scully laughed.  "That's true, Mulder.  You won't even have to
eat beans and weenies or SpaghettiO's like most starving
students."

"Hey, what's wrong with SpaghettiO's?" he demanded, following her
as she rose and started toward the house.  "They're one of
nature's perfect foods!"

"Nature?" she scoffed, opening the refrigerator and beginning to
remove ingredients for pasta primavera.  "Nature has nothing to
do with that stuff, Mulder, it's all pressed and formed in a lab
somewhere," she called after him as he went to change.  "Didn't
you ever see Soylent Green?"

"SpaghettiO's is *people*!" he paraphrased, his voice carrying
down the hall.

She smiled at the sound of his contented laughter as she threw
chopped vegetables into a bowl, considering Mulder's new career
plan.  He may not have the same goals and beliefs, but thank God
he was still the same old Mulder underneath it all.

*****

Mulder held out the telephone to Scully with a pained expression.
"Zach," he mouthed quietly, dropping the phone in her lap. It
still disturbed him greatly to think that Scully's estranged
husband might have tried to kill him, but so far the restraining
order had had its desired effect.  They had neither seen nor
heard from Zach since Scully left the hospital. Mulder went back
to his task of loading the dishwasher and watched her out of the
corner of his eye.

"Yes?" she said grimly into the phone, wondering what Zach could
want with her after all these weeks.

"Dana, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need to ask a favor. For
Emmie."  His voice sounded apologetic and friendly, so normal
that for a moment she wondered if he'd forgotten the terms on
which they had parted.  Surely he hadn't forgotten beating her so
badly she'd had to spend three days in the hospital, she thought
incredulously.

"What?" she asked crisply, with a quick glance at Mulder.  He was
scraping plates and seemed to be all right, so she turned her
attention to Zach with the hope of getting rid of him quickly.

"It's her birthday party this Friday.  I've already invited the
kids from her daycare and planned everything, but now I find I
won't be able to make home in time."

Scully sighed, knowing what was coming.  "What do you need me to
do, Zach?" she asked warily, noting the way Mulder's back
stiffened slightly at her words.

"Do you think maybe you could have the party there?" he asked.
"I could send a note home telling the parents of the address
change."

"Why can't you just change the time and send a note to that
effect?"

"I'm not going to have time to do it at all this weekend, Dana,"
he said, and she could have sworn she heard a bit of a whine
creeping into his voice.  "And Emmie would be so disappointed if
we had to cancel."

Scully looked over at Mulder again, but he had his back to her so
she couldn't see his face.  Surely he wouldn't mind this one
thing?  Mulder loved kids, and Emmie had quickly wrapped him
around her little finger. Besides, how long could a birthday
party last for a little girl? Not more than a couple of hours at
most.

She groaned inwardly.  "All right, Zach, I'll do it.  What time?"
She grabbed for a pen and wrote down the details of the party,
all the while feeling Mulder as he turned to stare at her in
shock; he had no idea what she was agreeing to.

"Fine.  Everything will be fine, Zach.  No, that won't be
necessary, just send the cake to the daycare center that morning
and I'll have Mom pick her up."

She gently placed the phone on the table, turning slowly toward
Mulder's inquisitive face.  "It's Emmie's birthday on Friday,"
she explained helplessly.  "He has to work and wanted to ask if
we'd have the party here.  I didn't know what else to do."

Mulder's face was grim for a few more seconds, then he broke out
in a weak smile.  "Sure, Scully.  It'll be all right."  Scully
could tell when he turned away quickly and concentrated on
silverware that things were not 'all right'.

"Talk to me," she said softly, coming up behind him and
encircling his waist with her arms.  "If it really bothers you,
I'll ask Mom to have the party at her house instead."

Mulder shook his head, quickly drying his hands on a towel and
turning into her embrace.  "It's not that," he told her softly,
burying his face in her hair momentarily.  "It's just..."

"What, Mulder?"

He sighed deeply.  "What are the mothers going to think about
leaving their little kids at the house of a convicted murderer?"

Scully drew back in surprise, staring up at his saddened face.
"Mulder! You are not a murderer!" she said sharply.

His lips curved in a half-smile.  "People talk, Scully.  And they
read the newspapers."

"Then they will have read about how you were proven innocent,"
she declared staunchly.  "You are not a criminal, Mulder, you
never were. Just because a horrible injustice was done to you--"

"Scully, how many people ever know the entire story?  Scandal
sticks, exoneration doesn't."

"Well," she said finally, "anyone who doesn't want to leave their
child for the party is welcome to go.  We don't need people like
that around, and Emmie doesn't needs friends with that kind of
attitude."

He gave a short laugh at her loyal words and hugged her briefly
before turning back to his cleaning, but Mulder was worried.  So
far, of the few people who had recognized his face from news
accounts, all had been supportive, but it was foolish to believe
it would always turn out that way.  Sooner or later someone was
bound to point an accusing finger at him, utter painful words,
and he feared having to face the humiliation. Shaking his head
slowly, he forced himself to think positively.  What were the
odds, he reasoned, of it happening at Emmie's party?

*****

"Mrs. Scully!  I didn't expect you," he said with a nervous smile
as he opened the front door wide for her to enter.  Scully had
been due home ten minutes ago and he was growing more
apprehensive by the moment--if she didn't arrive soon he was
going to have to face ten little girls all alone.  Not only was
it terrifying, but Mulder thought it wasn't a good idea for a man
to be the only adult in a house full of pre-school girls. Not in
this day and age.  He'd been praying fervently that he could talk
one or more of the parents into staying.

"I was just about to call Scully," he added as Maggie smiled and
kissed him on the cheek in greeting.  "She's late."

"I know.  She was detained at work so she called me to ask if I'd
come over and help out.  That's probably her now," she said as
the phone on the kitchen table began ringing.

Mulder raced to answer it, and sure enough it was Scully
reporting that she'd had an unexpected problem that must be dealt
with immediately.

"I'm really sorry, Mulder, but my mom is on her way to your
rescue."

"She's here now, Scully.  Thanks for sending her.  I"m sure we'll
manage just fine," he told her stoically, fighting down the
butterflies in his stomach as the time for the party neared.

"Don't worry, Mulder.  Mom will take care of most of the details,
all you'll have to do is serve the cake and ice cream and make
sure nobody falls in the swimming pool."

"That might be a bigger chore than I imagined," he answered
morosely. "I've seen how fast Emmie can be, and now there will be
ten of them!"

Scully's laughter rang through the line.  "Mom is a seasoned
professional," she assured him.  "She'll tell you what to do."

"Fox!" came a cry from the bedroom down the hall, and Mulder
started toward the sound, carrying the cordless phone with him.

"I gotta go, Scully, Emmie's calling me.  The kids will be
arriving in a few minutes."  Mulder hung up and hastened to
answer the little girl's summons.

"C'n you tie my dress?" she asked him, her innocent dark brown
eyes gazing up at him trustingly.  Emmie had captured Mulder's
heart easily, and had found in him a willing slave.  She had so
much trouble pronouncing 'Mulder' that he had finally given in
and allowed her to address him as 'Fox'.

"Grandma Maggie does," she had pointed out obstinately.  "And I
let you call me 'Nymph' like Mommy."

He'd finally admitted good-natured defeat. "Just don't tell
anybody, okay?" he made her promise, and she had shaken her head
solemnly, agreeing to keep his awful secret.

Mulder turned her around and tied the sash of her dress in a bow
at her back.  "Are you ready to turn five?" he asked with a wink.

Emmie giggled.  "Fox, I'm already five!  I turned five at
midnight," she reported, carefully repeating what Scully had told
her.

Mulder shook his head.  "Nope.  I know your mommy thinks you did,
but she's wrong.  Research has shown that little girls don't turn
five until their birthday parties officially start."

"What's 'research'?" she asked curiously, and Mulder groaned,
recognizing the sign of an impending barrage of questions and
realizing he had brought it on himself.

Luckily, he was saved from having to answer by the ringing of the
doorbell.  Offering her his hand, he asked with a twinkle in his
eye, "My I escort you to your party, Miss Morrow?"

She giggled again and slipped her hand comfortably into his.
Mulder felt a pang in his heart as he thought momentarily of the
children he would never have.  The idea of being with anyone but
Scully was repulsive to him, and since she could no longer bear
children his hopes of someday becoming a father had practically
disappeared.  He'd just have to make do with Emmie's infrequent
visits.

Two hours later Mulder was exhausted and ready to kill himself if
he heard one more request for cake or another whining voice ask
to use the bathroom.  The kitchen looked as if an earthquake had
recently struck, and Mulder felt as if he'd been caught right in
the middle.  Wrapping paper covered the floor around the table,
and smears of chocolate icing and cake crumbs were everywhere,
including on Mulder himself.  He'd found himself a great favorite
with the girls, and all of them had wanted to hold his hand or
sit on his lap at some time during the party. He'd never actually
had his own slice of cake, but he was quite full from the
numerous shared bites that had been forced on him.

Emmie, completely forgetting her promise, had proudly introduced
him as "My Fox," to all her friends, and giggling cries of "Fox!
Fox!" had permeated the air.

Maggie had laughed at his discomfiture, reminding him that he had
started it all by allowing Emmie the liberty, and he gave her a
mock glower as he grumbled, "Thanks for the support."

Emmie sat happily at the center of it all like a queen, very
politely thanking all her friends for the gifts they had brought
and then studiously separating them into stacks of those she
liked and those she didn't.  Mulder had been about to quietly
point out to her that someone might get their feelings hurt, but
before he could speak one little girl knocked over her glass of
red punch and everyone scrambled for safety. He and Maggie flew
for towels, barely rescuing the gifts before the liquid reached
them.  When they were done mopping up, Emmie announced she wanted
to show her friends the bedroom she slept in when she stayed with
Mommy, and nine giggling examples of femininity raced after her
down the hall.

Mulder collapsed onto the floor in a heap, gazing up at Mrs.
Scully as she began to placidly clean up the mess.  Within
minutes, to Mulder's surprise, the room actually began to
slightly resemble a kitchen again.

"How do you do this?" he asked wearily, and she laughed.

"I'm a veteran of birthday parties, you know.  Just be glad
they're little girls, Fox.  Boys are quite different.  At
Charles' ninth birthday party I turned my back for one minute and
they managed to shave the cat!"

Mulder winced.  "Thank goodness we don't have a cat," he
muttered, glancing again out the back door toward the swimming
pool.  It had been his greatest fear that one of the children
would slip away unnoticed and drown before they could stop her,
but once they had been told they mustn't go outside, the girls
had turned their attention to cake and presents.

Sudden shrieks of laughter came from the hall, and with a
rumbling of feet the girls burst back into the kitchen.  Mulder
was a sitting duck and they pounced on him immediately.  Within
seconds he was being swarmed upon by ten little girls intent on
tickling the life out of him.

"Emmie, you'll pay for this!" he roared through his laughter as
he struggled to escape their tiny hands.  It was another of his
secrets she had spilled that day.  "Maggie, help me!"

"Girls, your parents are arriving."  Maggie's voice cut through
the screams of mirth, and a minute later she was helping him to
his feet with a smile.  "Talk about being rescued in the nick of
time!" she told him as he straightened his shirt and brushed off
the back of his jeans.

"Thanks, Maggie.  Emmie simply cannot be trusted with a
confidence," he said darkly, attempting to glare at the culprit,
but failing miserably when she put her arms around his legs and
hugged him.

"Thank you for helping me turn five, Fox," she smiled up at him,
and he sighed, knowing he would always melt inside when she
looked at him that way.

"You're welcome, Nymph," he told her.  "Now, let's tell your
friends goodbye and thank them for coming, shall we?"

Emmie dutifully echoed the words to each little girl as her
mother or father arrived to collect her.  There were only two
guests remaining when Mulder, raising his head from listening to
Emmie whisper something in his ear, was unexpectedly confronted
with an angry face.

"I can't believe my husband left Jessica here with you," the
woman hissed, and Mulder was shocked at the venom in her words.

"I don't--"

"If I'd known this was *your* house, I'd have insisted Jessica
miss the party.  I know who you are.  You're that FBI agent that
killed a man!"

"No, I--"

"They never should have let you out," she interrupted, not giving
him a chance to defend himself.  "It's a sad day for our country
when powerful friends and money can get a killer freed."

She was gone before he could collect himself enough to reply, and
Mulder stared after her, his face pale.  He had known there would
be people who felt this way, but to actually be confronted with
one...  He felt his stomach churn and quickly ducked down the
hallway to the bathroom, leaving a stunned Maggie Scully to turn
the last child over to her father.  Maggie's lips pressed
together thinly at the memory of the woman's words.

"Is Fox sick, Grandma Maggie?" Emmie asked, staring after him
worriedly.

"He'll be all right, Emmie," Mrs. Scully replied.  "I think he
just had a little too much cake to eat."  Holding out her hand to
the little girl with a smile, she added, "Want to come help me
clean up?"

Nodding, Emmie happily joined her and soon they had the kitchen
back to a semblance of order.  Eventually Mulder made his way out
of the bathroom, his eyes downcast and his face solemn.


"Mulder, it was just one silly, uninformed woman," Scully said
soothingly, her heart aching at the sad expression he still wore.
They'd been expecting Walter for dinner that night and had
invited Maggie to stay as well, and now the four of them sat
around the table sipping coffee and sharing conversation.  She
noted Mulder's lack of appetite and sighed inwardly.

"I've talked to Roberta Jenkins before, and she's one of those
paranoid types that thinks the government is planning to lock
citizens up in concentration camps someday," Scully went on.
"She'd naturally believe that as a former federal agent you had
connections.  I'm sure she didn't bother to read the accounts of
the real killer's confession."

"She'd just believe it was made up, anyway," Skinner observed.

"Really?  Concentration camps?" Maggie asked, her eyes wide.
"I've never heard that one before."

Scully laughed at her mother's face.  "It's just a wild story,
Mom, but some people will believe anything."

Mulder's countenance darkened a little as he remembered being
accused of that on more than one occasion, but he knew Scully
wasn't poking fun at him.  The sick feeling in his stomach at
Mrs. Jenkins' accusations had diminished somewhat, but he still
felt depressed and upset over the incident.  He'd managed to
convince Emmie that he wasn't really sick, so at least she'd gone
home to her father happy, but as soon as she left Mulder had
retreated to the pool for a long, soul-cleansing workout.

"So many people have been supportive of you, Mulder, I guess I
can't really understand why you let this one person upset you,"
Skinner said, sitting back in the chair and stirring his coffee.

"Words hurt sometimes," Scully interjected, seeing Mulder's
discomfort, but he shook his head.

"That's not it, not really," he told them.  "It's hard to..."
His voice grew softer as he searched for the words, and his eyes
found the tablecloth, not raising once as he tried to explain.

"Sometimes I still can't believe I'm free.  I wake up in the
night in that enormous bed and find myself huddled in the center
of it as if I'm still cramped into my prison cot.  There are
times I find myself sitting, doing nothing, and I'll realize I'm
waiting to be told what I should do next because I've forgotten
that I can do as I please.  If I see two or three men together in
a group, my first reaction is fear." He paused and felt their
eyes on him.  "What happened today just brought it all back.
When she spoke to me in that tone, suddenly I could see myself
back there, trying to defend against accusations that were
untrue, fighting fights that I could never win."

Scully's hand reached out and covered his, gripping it tightly,
and he glanced her way and gave her fingers a squeeze with a
grateful smile.

"Well, Fox," Maggie said quietly, "at least you're going to
therapy and trying to get yourself put back together.  There's no
hope for a woman like Mrs. Jenkins."

"That's true," Skinner agreed.  "She'll run around her entire
life waiting for the sky to fall, and she'll never find happiness
or even contentment, only disappointment in the fact that her
predictions never come true."

"But she was right."  Mulder's voice surprised them.  "At least
partially.  It was money and powerful friends that got me out of
there."

"You never should have been there in the first place!" Skinner
exploded. He softened his tone a bit when he saw Mulder jump,
unprepared for his reaction.  "I'm sorry, Mulder, but I won't let
you sit here and put yourself down because some idiot woman said
something uncalled for.  You were a victim.  Period.  Four years
of your life were stolen from you, and now you deserve every day
of freedom, every moment of happiness that you can lay your hands
on.  Did you call Jess about this?"

Mulder shook his head weakly.  "I haven't had time.  Besides, I
thought I could deal with it on my own."

Skinner snorted.  "When is your next appointment with her?" he
demanded gently.

"Monday."

Skinner thought carefully.  Scully would be with him all weekend,
available to talk Mulder out of any depression he might decide to
settle into, so maybe it would be all right.  "Don't miss it," he
finally told Mulder firmly.  "I'll kick your ass if you do."

Mulder gave a laugh at that, and the tension at the table was
suddenly broken.  Skinner's authoritarian manner was exactly what
he needed at times, he reflected.  Occasionally a verbal kick in
the pants was the only thing that could get him back on track
when he lost his way, and he was oddly grateful to Skinner for
his willingness to provide.  Skinner could always tell if he
needed help figuring things out, or if he simply needed to be
told what to do; sometimes making decisions was too much to bear.

*****

Scully stood at the window, covertly observing Mulder as he
played basketball.  It was something he did to clear his mind,
and she knew Mrs. Jenkins' remarks of Friday afternoon still
weighed heavily on him. Although the mood had lightened and the
four of them had enjoyed the rest of their evening, she had
sensed an underlying broodiness in Mulder for the rest of the
night.  It had carried over the weekend until finally today he'd
changed into shorts and his Knicks jersey and gone outside to
shoot some hoops.  A lump rose in her throat when she
contemplated the jersey.  She'd given it to him for Christmas two
years before his arrest, and it had quickly become his favorite.
They had just come home from that strange visit to a house that
Mulder still insisted had been haunted, and after trying to fall
asleep for hours, Scully finally grabbed the gift she had for him
and hopped in her car. She'd wanted to give it to him
immediately.  Technically it was Christmas, after all, the clock
reading well after midnight.  Mostly what she wanted at the time
was to feel his nearness, confirm his safety, and enjoy his
company.  They'd only been separated a few hours and she missed
him.  As aggravating as Mulder could be at times, by then she had
already fallen deeply in love with him.  That year had been
difficult for them both, she recalled now, but not nearly as
difficult as the years to come.

He glanced toward the house, and she drew back a bit, hiding
behind the curtains.  She wasn't sure why she didn't want Mulder
to catch her watching him, but she was enjoying this unseen
observance.  It was a warm day, and sweat was already coloring
both the front and back of his shirt.  As she looked on, he
reached an arm up to wipe the perspiration from his brow, then
easily sank a basket from halfway down the driveway. Scully
shrugged to herself.  An easy one for Mulder.  He was truly good
at this game, and loved it with a passion.

Her breath caught suddenly when she saw him tug at the hem of the
jersey, and before she knew it he had removed it entirely and
tossed it aside.  Now he stood there half-naked, and she
unconsciously licked her lips as she took in the sight.

Mulder had filled out nicely by now, and his form was long and
lean. His sinewy, well-toned muscles rippling, he began moving
quickly again, up and down the driveway dribbling the ball before
jumping to drop it through the net.  He was tanned and healthy
looking, and Scully felt herself growing warm with anticipation.

One more week.  One more week of celibacy and he could be hers.
The divorce hearing had finally been scheduled, and exactly one
week from today she would be a free woman.  Mulder's woman.  At
last.

He turned so that he was facing her, and Scully almost moaned
aloud at the sight of him.  Droplets of moisture were running
down his face, and even from her distance she could see them
glisten as they sank down to nestle in the light dusting of hair
on his chest.  She began breathing again when he turned suddenly
away, and the sight of his strong back and arm muscles almost did
her in.  Dropping the curtain aside, Scully stepped away from the
window.  She wouldn't torture herself any longer today, she
decided as she started for her bedroom to change.  A nice, cool
dip in the pool seemed like a good idea.

*****

With the exception of his desperate phone call about the party,
Scully had neither seen nor heard from her husband since the day
he stormed out of the hospital in a rage.  Today that would
change, and she was decidedly nervous. The court date had finally
arrived, and they would stand in front of a judge, not more than
ten feet separating them, as their marriage was legally
dissolved. Would he approach her, try to reconcile, or would he
ignore her altogether?

Zach had kept his promise after she'd dropped charges against
him, and she and Mulder had enjoyed Emmie's company for three
separate weeks in addition to her birthday party.  Alan and Katie
Morrow had been diligent in dropping her off and retrieving her,
just as promised, and Scully was grateful to them for their
support. In spite of everything, Zach's parents adored Dana.
They loved their son, but thankfully had no illusions about him;
they had been terribly disappointed in Zach over what he had done
to her, and his father had insisted he attend the AA meetings he
had signed up for.  As far as Scully knew, Zach hadn't touched a
drop of liquor since the night he had beaten her so badly.  As
far as she knew.

Her brother, Bill, was relentless in his belief that she should
drop the divorce, even going so far as to suggest she remain
married to Zach but live apart from him.  Scully might have given
more credence to his words if she'd been able to convince herself
they came from a righteous desire to see her reconciled with the
Church.  Unfortunately, in his zeal to protect Zach from the
consequences of his actions, Bill had become suspect in his
sister's mind.  She wondered how much he knew of the attempts on
Mulder's life.  She couldn't bring herself to believe he had
participated, or even known before the fact--Bill might be a big,
dumb jerk but he did mean well--but she often suspected Zach had
revealed details to Bill that she herself would never know.  The
relationship between the brother and sister had cooled
considerably.  According to Maggie, so had the relationship
between Bill and Zach, and Dana had to wonder if it was due to
the beating she had received, or something more.  Bill did love her, 
of that she had no doubt.

Now, preparing herself to face the judge and dissolve her sham of
a marriage, Scully searched for that inner peace that she had
felt on rare occasions.  It had been present when Father McCue
had prayed over her as she lay dying of cancer, and she'd also
felt it when she made the decision to let Zach off the hook.
Some type of unseen comfortor, a sweet feeling that she was
making the right move.  She wanted to feel it wash over her now
and calm her nerves.  Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply as she
stood before her mirror, Scully searched inwardly for assurance.
She was only partially successful, however; there was a feeling
of calm, but underneath it was a sense of foreboding.  With just
a hint of fear Scully realized that deep inside she was afraid
Zach would not go quietly.

"You ready?" Mulder asked, poking his head inside her partially
opened bedroom door.

She put down her hairbrush and swung around, pinning a smile on
her face.  "Let's get this over with," she said lightly,
following him toward the front door, and they walked silently to
the car. The drive to the courthouse was quiet, with Mulder
reaching over occasionally to squeeze her hand.  Scully sighed
and leaned against the headrest, closing her eyes.  She hadn't
slept much the night before.  Her slumber had been plagued by
nightmares in which Zach managed to drag her off to some unknown
location away from Mulder.  She could see Mulder in her dreams,
helplessly searching for her, falling apart little by little. She
knew he was stronger now than he'd been just a few months ago,
but he was still so fragile in so many ways that it worried her.

"What's up?" Mulder asked lightly, glancing at her and seeing her
furrowed brow.  She'd been understandably pensive for several
days, but this morning she seemed wound more tightly than usual.
He put his hand on her shoulder and tried to massage away a
little of the tension there.

She shook her head lightly.  "Just nerves, I guess," she told
him, banishing the images of her nightmares from her mind.

"After today," Mulder reminded her, "Zach will have no claim on
you."

"Mulder..."

His heart jumped at her tone.  "What is it?" he asked with forced
casualness.

She sighed.  It was obvious what Mulder wanted from their
relationship. He'd made up his mind and was ready to forge ahead,
but now that the moment was here Scully just felt scared. "I may
need a little time," she said softly, gazing out the window.

He was quiet for the next few seconds, guiding the car into a
parking place.  "Sure, Scully," he said after he'd turned off the
engine and pocketed the keys.  "You can have all the time you
need."

She thanked him with a weak smile and they walked toward the
courthouse to face her destiny.

*****

When the doorbell rang that afternoon, Scully didn't know whether
she should even answer. The court appearance had been emotionally
grueling and she was exhausted.  Mulder had gone to one of his
therapy sessions and she'd been ready to lie down for a nap when
the chime sounded. Groaning aloud, she made for the front door,
intending to quickly get rid of whoever was there.  She felt a
tendril of fear in her stomach when she saw the man on the porch.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, instinctively reaching
for her weapon and clutching at nothing but air.

"I just had one more thing to settle with you," Zach told her,
his eyes boring into hers intently.  "Is your boyfriend here?"

She ignored his question.  "I have nothing to say to you," she
told him, beginning to close the door.  Her fear heightened when
he grabbed her arm with lightning speed.  She'd intended to
quickly slam the door in his face, but he prevented that action.

"You don't have to talk, you only have to listen," Zach said
darkly, leaning close to her.  "I just wanted to let you know
you'll never have him. If you know what's good for both of you,
you'll clear out of here as quickly as you can.  The longer you
stay around him the more likely I am to...lose my temper." He
gave her a wicked grin and Scully felt her anger rise,
overpowering the fear.

"Get away from me," she demanded, trying to twist out of his
grasp, but he held on firmly.

"Hear me out, Dana.  I'm giving you fair warning.  You're
endangering him by staying here."

"Threats, Zach?  If you can't have me, nobody can, is that it?"
she asked sarcastically, wondering frantically what time Mulder
could be expected to arrive.  If Zach forced his way into the
house--she had no way to defend herself except with a sheer
physical fight, and he could overpower her easily.

He dropped her arm abruptly.  "That's it exactly," he agreed
smoothly. "So unless you want to visit him in the morgue..."

"You can't get your hands on his money now," she informed him.
"I'm no longer his heir and you're no longer my husband.  It's
over, Zach."

He laughed.  "Oh, it isn't about money anymore, Dana.  It hasn't
been about money for a long, long time.  It's about what belongs
to me. *You* belong to me.  You always will.  No judge's
signature on any piece of paper can change that."  He thrust a
brown envelope into her hand suddenly, and she stared at it in
confusion. "I'll be watching this place closely," he told her in
an icy voice, his eyes grey steel.  "If you're not out of here by
tomorrow...well, wouldn't it be tragic if he met with an accident
just as the two of you were beginning your life together?"

He was gone before she could draw breath to answer, and Scully
closed and locked the door with trembling fingers.  Her legs gave
out suddenly and she sank to the carpet, completely drained of
energy.  The packet almost slipped from her fingers, and she
clutched at it, wondering what Zach was planning.  Whatever the
packet contained was obviously meant to reinforce his warning.

She ripped open the paper curiously and almost fainted when a
collection of photos fell to the floor.  Picking them up with
trembling hands, Scully felt the coldest of terrors invade her
body.

Pictures of Mulder.  Entering his therapist's office, coming out
of the bank, dropping off Emmie at daycare, running---alone,
always alone. Vulnerable.  Unprotected.  She scanned through the
prints quickly, her mind dimly registering the fact that they
spanned the entire time she'd been staying with Mulder, until her
eyes found the last one.  Scully clutched at it in horror, her
eyes clamped tightly shut as a tiny moan escaped her.

Last Monday.  Playing basketball in his own driveway.  She'd
stood at the window and watched Mulder and at the same time Zach
had been somewhere very close, taking this picture, and they'd
never even known. He could get that near without detection, near
enough to shoot, near enough to kill.  And he would.  Good God
yes, she knew he was capable--hadn't he already tried on two
occasions? This time he would be more careful, more cunning.
This time he might succeed.

She knew she should call the police, report the threat, but the
knowledge that she probably wouldn't be believed weighed heavily
on her. She was a battered wife who had dropped charges against
her husband--she had zero credibility.  If she called them now
she would be perceived as a bitter ex-wife seeking revenge. It
wasn't a reputation she liked, but it was one she was saddled
with, deserved or not.  Reality bites, she told herself grimly.
Bites big.

Her next thought was to call Mulder, or even Skinner, but the
more she thought about it the more she decided that wasn't the
answer either. Skinner would only be able to go through proper
channels, which would lead right back to the local police.
Mulder would not only rebel at that, he would be terrified.  If
she told Mulder that Zach had threatened his life, he would
either fall apart or disregard the danger entirely, depending on
how his session with Dr. Coslow had gone. Grimly, she told
herself they were trapped.  Until Zach actually tried to harm
Mulder, there was nothing they could do.

With a heavy heart, Scully pulled herself to her feet and went to
lie down.  Sleep was impossible now, but she had much to
consider.  She only had until tomorrow to make up her mind.  Call
Zach's bluff, or give up Mulder.  Turning the problem every which
way for hours, she finally drifted off into a restless sleep.
She was vaguely aware that when Mulder returned he opened her
door and then quietly closed it, not wanting to disturb her rest.
She lay silently; it seemed better to let him think she was
sleeping.  It made the decision she was slowly arriving at easier
if she didn't have to face him.

*****

Mulder was sleeping soundly, lying on his back with his arms
flung out wide on the bed.  His bare chest rose and fell
rhythmically with his breathing, and as Scully watched him she
felt her resolve begin to slip. Hardening herself, she approached
the bed.

She'd made up her mind at last.  She had to go.  As long as she
and Mulder were together, he would always be in danger.  Nobody
could protect him from her ex-husband forever, and Mulder
couldn't live if he had to constantly be looking over his
shoulder.  It was one of the things he'd often told her he
cherished about his freedom--the knowledge that not everyone he
met was a threat to his safety.

She'd shed many tears as she lay on her bed that evening, still
pretending to sleep when he'd checked on her again around supper
time. She was sure he wanted to talk, but once she'd arrived at
her decision there was nothing left to say.  Scully knew if she
allowed him to, he would manage to talk her out of this course of
action, and her mind was made up.  On the other hand, she'd all
but promised herself to Mulder when the divorce was final, and
now there was nothing standing in their way.  She knew Mulder
expected them to take their relationship to more intimate levels,
and smiled when she thought how kind he'd been, promising her as
much time as she needed.  Now she knew there would only be
tonight, and she meant to make the most of it.  She wanted him.
Oh sweet Lord how she wanted him. Creeping quietly from her bed
she made her way to his side.

Silently she stripped off the nightgown she'd been wearing and
slipped into the bed next to him.  Her warm naked body snuggled
up to his and in his sleep he pulled her closer.  Scully turned
her face to him and began to lightly kiss his chest, nuzzling the
hair between his nipples. He began to slowly awaken at her touch.

"Scully?" he mumbled, still caught in sleep.

"Yes, Mulder, it's me," she whispered, trailing her lips up to
capture his.

His left hand slid up her back and tangled in her hair, holding
her to him, while his right cupped her bottom lightly.  He was
fully awake now, still a bit fuzzy but aware that his greatest
dream was in the process of becoming reality, however
unexpectedly.  Her mouth explored every inch of his face and
neck, and soon he was fully aroused, thrusting against her with
slow, even movements.

Their mouths met with intensity again, tongues battling and
surrendering, and in the next moment all cognizant thought fled.

*****

When Mulder awakened in the morning he was alone.

His eyes drifted open and he reached for Scully, but his arms
came up empty. Groping at the huge bed and finding no warm body,
he sat up and looked around the room. The only sign that she had
been there was the fact that he was naked where he had previously
been wearing boxers, and the sensation of slightly sore muscles
strained by unfamiliar physical activity.

Climbing out of bed, Mulder slipped on the boxers which had made
their way to the floor during the night, and padded down the hall
to her room. She must have gone back there to sleep, he reasoned,
but when he opened the door the sight that greeted him drove the
breath entirely from his body.

She was gone.

Hastily he conducted a search of the room.  Everything that
belonged to her had been taken. Her clothes, her toiletries, even
the pictures of her family were missing. Slamming a dresser
drawer, Mulder turned to gaze around again in bewilderment.
Surely she wouldn't run out on him after the night they had
shared?  There was no reason for her to hide now that she was
free of Zachary.

He quickly checked the time and with desperate relief realized
he'd overslept. Scully would already be at work. He went back to
his bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweatpants before reaching
for the phone. Somehow covering himself helped him feel less
vulnerable, and his tingling sense of fear lightened a bit as he
dialed her number.

"Dana Scully, please," he said mechanically to the woman who
answered.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but Dr. Scully isn't here today."

"She didn't come to work?" he asked, feeling the tingling begin
anew. "Did she call in sick?"

"No Sir, Dr. Scully is out for a two week vacation.  Is there
someone else who could help you?"

"Vacation?" he repeated dumbly.  "When did she put in for
vacation time?"

"Several weeks ago, I believe," the secretary told him, her tone
growing slightly frosty.  "It's really none of my affair.  Now,
may I direct you to someone--"

"No.  Thank you," he told her abruptly, replacing the telephone
on the nightstand and fighting back the panic that was beginning
to wash over him.  She hadn't mentioned taking vacation.  Maybe
she'd wanted to surprise him.  But if that was the case, where
was she?  Where were all her things? Forcing himself to remain
calm, he dialed another number from memory.

"Mrs. Scully," he said when she answered the phone sleepily.

"Fox?"

"Yes, it's me.  Dana--is she there?" His voice came out in a
rush, displaying a bit of the panic he was feeling, and Maggie
Scully closed her eyes briefly, praying for the strength she
would need.

"She's not here, Fox," she told him gently.  "She's left town."

He gripped the receiver numbly, her words barely penetrating the
haze that was beginning to surround him.

"Where--where did she go?" he managed.

He heard her sigh heavily.  "She came to me early this morning to
let me know she was going.  She asked me not to tell you.  She
knew you'd call here looking for her and she said--Fox, she just
needs some time on her own."

Time on her own?  Did that mean she'd gone off to think about
their future?  Was she considering ending their relationship when
it had barely begun?

"Mrs. Scully, please, can you just tell me where she is?  I
really need to talk to her."

"I can't, Fox.  I promised her.  As much as I care for you, I
won't break a promise to my daughter."  The firmness in her voice
reached him and he knew further pleading was useless.  It was
apparent where Scully got her determination.

"Can you just tell me when she's coming back?" he asked finally,
the pain in his voice so evident that she could feel it as well.

She sighed again but gave no answer, and after a moment he slowly
hung up the phone.  Scully had run out on him again, this time
with no explanation, and he couldn't even figure out what had
gone wrong.  What had he done to drive her away?  She had come to
him the night before, so it wasn't as though he had forced her
into anything.  After all they'd been through together, now that
they finally had a chance, why would she go?

Angrily Mulder recognized the familiar signs of the panic attack
approaching. He hadn't had one in several weeks, but this one was
coming on with a vengeance and if he didn't do something
immediately he would be in trouble.  Quickly he grabbed up the
phone again and punched a number he'd had programmed into his
speed-dial for some time now.  If anybody could help him...

"Yes, may I speak to Walter Skinner, please," he asked when his
call was answered.  He forced himself to breathe deeply, aware of
the pain that was creeping up on him from all sides.

"Skinner," came the gruff voice from the other end of the phone,
and Mulder clutched at it with desperate hope.

"Walter," he said in a voice that was almost a gasp.  "You have
to help me."

************

Chapter Five

************


Skinner rang Mulder's doorbell with trepidation; he had no
idea what he was going to find once he got inside.  Mulder had
been almost incoherent on the phone, and Walter had finally told
him to sit tight and not move until he arrived.  Making a hasty
excuse to his assistant, he'd been out of the Hoover building
within ten minutes, driving across town as fast as he dared.  He
had a suspicion Scully was somehow involved--he knew her divorce
hearing had been the day before--but Mulder hadn't been able to
give him any information that made sense.

After standing outside for five minutes and receiving no answer
to his ring, Skinner fished out his keys and inserted one in the
lock, grateful that Mulder had at least had the foresight to give
him a spare.  Come to think of it, he thought randomly, Mulder
had been amazingly cooperative since his return to real life.
Prison had apparently had at least one positive effect on the
man.

"Mulder?" he called, entering the living room and looking around.
Nothing seemed amiss.  He was about to call out again when he
heard a weak response.

"In here."

He followed the sound down the hall to the master bedroom,
breathing a sigh of relief when he found Mulder alive and
apparently healthy.  He did a quick visual and decided there was
no immediate physical danger.

"Mulder, what happened?" he asked, kneeling beside the man who
had curled himself into a ball on the carpet.  Mulder was dressed
only in sweatpants, and upon closer inspection Skinner could see
that he was trembling lightly.  "Come on," he said, grasping
Mulder by the arm and tugging gently.  "Let's get you up off the
floor."

Mulder allowed Skinner to haul him to his feet and didn't protest
when the other man settled him on the bed, pulling a blanket
around his bare shoulders to help warm him.  He sat there with
his head bowed, eyes closed tightly, slowly rocking back and
forth while his brain tried to process the horrible truth that he
had lost her yet again.

"Mulder," Skinner said again, taking his shoulders and forcing
him to stop.  "You have to tell me what happened here."

"I lost her," Mulder whispered after a moment.  "She's gone."

"Scully?"

Mulder nodded miserably.

"What do you mean, you 'lost' her?" he asked.  "Does this have
something to do with her ex-husband?"

"I lost her."  The words were repeated mournfully, and Skinner
felt his blood chill at the desolation in Mulder's tone.  This
was bad. Glancing around, using his trained investigator's eye,
Skinner tried to make sense of the situation.  He guessed from
the state the bed was in that a night of passion had ensued, and
his lips grew thin at the thought of Scully running out on Mulder
afterwards.

"Mulder, help me out here.  Did someone take Scully?  Do we need
to involve the police?"  He had to get the situation straight
before taking action, but at that point Skinner suspected foul
play was not a factor in Scully's abrupt disappearance.

He took Mulder's face in his hands and forced the younger man to
look at him.  "Did someone take her?" he repeated slowly, his
eyes probing.

Mulder looked shell-shocked, as if he'd witnessed something never
meant for his eyes.  Finally focusing his dilated pupils, he
shook his head briefly.  "No," he said in a tiny voice.

His trembling was more pronounced now, and Skinner urged him down
until he was lying with his head on the pillow.  Lifting Mulder's
legs, he arranged his friend under the covers, tucking them
around Mulder's chin tightly.  He was afraid Mulder was slipping
into shock and Skinner was at a loss as to how he should handle
the situation.  Realizing Mulder was all but useless, he grabbed
up the telephone lying on the floor beside the bed.  Mulder had
obviously dropped it when he'd curled himself into a fetal
position.  Perhaps Scully's mother would have some answers.

Skinner extracted a small card he carried in his wallet, searched
for the correct number and dialed.  Glancing over at Mulder and
seeing the man's pale face and still form, he decided this
conversation might be better held in private.

"I'll be right back, Mulder," he said softly, retreating toward
the bedroom door.  Mulder gave no sign that he had heard.

"Mrs. Scully? Walter Skinner," he said when he had firmly closed
the door behind him.  "What?  Yes, this is about Dana.  Do you
happen to know where--  She did *what*?"  He listened in stunned
silence as Maggie explained that yes, her daughter had once again
abandoned Fox Mulder. Biting back his anger, he thanked her
brusquely and hung up.  It was not Mrs. Scully's fault that her
daughter had played Mulder for a fool, but the fact that she knew
where Dana was and refused to divulge the information infuriated
him.  Opening the door and glancing into the bedroom, he saw that
Mulder had not moved.  Skinner drew back and dialed another
number, hoping Mulder's therapist could tell him what course of
action to take.

"I need to speak to Dr. Coslow, please, it's an emergency," he
told the receptionist who took his call.  "This is Walter
Skinner, calling in regards to a patient of hers, Fox Mulder."

He was put through to Dr. Coslow in record time, and when he'd
explained what he knew of the situation and Mulder's condition he
waited silently for her instructions.  Skinner was cool under
pressure and not given to bouts of panic, but the reaction--or
lack of one--that he'd seen so far from Mulder frightened him
badly.

"I think you'd better bring him in," Jess Coslow told him
quietly. "I'll have my secretary rearrange things so that I can
see him immediately. He may need to be hospitalized for a day or
two."

"He's not going to agree to that," Skinner objected.

"Walter, he may have no choice.  Bring him in and let me see what
I can do to help him."

Skinner thumbed the 'talk' button on the phone to cut off the
call and went back to Mulder, still lying motionless in the bed.

"Mulder?" he asked softly, wondering if the other man had fallen
asleep, but Mulder's eyes opened a crack at his voice.

"Dr. Coslow wants to see you.  We need to get you dressed," he
said, putting a hand behind Mulder's shoulders and slowly raising
him to a sitting position.  Mulder limply complied with Skinner's
unspoken request, and sat on the edge of the bed while Walter
fetched a t-shirt out of his closet and fumbled through the
dresser for clean socks.

Skinner ended up practically dressing Mulder, pulling the shirt
over his head and guiding his arms through the armholes, then
putting his shoes and socks on as Mulder simply sat, unresisting
through it all.  When he was finished he went back to the closet
and picked up an empty gym bag from the floor.  Quickly he
grabbed some of Mulder's clothes and stuffed them into the bag,
adding basic toiletries from the bathroom.  There was no way he
was leaving Mulder alone after this, and if he wasn't
hospitalized by this evening Skinner was determined to take
Mulder home to his place.

Mulder remained motionless and silent, his eyes fixed on the
floor, while Skinner gathered his things, and when Skinner
returned to drop the bag on the floor beside him, he looked up as
if startled to find the other man in his bedroom.

"Sir?" Mulder asked, confusion evident on his face.

"I'm taking you to Dr. Coslow, then I'm taking you home with me,"
Skinner responded in an authoritarian voice.  "She's going to
want to hospitalize you, I'm afraid, but I knew you'd resist
that."

"I'm fine," Mulder muttered, dragging himself to a standing
position.

"You are not 'fine', you have never been less 'fine', and don't
lie to me," Skinner snapped, and Mulder flinched visibly.  The
older man softened his tone a bit.  "I'm concerned about you,
Mulder, and I'm not leaving you alone right now."

Hesitantly Mulder nodded, and allowed Skinner to lead him through
the house and out to Skinner's car.  He even sat passively while
he was buckled into his seat like a child, his eyes closed,
resting against the seat back as if the short walk had drained
his energy.  Not a word was spoken between them on the drive to
Dr. Coslow's office.  When they arrived, Skinner had to unfasten
Mulder's seatbelt and gently pull him from the car, propelling
him into the building where the receptionist motioned them
immediately into the therapist's office.

Skinner settled Mulder into one corner of the couch and took a
chair beside him while Dr. Coslow perched on the sofa next to
Mulder.

"What happened?" she asked Mulder, but he gave no response,
closing his eyes and bowing his head with a look of misery.  She
glanced over at Skinner with a raised eyebrow and he shrugged.

"I told you everything I know on the phone," he said.  "Mulder's
barely spoken two words since I arrived."

"I lost her."

The whispered words echoed around the room, speaking volumes in
their simplicity.

"Who did you lose, Mulder?" asked Dr. Coslow gently.

"Scully."

"How did you lose her?"

Mulder looked at her, puzzled.  "She's gone," he said, as if that
explained everything.

Dr. Coslow sighed.  It was going to be a long session.

"Would you like me to wait outside?" Skinner asked, seeing that
Mulder seemed reasonably at ease with the therapist.

"That might be a good idea if Mulder's comfortable with it," she
replied, and noted Mulder's slight nod with satisfaction.  He
wasn't as far gone as she'd originally feared.  "There's no
telling how long it will take us to get to the heart of this."

But it didn't take all that long, really.  Less than two hours
later the door opened to admit a Mulder who was at least walking
unassisted.  His face bore tell-tale streaks, but he no longer
wore the look of a person out of touch with reality.  His right
hand clutched a styrofoam coffee cup, which he drained and tossed
into a wastebasket before coming over to stand before Skinner.

"You were right, she wanted to stick me in the hospital," he said
softly.  "I told her I was coming home with you instead.  Was
that all right?"

Skinner stood and gathered up his coat.  "Of course it was,
Mulder," he said.  "I had no intention of letting you do anything
else."

Mulder almost smiled at the bossy friendliness of his former
supervisor. Skinner could be counted on to never let him face a
crisis alone.  Sadly he realized that Skinner was the only person
he felt he could depend upon unconditionally.  The gunmen were
his friends, but even they had their limits, and Scully--  He
gritted his teeth forcefully.  Scully was out of his life for
good as of this moment, he told himself.  This time he truly
never wanted to see her again.  He could no longer trust her.


Within an hour Mulder was settled in his old bedroom at Skinner's
place. It was more sparsely furnished than before since his
personal belongings had been transferred to his own house, but
still comfortably familiar. Mulder dropped his bag on the floor
and made his way back to the living room and Skinner's company.
The last thing he wanted right now was to be alone.

Skinner looked up as he entered.  "You look a little better," he
observed, laying aside the newspaper he'd been scanning.

Mulder motioned for him to continue.  "Don't let me bother you,"
he said, his eyes downcast, and Skinner was reminded of the
Mulder he'd brought home that day from the prison, meek,
unassuming, afraid of imposing.  Silently cursing Scully, he said
a quick prayer that Mulder would recover quickly from this
setback.

"You're not bothering me at all," he responded, gesturing Mulder
toward a chair.  When the other man had obediently settled
himself, he asked, "Do you want to tell me what this is all
about?"

Mulder sighed and rubbed his hands across his face.  He was
silent for such a long time that Skinner had finally decided he
wasn't going to answer.

"She left me," he murmured at last, his words muffled by his
hands.

Skinner paused to let the implication of the words sink in.
Mulder had graciously offered Scully refuge in his home when she
hadn't wanted to stay with her mother and had nowhere else to go,
and Scully had seemed happy to have his company.  The two of them
had been getting along for the last two months as if it were old
times.  The banter, the arguments--Skinner had been delighted to
see their easiness with each other return.  It had also been
quite evident that the two of them still had strong feelings for
one another.  Mulder made no secret of the fact that he was in
love with Scully, in keeping with his 'no more lies' policy, but
Scully, as always, had been more reserved.  Now Skinner wondered
exactly what she did feel for Mulder.

"Did you two have a disagreement?" Somehow Skinner didn't think
that was the case, but it seemed the obvious question to ask.
Might as well eliminate all possibilities.

Mulder shook his head, dropping his hands and staring at the
floor again.

"Want to tell me what did happen?" Skinner offered quietly.  He
didn't want to pressure Mulder, but it would make helping with
his recovery so much easier if Skinner knew what they were up
against.

Mulder's face grew puzzled, as if he were thinking hard.  "I'm
really not sure," he answered at last.  "Jess asked me the same
thing, but I just..."

"I take it the divorce went off without a hitch?"

"Yes."

"And afterwards, what did the two of you do?"

Mulder flushed.  "Walter, are you asking if we--"

"I'm asking what you did, Mulder," Skinner interrupted sternly.
"Did you celebrate, go out to lunch, go home and spend a quiet
afternoon--what?"

"I had my regular appointment with Jess, and Scully went home to
take a nap."  Mulder seemed a little embarrassed that he'd
misinterpreted Skinner's question, but Skinner let it slide.

"And after you got back from your appointment?"

The younger man sighed a little and leaned back in the chair,
shifting his gaze from floor to ceiling.  "She was still
sleeping.  In fact she slept right through supper.  I finally
went to bed about ten.  I figured she was exhausted from all the
stress of the last week."

"And then what?"  Skinner hated prying information out of people,
but in this case he knew Mulder needed to take it slowly.

"She--came to me.  Last night.  After I was asleep."
Embarrassment again.

Skinner ignored it.  "You made love with Scully last night,
Mulder?"

Mulder nodded, his eyes squeezing shut at the memory.  "Then when
I woke up this morning--she--"

"She was gone," Skinner finished.  He could see traces of tears
attempting to penetrate the clenched eyelids, and stood up
abruptly. Skinner escaped into the kitchen to make coffee in
order to give Mulder a chance to compose himself.   He hoped
Mulder wasn't going to slip back into the near-catatonic state
he'd been in earlier.  When he returned ten minutes later Mulder
had disappeared.  Quickly glancing around the room, Skinner
caught sight of the other man and felt his stomach give a lurch.
Mulder was standing on the balcony staring down seventeen floors.

"Mulder," he called softly, inwardly praying the man would come
quietly inside.  He relaxed slightly when Mulder turned so he
could see his face.  It didn't look like the face of a man about
to jump.

As if suddenly realizing what must be racing through Skinner's
mind, Mulder stepped back into the living room with a twisted
smile.  "Don't worry, Walter, I'm not planning to throw myself
off your balcony in despair," he said softly.

"I'm glad to hear that," Skinner responded, feeling his racing
pulse begin to slow.

"Actually, I did consider it for a brief moment, but I decided
against it.  I wouldn't do that to you."

"Good, Mulder, because I'm not sure my career could survive if
*another* man fell to his death from that balcony."

To his amazement Mulder laughed.  Not a deep laugh, but a laugh
nonetheless.  He accepted the cup of coffee Skinner offered him
gratefully, sipping cautiously at the hot liquid.

"I'm really not going to kill myself, you know," he reassured
Skinner. "After all I've endured, jumping off a balcony because
of this seems a little trite.  I mean, think about it Walter," he
continued, and Skinner returned to his chair, watching as Mulder
began pacing the room slowly, reminding him vaguely of a caged
tiger.  "I've lived through abductions, torture, shootings,
debilitating disappointments, and I've endured four years in a
hellhole of a federal prison.  Somehow it makes losing Scully
seem...anti-climactic."

Anti-climactic.  Those words from a man who, just that morning,
had been curled into a ball on his bedroom floor, barely aware.
Skinner was no psychologist, but it was clear to him that Mulder
was in denial about his feelings.  Probably as a measure of
self-protection, he decided, and waited wordlessly for Mulder to
continue.

Mulder didn't continue.  He stopped his pacing suddenly and
turned to Skinner with a half-smile.  "You don't believe me, do
you?" he asked.

Skinner put down his coffee cup before answering, buying time to
find the right words.  "I think Scully still means a great deal
to you," he said carefully, "and I think you're trying to find a
way to deal with this."

Mulder shook his head slowly, beginning his pace again.  "No.
You're wrong.  She means nothing to me any longer.  As of this
day, Walter, she is history with me."

"Even if she comes back?"

"She won't come back," Mulder said positively.

"What if she does, Mulder?  What if she has a good explanation?"

Mulder stopped and stared, emotion breaking through at last.
"What the hell kind of explanation could she give me?" he
demanded angrily.  "What situation could have possibly made it
necessary for her to sneak out in the middle of the night and
leave town?  After what she did--she *used* me, Walter!  She's
wanted to get me in the sack and she grabbed her opportunity as
soon as it came along, then she up and disappeared.  She never
cared about me."

"You're wrong," Skinner insisted softly.  "She did care about
you.  I don't know what she feels now, but I told you before,
when you were sent away it nearly destroyed her."

"It nearly destroyed *me*!"

"And then you threw her out of your life."  The words were said
unaccusingly, simply, merely stating a fact, but Mulder's face
drained when he heard them.

"Do you think--you don't this this is her revenge for that, do
you?" His voice sounded choked, as if speaking around the lump in
his throat was becoming too much of a chore.

"It had crossed my mind," Skinner admitted.  "But it isn't like
the Scully we both know to indulge in petty vengeance.  And she's
never deliberately hurt you before, Mulder."

Mulder was silent for a long moment.  "I don't think either of us
really knows Scully any longer, Walter," he finally said, his
eyes focusing directly on the older man's face for the first
time.  "I don't think we know her at all."