From: starbuck72@netaxis.ca (Starbuck72)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: Loving You 1/4
Date: 1 May 1996 17:50:48 -0400


Loving You 1/4
by Leyla Harrison (starbuck72@netaxis.ca)

Disclaimer:  The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris
Carter and 1013 Productions, but I am borrowing them for the selfish
purposes of this story.  I hope to gain nothing from the posting of my
latest piece of fiction, except the same kind words of support and
admiration that I have received for my other stories in the past.  So at
this point I have to thank everyone who has written to me about any of my
stories...all of you dedicated X-Philes who hang around on the creative
newsgroup are incredible people, and it wasn't for the support I've gotten
from you in the past, I would never have considered posting again.

More Disclaimer: This story is rated R, possibly NC-17 (I haven't finished
writing it yet) because of sexual situations.  Also, for all of you out
there who don't want a relationship to spring up between Mulder and Scully
(and what the hell's the matter with you, anyway?) should STOP reading
right now, because this story will be headed for the romance archive as
soon as it's had its run here.  

More More Disclaimer: This story contains tons of angst....both Mulder and
Scully angst.  Tons and tons of angst.  And tons of plot devices.  

And now, with no further delay, here is the story!!! 

All comments, praise, and flames (but be nice, `cause I'm a sensitive
girl) to starbuck72@netaxis.ca.




SCULLY'S APARTMENT
June 10, 1996
10:00PM

Scully was sitting on the couch, curled into a corner of it, the blanket
wrapped around her like a shelter.  She had come straight home and ran on
the treadmill as hard as she could, trying to wear herself out.  It
worked.  When she had finally felt ready to collapse from exhaustion, she
had stopped, breathing heavily and feeling her heart pounding.  It was a
good feeling - one of complete exhilaration and freedom, and it somehow
had calmed her.  She had then stumbled to the couch, her safe haven,
turned on the TV to CNN, lowered the volume, and zoned out.  The day had
been so long, so incredibly unbelievable, that she had needed some time to
relax.  Some time to unwind.  Some time to shake the events of the day
from her head.

Mulder had almost kissed her in their office that afternoon.  

He had come so close.

Even thinking about it threw her into such a state of panic that she
didn't know quite how to deal with it.  They had been snapping at each
other all day, the result of a long week, and the usual difference of
opinion.  There was no case, nothing current, anyhow, but fir some reason
Mulder had persisted in dragging up old events, things that had happened
over the last year.  Things she would have rather not discussed.  

But it was like a game to him, and by late afternoon, he had set the
ground rules.  It was simple.  Who has been through more in the last two
years?  Who's suffered the most?  He had dredged up her father's death,
his sister who turned out to not be his sister, Missy's death, his
father's murder, her disappearance...all things she desperately wanted to
put behind her.  It was painful enough reliving everything in the privacy
of her own mind, let alone to have him bring them up.

What had gotten into him? she had wondered on the drive home.  He had been
acting so strange.  Like he almost enjoyed dragging up all the pain.  

****
June 10, 1996
EARLIER THAT DAY
FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

She had finally snapped just as she was ready to leave the Bureau
building.  "Enough, Mulder," she had warned him sharply when he brought up
her disappearance.  

He had stared at her.  His hazel eyes, usually so warm, were frozen on her
face.  "Don't you ever have any doubts?" he had asked, and she had shaken
her head instantly.  "Don't you ever wonder if there was more to it than
what we learned?"

She gathered her things, trying to end the conversation.  "I'm going home.
 Have a good weekend, Mulder."

"You could have been the one to have been shot.  Instead of Melissa.  That
bullet was meant for you." he had said, his voice flat.  He had changed
gears to quickly that she didn't have time to expect it.  Her sister's
death was still fresh in her mind, and it was the one thing she was still
acutely sensitive about.

The papers she had been trying to put into her briefcase scattered on the
floor of the office.  "Damn it," she muttered.  She bent down, picking
them up, trying to put them back into some kind of order.  He was at her
side immediately, trying to help her.

"I'm sorry," he had said, his tone changing.  "Scully, I'm sorry."  He
touched her hand, the hand that was holding the papers, and she stopped
and looked at him.  Their faces were inches apart.  She could feel his
breath on her face, warm and light.  He stared at her.  She stared back,
unable to move, to speak.

She recognized the look in his eyes, even though she had never seen it in
quite that intensity before.  It was a look of utter desire.  His fingers
on her wrist were helping her keep her balance slightly.  His grip,
although light, forced the warmth of his skin deep into hers.  She was so
close to him; all she would have had to do was lean forward slightly, and
her mouth would have been on his.

<Right where you've always wanted it.>

She was shocked by the sudden rush of her feelings.  But then again, she
had known all along how she really felt about Mulder.  

Mulder stared at her.  He could see the vividness of her blue irises as if
he was seeing them for the first time.  Her bottom lip was full and warm,
he guessed.  If only he could....

Mulder lifted one hand, moved his thumb over that lips slowly, in a way
that could be construed as nothing else but sensual.  He felt the softness
of that lip, wanting to pull her close to him, to crush himself against
her mouth.  Scully's eyes widened, as if she could see what he was
thinking, exactly what he was wanting.  "Scully," he whispered soothingly.
 He moved his hand to touch the side of her face, her jaw, her neck.

Her skin was on fire from his touch.  A flash of wanting him shot through
her, then a bolt of fear.  Frightened, she pulled away.  Mulder looked
down guiltily, then moved away from her.  He knew that he had crossed the
unspoken line they had established.

Scully stood up, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear nervously.  She
couldn't look at him.  She knew what she would see in his eyes if she did.
 She didn't want him to look at her, either.  He would see the same thing
in her eyes.  Unexpectedly set free, the passion they felt for each other
was now hard to hide.

Scully pushed the papers back into her briefcase.  She could feel Mulder's
eyes on her, even with her back to him.  She could still feel the warmth
on her face where he had touched her; her lip was trembling slightly where
he had rubbed it with his thumb.  "I'll see you later," she managed to get
out, and fled from the office.

****

SCULLY'S APARTMENT
June 10, 1996
11:00PM


The knock on the door startled Scully out of her trance.  It wasn't really
knocking; it was more like insistent pounding.  She jumped from the couch
and hurried to the door, pausing only to pick up her gun from its holster
on the counter.  She checked to be sure it was loaded and then approached
the door warily.  The pounding continued.  She was about to ask who it
was, when she heard, "Come on, Scully, I know you're home.  Open the
door."

She checked the peephole just to be sure.  It was Mulder, all right,
looking a bit disheveled...or maybe that was just the distortion from the
peephole.  She unlocked the door and opened it.

Mulder was disheveled, but not from the odd view the peephole lended.  He
had been drinking.  His eyes widened when he saw her.  She looked down at
herself, trying to understand why.

Scully was wearing what she had been wearing when she got on the
treadmill.  A pair of black spandex bike shirts and a black sports bra. 
She looked up at Mulder again.  His eyes were taking in her every curve
hungrily.  She gestured him in and then hurried to the bedroom to find
something to cover up with.  The best she could do on short notice was a
sweatshirt, and so she pulled it over her head quickly.  A quick glance in
the mirror on the way back into the living room told her that she was
still blushing.

Mulder had chosen to remain standing, and he was looking at something on
her bookshelf.  He turned when he heard her re-enter the room.  "Look,
Scully--" he started, but she cut him off.

"Mulder, what are you doing here?  It's late."

Her tone was neutral, he noticed.  Through the haze of the three
screwdrivers he had at the bar he could still notice that she was slightly
flushed.  He was having a bit of trouble breathing still, from having seen
her when she first opened the door.  She was a vision.  More sexy than he
could have ever imagined in all of his wildest fantasies.

But for all those fantasies, Mulder had never really imagined what Scully
would look like with so few clothes on.  Granted, he had seen her
practically naked the first case they worked on together, but that was a
long time ago and under very different circumstances.  He hadn't been in
love with her back then.

And now he had seen what she usually kept so well concealed under her
classy suits.  The bike shorts showed off her legs.  And she had great
legs.  Toned and muscular, without looking showy.   The sports bra had
left little to the imagination.  It showed off her shoulders and her
stomach, and gave him the opportunity to see the exact shape and curve of
her breasts.  

<She's exquisite.>

"Mulder?" she asked.  He looked up at her.

"Scully, I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the office today."

Scully crossed her arms over her chest defensively.  She still felt
underdressed because of the bike shorts and her bare feet, but the
sweatshirt had been the best she could do.  She couldn't find her robe
when she had ran into the bedroom.  "There's really nothing to talk about,
Mulder," she replied evenly.

Sure there is," he shot back.  "I shouldn't have said those things,
Scully.  I was out of line."

<You sure were.>  "Mulder, you've been drinking.  We can talk about this
in the morning."

Mulder took a step towards her, and she flinched.  Noticeably.  "I'd like
to talk about it now," he said to her, trying to keep his voice steady. 
All he had thought about since she ran out was her skin.  How soft it was,
how warm.  How her lip had felt under his thumb.  How he had wanted to
kiss her, so badly.  How much he wanted to kiss her now, put her down
right here on the floor and make love to her.

"Mulder--" she said, tilting her head to one side.

"Scully, please.  I need to talk to you about what happened."

She couldn't resist his pleading, and they both knew it.  She sighed
heavily in acceptance.  "OK, so talk."

He froze.  What was he going to say?  Everything he had been rehearsing at
the bar had vanished from his mind.  "Scully, what happened between us in
the office earlier...." he began, racking his brain.

"What happened earlier shouldn't have happened," she lied smoothly.  "It
shouldn't have happened, Mulder.  We both know that."

Mulder didn't say anything.  He had heard her say to him "I'm fine" so
many times in that same tone of voice that he knew she was lying. 
"Scully, we wanted it to happen," he told her in a low voice.  "At least I
did.  I wanted more to happen."  Mulder congratulated himself on the idea
to go drinking before he showed up here.  The nerves he felt from saying
these things would have been shot to hell by this time.  The alcohol was
helping him stay calm.  At the same time he feared that with his
inhibitions gone, he would say too much.

Scully inhaled sharply at his words.  "Mulder, there's nothing between us.
 Nothing."  She knew she didn't mean it, and more than that, she knew that
it sounded like she didn't mean it.  She knew that whatshe had said had
hurt him.  But she couldn't do this, couldn't admit to what she felt for
him.  It was too dangerous.

<What the hell are you worried about?  That someone at the Bureau will
find out?  Or are you just afraid of being vulnerable with him?>

Mulder crossed the room in two steps, and too her in  his arms before she
could have time to think or get away.  "Mulder!" she gasped in
astonishment as he put one hand around her waist and with the other hand
he held the back of her neck, running his hands through her hair.  "What
are you doing?"  She wanted to hit him, to wrench herself away from him,
but she couldn't.  She didn't want to.  The feeling of his body pressed so
close to hers was making her dizzy.

Mulder wanted to kiss her at that moment, but he held himself back. 
"Nothing between us?" he asked sarcastically, almost angrily.  <How could
she truly believe that?>  He lowered his head and brushed her forehead
with his lips, moving to the side of her face, her eyes, laying light
kisses on her skin.  He felt her trembling in his arms.  She had wrapped
her arms around his waist, holding him.  He knew that she couldn't stop
what was going on.  Neither of them wanted to stop.

Mulder was terrified that she was going to push him away at any moment,
but she didn't.  He released her neck and moved his hand under her chin,
lifting it slightly with his fingertips, looking at her face.  "Nothing
between us, Scully?" he asked again, his tone still harsh.  He knew that
he had to kiss her now.  This was her punishment, and although he wanted
her, and he wanted to take her gently, he also wanted to overpower her.

She shook her head slightly. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his,
lightly, very lightly, so that he wasn't sure if he had actually touched
them at all.  But he felt her lips under his.  It was real.  The kiss was
a gentle one, for a moment, anyway.

As soon as Mulder kissed her it was as if something in him had been set
loose.  He sought her lips harder, hearing her hasp as he pushed his
tongue in between her lips, exploring with intensity.  He pushed himself
on her with a force he didn't know he would ever have used.  The force of
the kiss sent them both stumbling into the wall.  Scully felt the hardness
of the wall at her back but Mulder didn't stop kissing her. 

Scully had moved her hands up to his head, trying to pull him away from
her, but succeeding only in getting her hands in his hair.  It allowed him
to kiss her with more passion and ferocity.  Burying his face in her neck,
breathing the scent of her skin, her ran his hands down her sides, pulling
up the sweatshirt she had so hastily pulled on minutes before.  He laid
his hands on the warm skin of her back, feeling the material of the sports
bra.  "This is what you want, Scully, isn't it?" he asked, but his tone
was not angry anymore.

Scully could feel his erection pressing against her leg, and she knew that
if she didn't stop him soon, she wouldn't be able to.  She knew it was
what she wanted, but something in her was still afraid to tell him that.

His hands were now going down over her hips, tracing the curve of her
bottom.  She was helpless in this embrace.  His lips had found hers again
and he was kissing her, kissing her in a way that made every good reason
to stop vanish from her mind.  "Mulder," she whispered between kisses.  

The way she said his name made him shudder with the promise of what was to
come.  His hands were tugging the sweatshirt up again, this time wanting
to remove it.  Without words, he released her long enough for her to pull
it over her head, tossing it on the floor.  Mulder stared at her, at the
way he body looked in the sports bra again.  Burned it into his memory.  

Suddenly shy, Scully crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. 
"No, don't," he told her, taking her hands away from where they were
trying to cover herself. "You're beautiful," he said quietly, and kissed
her neck, running one finger lightly against the edge of the garment she
had tried to hide.  

Mulder found that there were no hooks on the back, so he pulled it up and
over her head as well, inhaling as he saw her breasts.  He bent his head
and cupped one in his hand, flicking his tongue over the already hardened
nipple.  She gasped and sighed, closing her eyes. 

Every nerve ending in Scully's body was completely alert and she found
herself more aware of every touch, every move he made.  Somehow he was
pulling at the bike shorts, at her underwear, pulling them down, as he was
kissing her again.  She was reaching for the front of his jeans, and
intending to unzip them she found his erection instead, and let her
fingers play over it carefully.  "Jesus," he whispered.  Scully unzipped
his jeans.  

What the hell are we doing? Mulder thought.  He had wanted their first
time to be...so different from this.  

But what was happening now was beyond his control.  Scully was breathing
heavily, very obviously aroused.  He roughly pulled the bike shorts down
as far as he could without interrupting the kiss for more than a second. 
He could feel how hard he was, and it was almost painful.

He reached for her, found that she was already wet, and as his fingers
touched her, she gasped.  "Mulder," she said again, and her voice was
tight.  He pushed into her in one swift movement, and she gasped again,
this time clutching at his shoulders.  He stared at her in awe for a
moment.  She was so incredibly beautiful that he almost came right then,
but he was able to control himself with whatever was left of his will
power.

Scully could feel him moving, slowly at first, but quickly increasing the
speed.  She closed her eyes again.  Partially because they were making
love against a wall, with what was left of their clothes around their
ankles, and she was embarrassed.  But that feeling passed as the sensation
began to increase. She knew that when she opened her eyes, she would see
Mulder watching her.  She wanted him to see the moment when she opened her
eyes and came.

His movements were quicker now, he was moving in and out of her in short,
quick strokes, and she was suddenly aware of the moaning.  Was it him, or
was it her?  She wasn't sure.  She didn't care.  She held him tightly and
opened her eyes, stunned and pleased to see that as she fell over the
brink, as her orgasm began, his was beginning as well.

"Dana," he gasped, "Dana, I love you, I love you."  He came in her in a
rush, careful not to let her go as she spasmed around him.

"Mulder, oh, God, Mulder!" she cried as the orgasm peaked.  

There were moments of silence.  Their breathing calmed.  Then, finally
Scully shifted.  Mulder slid out of her.  She pulled at her bike shorts,
avoiding his eyes.  He pulled his jeans back up

"Scully," he said to her, suddenly feeling as if he had let her down. 
"Scully?"

She turned to face him after she put her sweatshirt on.

Her eyes were wet with tears.  "What did I do?" he asked, feeling
instantly guilty. "Scully?"

"It's not you," she said through her tears, obviously embarrassed.  "It's
just--all this, what just happened...."  She swiped at her tears with the
back of one hand.  Mulder found that the simple gesture made her seem
somewhat fragile and yet strong at the same time.  It was incredibly
endearing.  Scully struggled to regain control of herself.  She had wanted
him to make love to her for so long now, had imagined it so many times,
and yet she had never imagined that it would be like what had just
happened.  He hadn't made love to her.  He was drunk, and he had basically
just fucked her.  And she had let him.

"Scully, I know this wasn't what...what I wanted.  I mean, it was," Mulder
quickly tried to explain, "but I hadn't planned on doing it that way."  He
suddenly realized how horrible she must feel.  He had used her to deal
with the raging emotions that he had brought upon himself by getting
drunk. 

Scully turned from him.  She knew that it would hurt him, but she refused
to let him see her face any longer.  It was too painful.  They both knew
that the damage had been done.  She swallowed hard to remove the lump that
was in her throat from holding back the tears.  

How could she explain why she was so upset?  Would he even understand? 
She doubted it.  How long had she wanted him?  Forever, it seemed.

Mulder gently laid one hand on her shoulder.  Turning her back on him was
the most painful thing she could have done to him.   Please, Scully, he
thought, please don't shut yourself off from me now.  "Dana?" he asked
softly, and she turned around.  He could see that she was trying to keep
her emotions in check, that she was valiantly trying to remain strong, to
stand her ground.  And the sight of her in such obvious pain stabbed him
right when it hurt him the most.  "I'm sorry," he told her gently, hoping
that it would make a difference.  "I didn't want it to be like this,
either."

"So, you wanted to come over here, bring over a bottle of wine, turn the
lights down and put on some quiet music, and then we could dance and drink
and then at the end of the evening you would carry me off to bed?" Scully
asked, the hurt in her tone evident.

Mulder stared at her in shock as he realized that was her fantasy.

"Scully, listen to me," he implored, taking her by the shoulders.  She
tried to wriggle from his grip, but he wouldn't let her go.  "I'm in love
with you."  Her eyes widened at this, and her full lips parted slightly,
but she didn't speak.  Mulder focused his attention on those lips,
realizing full well that just minutes before, he had been kissing her. 
"Scully, I'm in love with you," he repeated, hearing his own words and
having the strange sensation of not believing that he was actually saying
them.  "I've been in love with you for so long, Scully."

"Don't say that," she cautioned him, succeeding in pulling away from him
and practically throwing herself on the couch, curling her legs under her.

"Why not?" Mulder asked.  He came over to the couch, and carefully sat
down, leaving a space between them so that she didn't feel as if he was
trying to overwhelm her.  

"Don't say things like that unless you mean them, Mulder," she told him
again, and he realized how tremulous her voice was.  

Mulder stared straight at her, leaving her no inclination to doubt his
words.  "I mean them," he told her.  "I love you."

Scully tried to keep from clapping one hand over her mouth.  So if he
loves me, she thought, why the hell did we just have sex up against my
wall?  Why couldn't he have just...

"I've been so scared, Scully, and I know you have been, too."  Mulder
recalled her look from earlier in the day at the office, when he had
wanted to kiss her and had seen her looking back at him like a terrified
young child.  "I guess I couldn't pretend anymore.  I couldn't keep up the
front - that you were my partner and best friend and nothing more."

Scully understood.  For so long now she had tried to keep her own feelings
for him a secret.  But as she cared more and more about him, the harder it
had become.  The thought of  losing him terrified her.  The thought of him
with some other woman enraged her.  The thought of  them being separated
caused a sharp stabbing through her chest. 

And she had never wanted him to feel like he had to protect her.  Scully
wanted to be able to take care of herself.  She wanted Mulder to know that
when they were in a dangerous situation, that he could count on her backup
without having to look over his shoulder every few minutes to make sure
she was alright.  

At the same time, she wanted nothing but his protection.  She wanted him
to protect her from all of the horrible things they had seen, from all the
things that still haunted her from her personal life.  She wanted to be
able to come home at night and curl up in bed with him holding her.  She
wanted to be able to wake up in the middle of the night and wrap her arms
around his bare chest when he would awake from a nightmare, whispering
soothing things in his ear to help him fall back asleep.  

Somewhere along the line of being best friends and partners, Scully had
begun to fantasize about Mulder being her lover.

It wasn't just the fact that they spent practically all of their time
together.  It was the fact that they were perfectly matched, in some
strange way.  They had absolutely nothing in common except their desire to
find the truth.  They shared no common interests.  And yet they were
perfect for each other.  

They were each other's missing half.

Scully had some idea of what Mulder had gone through when she had been
missing.  She had felt the same thing when she thought he was dead.  It
was that feeling of being utterly disconnected from some vital part of
herself.

"I don't know, Scully....it was all just too frightening.  The thought of
losing you again....this time for good..."  Mulder searched her face,
hoping she would understand.  

"So why the inquisition today at the office?" she asked.  "You know I
don't like to talk about all of that, Mulder.  But you wouldn't let it
drop.  You wouldn't let it go."

"I don't know, Scully...I guess I thought that I could just get you to
talk to me.  Really talk to me.  And I thought that maybe if I could get
you to open up and talk to me, that maybe we could discuss this."  Mulder
waved his hands in the air.  "I don't even know how to explain it.  This. 
Us."

Scully nodded her head.  She was unable to explain it as well.  But that
was still no excuse for what had just happened.  "Mulder, what we just
did, what just happened, it was a mistake.  It never should have
happened."

Mulder snapped his head up to look at her.  "What are you talking about?" 
he asked, his voice a mixture of shock and dismay.

"You know what I'm talking about.  You know I'm right."

Mulder shook his head.  "No, Scully, you're not right.  What just
happened...I know that's not how it should have happened, but I don't
regret it.  Not for one minute."

Scully could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest.  "Well, then I
guess you're the only one who doesn't, Mulder.  I can't tell you what I
would do to be able to take back the last half-hour."  She knew she was
lying and she had a feeling that he knew as well, but she was still trying
to maintain some of her self-respect.  There was no way that she could
admit to him or herself that what had happened was the right thing.  She
was expecting the look on his face.

His features darkened, and his eyes went dark.  "I wish you wouldn't say
that, Scully."  He moved towards her end of the couch, but she held a hand
up to stop him.  

"Don't." 

"Scully--"

"No, Mulder.  Enough damage has already been done tonight.  Go home."

He stared at her, unable to believe that she meant what she was saying. 
But the look on her face was deadly serious.  Mulder got up, and headed
for the door. He could feel her eyes burning a hole in his back, and
before he reached for the door handle he turned around to face her. 

"Scully, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

She nodded her head.  

Mulder waited for a fraction of a second, hoping she would change her
mind, hoping she would stop being so angry.  Hoping more than anything
that she would open her arms to him and he would stay the night with her. 
But she didn't.  Instead, she stared at him with her blue eyes dull and
vacant.  He turned and left the apartment, shutting the door carefully
behind him.

In the hallway, he leaned heavily against the door frame of her apartment.
 What the hell had just happened?  He closed his eyes.

Inside the apartment, Scully's thin facade of holding it together
crumbled, and she dissolved into tears.


OCTOBER 10, 1996

It had been four months since their little encounter, and neither Mulder
nor Scully had forgotten.   Although they had both continued on with their
lives as if nothing had happened, it was plainly evident that a wedge had
formed between them.  Mulder noticed that Scully had effectively distanced
herself from him, both physically and emotionally.  On cases, she would
usually have an excuse to take a later flight out or an early flight home,
and they never ended up on the same flight.  They never ended up driving
in the same rental car.  In the office, she always conveniently had
somewhere to run off to whenever Mulder would come in.  

Personally, things between them had deteriorated as well.  Scully would
never look at him anymore.  Never joke around with him.  In fact, her
sense of humor, once razor sharp, was now gone.  Mulder noticed the dark
circles around her eyes morning after morning.  He had them as well.  He
was drinking to help him fall asleep at night, and often wondered what
Scully was doing to help her sleep.  Mulder had seen Scully coming out of
the FBI Counseling office on two occasions, and wished he had the courage
to ask to about it.

Mulder had never felt so frustrated and angry and hurt.  He knew that
Scully felt the same way, but there was nothing he could think of to say
to her.  There was no way he could even strike up a conversation with her.
They were never in the same room for long enough.

She never even told me she loved me, he thought at least ten times a day. 

He thought he was deluding himself by telling himself that she would
eventually come back to him, emotionally and physically.  He went out and
bought her a present.

It took him three days of looking and thinking before he settled on the
perfect gift.  He bought her a simple gold band with a single carat
diamond.  He wrapped the small ring box in a brown box and wrapped it,
delivering it to her door one morning before the crack of dawn.  He found
it returned on his doorstep, unopened, the following morning when he left
for work.  Mulder knew that without opening it, she had no idea what was
inside.  He took the box back home and tucked it into a drawer.

At home, Mulder would lie on the couch, flipping channels aimlessly on TV.
 He hardly ate.  Even his vast video collection seemed somehow ridiculous
to him.  He didn't have any interest in it.

Scully, on the other hand, wasn't doing much better.  She caught glances
at Mulder when he wasn't looking, and she could see the despondency on his
face.  Skinner had called them into more than one meeting with the obvious
underlying motive being to figure out what was going on with them, but
neither one said a word.  Skinner had called Scully in privately at one
point, and asked her point blank what was going on.  Scully maintained
that all was well between them, assuming that he had done the same to
Mulder.  There was no need to arouse Skinner's suspicions.

Scully couldn't stand to be at work.  Every moment around Mulder was
exquisitely painful for her.  She avoided the office as much as possible,
although being at home wasn't much better.  In the first two months she
lost 10 pounds from not eating.  By the third month, her doctor was
warning her about nutrient and energy loss.  At home, she spent a good
amount of her time sleeping restlessly.  She was surprised that she hadn't
heard him drop off the small wrapped brown box on her door one night. 
Even without a return address, she knew it was from him.  She went to his
house that night, creeping up the hallway of his apartment building and
leaving it on his front door after midnight.  She had no idea what was
inside, and didn't want to know.

There were times when she would think about him and what they had done. 
Most of the time it made her depressed, but there were the times when she
recalled the sex that had occurred between them in her living room, and
the thought of that heat made her stomach flip over with nervous arousal. 
She would lie on her couch, blinds tightly drawn at the windows, and slip
one hand into her sweatpants, down deeper, so that she could touch
herself.  She would play with herself, closing her eyes and imagining
Mulder doing it.  It was his hand in her fantasy doing those things to
her, making her moan and writhe on the couch.  

But after she came, she felt terribly guilty.  She would head for the
bathroom, showing, scrubbing herself clean, sobbing.  She wished that she
could turn back the past few months.  All she could think about was
Mulder, and what she had foolishly thrown away.

Of course, it was too late to change her mind and tell him that she loved
him.  She would look like a fool.  She felt like a fool.  She had loved
him for what seemed like an eternity, and because she was so damn afraid
of being vulnerable, she hadn't told him.

Just a month after the incident at Scully's apartment, they had gone on a
case.  Mulder had been shot, superficially, in the arm.  As soon as Scully
had seen him take the bullet, she panicked.  She had rushed to his side
and touched his face, gently.  For one moment, the pain in Mulder's arm
had vanished.  To have her touch him so tenderly almost made him forget
about the painful memories between them.  The look in her eyes....

But it had vanished almost as quickly as it came.  She returned to being
distant and formal with him as soon as he was treated at the hospital. 
Once back in DC, she had written him a prescription for painkillers and
that had been that.

Mulder had been taking the pills for the pain, and then he learned that
when he washed them down with alcohol he slept better than without them. 
And that was how it all started.

******

FBI HEADQUARTERS
JANUARY 12, 1997

Mulder heard her footsteps in the hall.  Or was he imagining it?  He had
thought he had heard so much lately, and most of it had been in his
imagination.  He could feel his clammy palms and balled his hands into
fists a few times, trying to get the blood flowing into his fingers.  She
would be here any minute, and she would be angry, he knew that.

He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills. 
There were still maybe fifteen or so rattling around in the plastic amber
tube.  Better call for a refill, he thought with a bitter laugh.  Don't
want to run out.  He stared at the label on the bottle, even though he had
looked at it a thousand times before.  Darvocet N-100.  Call for refill. 
Dr. Dana Scully.

If only she knew what he was doing.  She had called in the original
prescription, but by using her card he had called in eighteen
prescriptions for the same drug in the last six weeks.  Eighteen different
pharmacies in the metro Washington D.C. area.  Eighteen different patient
names.  All of the prescriptions picked up by him. Scully didn't even know
that her name had been used to call the prescriptions in.

And so he had used her name and her medical degree to get the pills. Two
tablets every six to eight hours.

And then, since the pills had worked so well, Mulder had been taking them
as not only a sleep aid, but to help him get through the day, to take the
edge off.  Two or three pills was all it took at first.  Days later, he
was finding their usefulness wearing off, and he was taking them during
the day, during the evening, three or four pills every few hours, just to
keep away the trembling of his hands when he didn't take them.  

As he stared at the bottle now, he tried to remember when he had last
taken some.  This morning?  No, it couldn't have been that long ago.  He
looked at his watch.  1pm.  Scully would be here any minute.  The thought
of it made his heart pound with nervousness.  He opened the bottle and
shook out a handful of pills.  He didn't even bother to count them, just
threw them into his mouth and swallowed a few times.  Then he looked in
the bottle again.  There were still a few left.  

Oh, what the hell, he thought, and poured the remaining contents of the
bottle into his mouth and swallowed them down as well.  A part of him knew
that because he hadn't been eating lately the pills were doing more damage
than he liked to admit, but he didn't care anymore.

He was slipping the bottle back into his pocket as Scully breezed into the
office.  "Hey, Scully," he greeted her nervously.  Had she seen?

"Mulder, where have you been?  I thought we were meeting upstairs."

"No, Scully, I told you, down here."  His voice was sharp.  "In the
office.  Weren't you listening to me?  Christ, you never listen, do you?"

Scully stared at him, dumbfounded.  His eyes were wild and red-rimmed, and
his hands were trembling.  He was looking all around the room, his eyes
darting back and forth, not looking at her once.  She had noticed his
erratic behavior for a few weeks now, and suddenly, the reason for it was
all slamming into her with such force that she felt as if she had been
punched in the stomach.  How could she not have realized it before?

Easily, she reminded herself.  She hadn't been paying much attention to
Mulder lately.

The shock of her self-discovery caused her to take a step back, away from
him.  Her sudden movement caused him to look at her, his eyes locking hers
in a captive hold.  She froze.

"What?" he asked her, his voice hoarse and dry.  "What is it?"

She didn't know what to say.  She didn't have a clue as to how to answer
him. Her throat was tight.  How had he managed to hide it from her?  How
had he gotten a hold of the drugs that were obviously affecting him now?

"What the hell is it, Scully?" he asked again, his voice angry.

"You're still taking those pills," she guessed, her voice nervous and
jittery.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.  She took one more step
backwards.  She was wondering how she could make it out of the room, and
then she stopped herself. 

It's Mulder, she reminded herself with a shock.  He wouldn't do anything
to hurt me.

Or would he?  

"Mulder, I know you've been taking the pills," she told him, her voice
still scared.  She forced herself to continue.  "I've seen you taking
them.  It just seems like you're a little, I don't know, out of control."

He reached for her in a heartbeat and took hold of her by the shoulders,
pulling her close to him before she could react.  "What are you saying,
Scully?  Get to the fucking point."  

Scully's heart was pounding madly.  She was sure she could hear it in the
small office, bouncing off the walls.  For the first time, she was truly
afraid of him.  "Mulder, please," she said, nervously, not realizing that
some of her thoughts were coming out as words.  Please don't do this to
me, she thought.  Don't do this to yourself.

"Jesus, Scully," he hissed at her, his face inches from hers, his grip on
her upper arms unmercifully tight.

"Mulder, you're hurting me," Scully finally managed to say.  She struggled
to get free but was unable to pull herself from his grasp.

"So what?" he asked.  "Who fucking cares, anyway?  Wake up, Scully. 
People get hurt.  People hurt each other.  You hurt me.  So maybe you
deserve to get hurt, too."  His words were like daggers.

"What are you talking about?" she asked him, incredulous.

"Remember our little date?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Scully drew in a deep breath. "Mulder, I thought we decided that we were
going to move on from that."

"Let me ask you, Scully, how did I rate? On a scale of one to ten?  Was I
better than the other men you've had as lovers?"

Scully twisted her body in one violent motion and freed herself from
Mulder's iron grip.  Her upper arms were sore, and she knew that bruises
would be evident from where his fingers had dug into her flesh.  "That's
none of your business," she repeated to him, turning and heading for the
door.  He jumped at her again, grabbing her again by the shoulders and
whirling her around to face him.  "Mulder!" she cried out, frightened. 
"Let go of me!"

His eyes widened, and he stared at her, really stared, as if he was just
realizing the gravity of his actions.  "Oh, God," he whispered, and let
her go abruptly.  Scully stumbled backwards, breathing heavily, her throat
still tight.  Mulder took a step towards her, but she backed away. 
"Scully," he said to her, his voice choked, trying to sound reassuring,
"Scully, it's OK, I won't hurt you."

Scully's look was wary.  She didn't believe him for a second.  "You need
help, Mulder," she said to him.  "You need help."

"I know," Mulder muttered to her helplessly.  He sat down on the edge of
his desk, oblivious to the papers he scattered as he did.  He put his head
in his hands.  "I don't know what's happened to me," he said through his
hands, his voice muffled.  

He looked so weary, so defeated, that Scully cautiously moved towards him
and put on hand on his shoulder.  "You need help," she repeated.

Mulder removed his hands from his face and looked at her.  "Will you help
me?" he asked, his voice small and scared.  She nodded.  "Scully, I'm
sorry."  He knew it wasn't enough, but he had to say it.  He didn't
understand what had snapped in his head, what had made him act like that
and say those things.

At his apology, she removed her hand from his shoulder. "What's going on
here has nothing to do with what happened with us."

"Scully--"

"And, furthermore, what I do or do not do with other people shouldn't
concern you."

"I know, Scully, I just...."

"You just what, Mulder?" 

There was silence.  He looked at the floor, looked at his shoes.  "I just
don't understand.  I just can't let it go, Scully.  I can't get you out of
my mind."

"Mulder," she warned him.

"Please, Scully, let me finish," he pleaded with her.  He looked up at her
and she nodded her head slightly.  He swallowed hard.  The room was
getting warm and he was feeling his heart rate speeding up a bit.  "I
don't understand what went wrong with us.  Why we couldn't have made it
work somehow."  

Scully's mouth opened in surprise.  "What?" she asked.

Mulder put one hand on his chest, as if trying to calm his racing pulse
and somehow control the dull ache in his chest that was radiating into his
shoulders.  "You could have told me you loved me...I just didn't
understand.  I thought you did.  It hurt, Scully."

"But that doesn't explain the pills, Mulder," she said to him, having a
hard time avoiding his words.  "You could have come and talked to me.  You
didn't have to take the pills." Scully's image was getting fuzzier in
front of him, and he blinked a few times, trying to get her back in focus.

"Are you OK?" she asked, concern edging her voice.

"I'm fine," he said to her, even though he could feel a fine layer of
sweat breaking out on his forehead.  

"You can't blame me for the fact that you were taking the pills," she
continued.  "But you've always..." she struggled for the right words,
"been able to trust me.  Why didn't you talk to me?"

"I couldn't, Scully.  You know I couldn't."  Mulder felt the pain sliding
down his arms slowly, intensifying as it did.

"Mulder?" she asked and he looked at her.  Her face seemed to be
fragementing into pieces, and her voice sounded far away.  He clutched at
his chest harder, hoping that somehow that would lessen the pain.  Scully
watched Mulder's face contorting in pain.  "Mulder," she said, moving
towards him.  He didn't seem to hear her.  His eyes were unfocused, and
his breathing was shallow.  She quickly felt for a pulse at his wrist, and
found that it was racing.  "Oh, God," she said aloud, and reached for the
phone, dialing security.  "This is Agent Scully.  I need an ambulance down
here immediately."

As she was talking, Mulder gasped and slumped to the floor, his eyes
closed.

Scully dropped the phone and sank down to her knees, at Mulder's side. 
"Mulder?" she asked, checking his pulse again.  Checking his respirations.
 Nothing.  She instantly moved him onto his back, checking his airway and
then tilting his head back slightly.  She pinched his nose shut and blew
three deep breaths into his mouth.  Then she located the right spot on his
sternum and laced her hands together, pumping on his chest, ten times. 
"Come on, Mulder," she muttered, tears stinging her eyes.  She ignored
them.  "God damn it, come on."

She repeated the procedure again, checking for a pulse.  Nothing. 

No, she thought frantically, no.


MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
JANUARY 13, 1997
2:00AM

Dana Scully shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair she had dragged
into Mulder's hospital room.  He was sleeping, as he had been since he was
brought into the emergency room six hours before.  He was diagnosed with
barbiturate overdose, and was admitted to the hospital.  The paramedics
who had helped stabilize him at FBI headquarters had been brisk and
efficient in their work.  There was, after all, a job to be done,
regardless of the situation they were dealing with.  It was a well known
fact that medical personnel were not very happy about people who had
self-inflicted injuries.

When they had arrived, they had found Scully, awash in tears, performing
CPR on Mulder.  She had manged to get his heart beating again, and the
paramedics had inserted an airway and brought him to the hospital.  The
emergency room staff had put a tube down his throat and lavaged what
remained of the pills from his stomach, then had poured activated liquid
charcoal into him in order to soak up whatever remianed of the pills in
his digestive tract and intestines.  He was being given small doses of
methadone to help ease the impending discomfort of withdrawal, and had
been referred for evaluation to the hospital's drug and alcohol addiction
center.  

Scully had pieced together Mulder's short history of addiction after
finding the empty bottle of Darvocet in his pocket, and the numerous other
bottles in his desk.  

To say that she was angry was an understatement.

But the anger had been temporarily displaced.  For now, she was more
concerned with Mulder's health.  Once he's stable, she thought, then he's
going to have hell to pay.

Scully hadn't informed the hospital personnel about exactly how Mulder had
gotten refill after refill of the powerful painkiller.  The overdose was
bad enough for his reputation, and she had seen no need to throw in a
felony crime as well.

As she sat in the chair, watching Mulder breathe steadily, she was filled
with raging emotions.  The man on the bed next to her had abused her trust
and her position as a doctor by doing what he had done.  At the same time,
he had nearly died.  Her fear of losing him with so much unsaid between
them terrified her.  Mulder was, after all, the man she loved, and her
best friend.

Scully shifted again, the stood up.  Mulder was stirring on the bed,
turning his head slightly, but did not open his eyes.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she said to him softly, "but what you
did today was incredibly stupid."

Mulder sighed, but Scully wasn't sure if it was because he could hear her
of if he was simply still asleep.

"Mulder, when you're better, we're going to talk more about this."  Her
voice was firm, but still quiet.  She tucked a strand of hair behind her
ear without realizing it.  Scully studied him for a few more moments.  Her
anger was getting the better of her, and she knew better than to make a
scene with the nurses station fifteen feet beyond the open door of
Mulder's hospital room.

Mulder turned slightly in the bed, his lips opening.  Scully leaned closer
as he murmured words she could barely understand.

"Scully..." he whispered, his voice thick from the drugs.  His eyes never
opened.

Something inside Scully melted, and her eyes welled up with tears.  She
frantically tried to keep them at bay, but was unsuccessful.

"I love you, Mulder," she whispered softly to him, and hurried out of the
room.

****

MULDER'S APARTMENT
FEBRUARY 20, 1997

Fox Mulder flipped channels for what seemed to be the fiftieth time that
day.  He had been out of the rehab program for three days and was on a
temporary suspension from the Bureau pending a decision from the
Professional Conduct Review Board.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as a commercial came on.  He could
swear he had seen the same commercial at least a thousand times since he
had ended up in the hospital.  It was for some car company, and behind the
wheel of the sleep silver sedan, a young woman was driving the car.  The
window was rolled down and her auburn hair was blowing in the breeze.  Her
face wasn't clear, but the tone of the commercial implied that she was
happy and carefree.

Every time Mulder saw the commercial, he did a double take.  The woman was
almost a dead ringer for Scully.

Although, Mulder pondered for the thousandth time, Scully's smile is
clearer that that.  And her eyes are blue, so blue...

Mulder hadn't heard from Scully since he had passed out in their office
over a month ago.  He was told my the hospital staff that she had stayed
with him in the emergency room and even after he was admitted.  But he had
no recollection of seeing her.  When he woke up the morning after the
overdose, she wasn't there.

Mulder had immediately looked for her, the minute he had opened his eyes.

He knew, somehow, that she wouldn't be there.  He had done so much to hurt
her.  He had lied to her, forged the prescriptions using her name...he
could think back to the time when they had made love in her apartment, how
she had cried afterwards.  How dirty he had felt afterwards, feeling as if
he had used her as some kind of an outlet for his sexual energy.  

I make myself sick, he thought.  How could I do that to her?

Mulder headed into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice
and made some toast.  He had tried calling Scully as soon as he was able
to have phone privileges, but he got her machine.  He left a hundred
messages, some pleading, some apologetic, some angry.  He tried her
cellular, but it had been disconnected.  He tried getting information from
Skinner, who had flatly refused to divulge anything he knew.

There had been an investigation.  The police had figured that Scully had
been calling in the prescriptions for Darvocet.  Mulder learned that she
had taken the blame for him.  He tried calling her again when he found out
that piece of news.  He got her machine.  

"Scully..." he whispered onto the tape, hoping she was listening, "I don't
know why you're protecting me.  I don't deserve it."  She didn't pick up
the phone, and didn't call him back.

And so almost five weeks had gone by, with no contact from her.

The day he had been released from the hospital, Mulder had driven straight
over to Scully's house.  He pulled up in front and waited.  Her car was
parked outside, but he couldn't see her in any of the windows.  He knew
better than to go and try to talk to her.  She had made it very clear that
she didn't want to talk to him.

Mulder swallowed the dry toast and the last of the orange juice.  She's
everything to me, he thought, and I went and fucked everything up.  And
now there's no way of fixing it.

He sighed heavily, feeling the familiar ache in his chest coming back.

****

MEDICAL OFFICES OF DR. ALISA MORGAN
MARCH 1, 1997

Dana Scully stepped on the scale, the nurse carefully checking her weight.
 The nurse, a heavy set woman in her fifties, clucked her tongue as she
read the weight.  

"You're seven pounds down from last time, Dana," she commented.

Dana ignored her.

She was ushered into the examining room, where she sat down on the table
and waited for Dr. Morgan to come in.  The sight of her bony knees under
dangling over the edge of the table unnerved her, and so she tucked her
legs under her body as Dr. Morgan came in.

"Hi, Dana, how are you feeling today?" she asked cordially, trying not to
react to the fact that her patient was markedly thinner than the last time
she had seen her.  Two weeks ago, Dr. Morgan realized, as she checked
Scully's chart.  Six months ago, and for the past few years, Scully's
weight had been steady at 125.  Two weeks ago she weighed 110 pounds.  Now
she was down to 102.

"Well, I'm OK," Scully answered, "but I've still got this cold.  It won't
seem to go away."

"Are you still taking the vitamin C?" Dr. Morgan asked, as she listened to
Scully lungs.  "Breathe in and out, nice and deep," she said, placing the
stethescope on her patient's back.

"Yes," Scully answered between breaths.  "Twice a day."

Dr. Morgan slipped the stethescope under the front of the gown Scully wore
to listen to her heart.  "Are you eating balanced meals?" she asked,
trying not to react to the flash of the boniness of the rib cage under the
gown.

"Yes," Scully lied.

Dr. Morgan straighted up and pulled a chair close to the examining table. 
"Dana, I've been your doctor for five years now.  You've always been
healthy, extraordinarily so.  In the past six months, I've watched you
deteriorate physically.  We've run every test.  Everything has come back
negative.  No immune disorders, no digestive disorders, no blood
disorders.  But you're still losing weight."

Scully stared at her doctor impassively.  I know, she thought.  I'm
perfectly healthy.

"Dana, if you were truly eating balanced meals," Dr. Morgan said gently,
"you wouldn't be 102 pounds."

Scully's face stayed blank.  She made no response.

"Dana, I'm inclined to think that you have an eating disorder."

"That's ridiculous," Scully responded, tossing her head.  

Dr. Morgan looked into Dana's sunken eyes.  "Dana," she said firmly. 
"I've always told you that if you needed someone to talk to that I would
listen.  Is something going on in your life?  Something that is making you
not want to eat?"

Scully blinked.  She suddenly felt her old enemy, tears, building up in
her throat.  She swallowed.  How could she explain the feelings she had
been having?  How could she explain the depression that robbed her of her
energy, her motivation, her life?  How could she explain it all?  It was
true; she hadn't had a meal in days.  The desire to eat was gone.  "I
don't know," she managed to get out.

"Dana, I want you to see a psychiatrist.  You can't keep losing weight
like this.  The human heart isn't designed to take this kind of abuse. 
You know that."

Tell me about it, Scully thought bitterly.  

"Is it your job?" Dr. Morgan asked.

Scully nodded her head.  "Sort of," she answered.  Well, Dr. Morgan, she
thought, you see, my partner and I were in love, and we had sex, but it
wasn't what I had been hoping for.  I got scared and threw him out of my
house, and then he screwed me over and got addicted to drugs.  And then he
overdosed, but he's OK now, but I can't seem to pull myself.  There was
suspicion that I was using my priveldges as a doctor to supply him with
drugs, even though I didn't.  I didn't want the police to know that he was
using my prescription card, so I pleaded guilty to a minor misdemeanor and
quit the job I love.   I've stopped talking to the only person in the
world I've ever really loved, figuring that it would be doing myself a
favor to stop seeing him.  It hurts me so much to be with him and not
really be with him, but the only problem, you see, is that I still love
him.

How the hell was she supposed to explain what was going on?

Scully closed her eyes weakly, trying to keep from crying again.  "Dana,
your EKG shows more changes than the last time you were here.  I'd like to
have you admitted to the hospital for observation."

"No!" Scully exclaimed, opening her eyes.  She stood up, albeit a little
unsteadily.  "I'm not going into the hospital."

"Dana," Dr. Morgan objected, "you've lost too much weight.  Your heart is
weakening.  I want you to be able to get some rest, eat nutritious foods
and I want to run some tests to make sure you haven't done any irreperable
harm.  If you refuse, I could have you admitted against your will.  I
don't want to have to do that."

Scully could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks.  How had she come to
this?  She wobbled on her feet and took in a deep breath, trying to pull
air into her lungs.    But nothing happened.  She felt her head get light
and she blinked rapidly a few times, but all she saw was blackness.

*****
MARCH 1, 1997
11:15PM

Mulder flipped channels idly.  The phone rang and he ignored it, letting
the machine pick up.  He had already long given up hope of Scully calling
him. "Hi, this is Fox Mulder, I'm not able to get to the phone but if you
leave me a message I'll call you back," he heard his own voice.  

"Hey, Mulder, it's Frohike.  Listen, I know you're there, so turn on the
local news on channel 10.  Call me."  The older man's voice held an
urgency.

Mulder changed to channle 10.

"Officials at Memorial Hospital are confirming that former FBI Special
Agent Dana Scully was admitted here a short time ago.  She was reportedly
brought into the emergency room a few hours ago by paramedics.  Although
hospital spokesperson Charles Smith has not said what she is suffering
from, he is saying that her condition is serious.  The former agent was
recently cleared of any wrongdoing in the felony charges that were dropped
against her former partner, Agent Fox Mulder.  We will give you more
information as it becomes available.  Until then, I'm Vicki Wilson live at
Memorial Hospital for Channel 10 News."

Mulder was already on his feet, getting his shoes and a coat.  He left the
apartment without even bothering to turn the television off.

****

MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
MARCH 2, 1997
12:30AM

Mulder pressed the button for the elevator again.  "Come on, come on," he
muttered angrily.  He was sick of waiting.  All he knew was that Scully
was in Intensive Care and in serious condition.  He pictured her in the
last intensive care bed he had seen her in.  That time she had been dying,
and he had almost lost her.  Almost lost the chance to tell her how he
felt about her.  And now, she was lying in another hospital bed.  He was
about to lose his chance to try to make things right between them.

"Fox?" a gentle voice came from behind him.  He turned around to see
Margaret Scully approaching him.

"Mrs. Scully," he greeted her.  He wasn't sure how much Scully had told
her mother about what was going on between them.

"Fox, I'm sorry you came all the way over here," she said apologetically.

"Oh, God, am I too late?" he asked frantically.

Mrs. Scully shook her head.  "No, Dana's doing all right.  She was in some
danger, but she's stable now.  She's very sick."

"What's the matter with her?"  Mulder asked.

"She's suffering from severe malnutrition.  Her weight is about 100
pounds."

Mulder's face went white.  He tried to imagine what Scully would look like
at 100 pounds.   "She can't be..." he said softly.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"About five weeks ago," he recalled, "and she was looking as if she had
lost a few pounds, but now that much."  He recalled that her face had been
drawn.  He cursed himself now for not having paid enough attention to the
fact that the jacket she wore the day of the overdose was much too loose
on her.  And jackets hid a woman's figure.  She could have been even
thinner than he had realized.

"She collaped at her doctor's office this afternoon."  Margaret Scully
looked tired.  "Fox, I know there's something going on between the two of
you, but Dana refuses to tell me what it is.  Whatever it is, she
anticipated that you would show up here.  She's asked me not to let you
see her."

Mulder swallowed.  He should have expected that.  "Please, Mrs. Scully,"
he tried, but she shook her head.

"As much as I care about you, Fox, I have to honor my daughter's wishes." 
It was obvious that it pained her to do so.

"Can you take a note to her?" he asked.  Margaret Scully nodded.  "Hold
on," Mulder said, and quickly walked back to the information desk for
paper and a pen so he could write a quick note.

The words came without thinking.

"Dear Scully: 
Your mother told me what was wrong with you.  I wish that you would let me
come up and see you for myself, to make sure that you're all right, but I
will not breach your trust again.

I'm sorry, Scully, about everything.  I know that doesn't even begin to
cover it, but it's the truth.  That night at your apartment, I wanted to
make love to you, the way I know you wanted me to.  I am also sorry about
the pills.  I don't even know how to explain my actions in that regard. 
Through the past six months or so, I know that I have put you through
hell.  I also know that I have done the same thing to myself, because I
fell it is what I deserve.

Dana, I know two things with certainty: the first is that I still love
you.  Those feelings have not changed.  I wish that you would give me the
chance to try and make everything up to you.  The second thing is that
nothing matters to me in my life except you.  I would do anything to try
and rebuild your trust in me.  Please, Dana, give me that chance.

Mulder

Mulder folded the note and handed it to Scully's mother.  She nodded her
head.  "I'll give it to her."

"Thank you," Mulder answered gratefully, and Mrs. Scully turned towards
the elevators.  "Mrs. Scully?" he asked, and she turned back to him.  "If
I can ask....why is Scully no longer with the FBI?"

Margaret Scully looked at the floor, then back into Mulder's eyes.  "She
resigned two weeks ago.  The investigation was too much for her, let alone
her reputation."  She let this information sink in.  "Take care of
yourself, Fox," she said, and left him alone.

Mulder watched her get on the elevator with a heavy heart.

****

INTENSIVE CARE, MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
MARCH 2, 1997
1:00 AM

Scully folded the note back up carefully into a square and slipped it into
the top drawer of the dresser next to her bed.  She breathed deeply into
the venti-mask that was giving her the oxygen she so desperately needed. 
Her mother watched her carefully.  

"He looks terrible, Dana.  He wanted to come and talk to you so badly.  I
don't mean to push you, but..."

Scully's voice was muffled under the mask, and so she pulled it away from
her mouth and nose for a few moments.  "Mom, I know."  She took a few
breaths of the room air. 

"You love him," her mother said quietly.  Scully closed her eyes.  She was
too tired to cry anymore.  She nodded her head slightly.  

"But I can't, Mom.  I can't love him.  Too much...too much has gone wrong.
 It hurts."

Her mother stood up and went to the window, deliberately keeping her back
to her daughter.  "But look at what it's doing to you, Dana.  Yo're
hurting yourself by not being with him.  It's up to you," her mother said,
turning around to face her daughter and look her dead in the eyes.  "You
have to decide which hurts more - being with him or being without him."

Scully was silent.  She knew that her mother was right.

*****

MULDER'S APARTMENT
MAY 13, 1997

Mulder had all but given up.  There was no chance of him getting his job
back at Bureau unless he assasinated every single member of the Board that
had voted to dismiss him.  He didn't have the desire to work with the Lone
Gunmen, even though they had offered to let him join them.  To keep
himself busy, though, he did do a few things with them each week.  None of
them, not even Frohike, ever mentioned Scully's name in Mulder's presence.
 
Mulder had no chance left of getting Scully back.  There had been no word
from her since he had sent his note to her with her mother.  He had
decided that he would not try to contact her again.  And his life was the
worse for it.  He knew it.  

He wasn't working, but thanks to a small inheritance from his father and a
sizeable amount of money that he had put into various savings accounts
over the years, he was surviving.  It wasn't like there was much he needed
to pay for anymore.  Rent, bills...they were all minimal amounts of money.
 

He didn't even care anymore, not about anything.

Which was why when the doorbell rang on that rainy afternoon, he didn't
give it a second thought.  He got up from the couch and muted the
television, unlocking the door without checking to see who it was.

He opened the door to Dana Scully.


MULDER'S APARTMENT
MAY 13, 1997

For a few moments, he just stared at her.  She was still thin, her face
still slightly drawn.  She wore a pair of jeans that were loose on her and
a black sweater.  Her red hair was brushed back, tucked behind her ears
with a headband, and he could see that it had lost some of its shine and
fullness.  And her eyes, although still blue, were slightly dull.  But
that could all be the lighting and the lack of sunlight, he thought.  Her
face was full of sadness.

She stood where she was, not moving, and stared back at him.  She was both
surprised and saddened by what she saw.  Mulder had lost weight as well,
although not nearly as much as she had.  His face was gaunt and he looked
as if he had aged ten years.  He was unshaven and his hair was tousled. 
There were lines around his face and dark circles under his eyes.

"Hi," he finally managed to say.  Regardless of how exhausted and
depressed she looked, she still looked beautiful to him.  

Scully nodded and attempted a small smile.  "How are you, Mulder?"

Mulder's mouth was dry.  He cleared his throat nervously and deliberately
avoided the question.  "Would you like to come in?" he asked, and she
nodded again.  He closed the door behind her and followed her to the
couch, watching her every move.  After having not seen her in so long, he
couldn't get enough of her.  She was still so beautiful.

<Of course she is, you asshole.  She's the woman you love.>

Scully sat down on the couch.  It was so different from the other times
she had been in his apartment.  Back then, things between them had been
easy and they had felt comfortable with each other.  Now Scully was
sitting stiffly on the couch and Mulder was sitting on the edge of his
desk, watching her, waiting for her to say something.  "Can I get you
something to drink?" he finally offered.  Scully shook her head.

"No, thank you." She had hardly spoken 10 words since she had walked in
the door.  All she could think about was the fact that she was in the same
room with him.  Inm his apartment.  She wanted to hug him, to wrpa her
arms around him and feel his heart beating against hers.  They had missed
out on so much.  They had been partners, best friends and evenlovers, but
they had never spent a night together, holding each other with nothing
between them but the night air.

Mulder decided to cut to the chase.  There was no reason for him to sit
there and torture himself, waiting for her to tell him that she had met
someone, that she was getting married, that she was leaving the country. 
Somehow, those things mattered to him even though he hadn't seen her in
almost a year.  "Why did you come here, Scully?" he asked.

She fixed her gaze into her lap.  "I don't know," she answered softly. 
"There's so much I wanted to say to you, Mulder.  So much that's happened
to me."

Here it comes, he thought, feeling a lump forming in his throat.  She met
someone.  She's in love with someone, and it's not me.

Scully looked up at him, her eyes clear and calm.  "I love you," she said,
shrugging her shoulders as if she couldn't help what she was saying. 
"Before everything happened, when it happened, even now, I love you,
Mulder."

Mulder blinked at her.  He took a deep breath.  Had she really said that? 
"Scully--"

"No, Mulder, let me finish, please."  He nodded for her to go on.  "Before
that day that we fought in the office, I had fallen in love with you.  I
have no idea when it happened.  I know that I didn't admit it to myself
until after what happened with Modell.  I knew then that I couldn't live
without you.  I didn't want to.  But all that time that we had worked
together, we had been through so much...I was always telling you I was
fine, when I was actually scared to death.  I didn't want you to have to
protect me; I didn't want you to think I was weak.  I wanted you to know
that I would be there to back you up because it was my job.  Because we
were partners."

Mulder nodded.  He remembered when Scully had tried to convince him that
the Donnie Pfaster case didn't bother her, wher he kad known all along
that it terrified her.  He could vividly recall her standing in front of
him, her face bruised and swollen, trying to get the ropes that bound her
wrists untied.  Pfaster was behind them, being arrested.  Mulder had
searched her face, looking for some reassurance that she was going to be
all right.  Physically he was not as worried about her, but emotionally he
feared that she was on the brink of collapse.  And she wouldn't look at
him.  

"I'm fine, Mulder," she had said, the impending tears evident in her
voice.  She had used that tone that meant, drop it, Mulder.  But he
hadn't.  He had made her look at him, and as soon as she had met his eyes,
she had somehow found the courage to trust him.  To cry.  To let him hold
her.

"Because we were friends," Scully continued.  "And then that day in the
office, you just pushed me too far.  I was hurt, Mulder.  When you bent
down to help me pick the papers up, we were so close...it scared me.  It
meant I had to be vulnerable.  It meant I had to let you see how I felt."

Mulder nodded again.  "It kind of scared me, too," he admitted.

"So that night, when you came over, you have to understand that I wasn't
exactly expecting what happened to actually happen.  And I wasn't
expecting it to happen the way it did."  Mulder saw her cheeks color
slightly as she moved into that territory.  "I had wanted you for so long,
Mulder...and that wasn't at all how I had imagined it to happen."

Scully became silent for a few moments.  She was close to tears.  Mulder
stayed where he was, perched on the edge of the desk.  He was afraid to go
to her and comfort her for fear she would reject her, but at the same
time, he was ready to go to her if she wanted him to.

"Everything else...the drugs...quitting the Bureau....I had nothing left. 
If it wasn't for my family, my mother in particular, I never would have
made it.  My health was falling apart.  I was falling apart."  Scully
pushed back the tears so she could finish.  "Something my mother said to
me at the hospital really changed everything for me.  She reminded me that
I could either live in pain without you, or live in pain with you."

"Doesn't sound like you think I have any good qualities," Mulder said,
hurt.

"No, that's not it," Scully protested.  "It's not you.  It's me, Mulder. 
Loving you means having to open myself up to you.  I've done that only a
few times in my life...and gotten badly hurt because of it."

"Jack Willis," Mulder guessed aloud. And there were probably others, he
thought to himself.  He hated all of them for hurting her.

"When my mother said that, I realized that with you, if I could learn to
trust you, and let myself be vulnerable...I could have some kind of a
life.  I even thought I could be happy."  The last sentence was wistful.

"You could have been, if I hadn't fucked everything up," Mulder responded
quietly.

"And without you," Scully went on, choosing not to respond to his comment,
"I was killing myself.  Slowly.  Painfully.  I needed help, Mulder."

"You needed to get over me," he interjected.

She shook her head, her lips curled into a hint of a smile.  "I could
never get over you, Mulder.  There isn't enough help in the world to help
me get over you."

"So what are you doing here, Scully?  You never were one for beating
around the bush."  Mulder still was convinced that the end of this story
had the bomb she intended to drop on him, whatever it was.  "What's his
name?"

Scully looked up at him, startled.  "Who?" she asked.

"Whoever it was that you met that helped you get better.  Whoever it is
that you're so in love with."  

Dead serious, without a moment's hesitation, she gave him her answer. 
"Fox Mulder."

He stared at her again.  "Scully..."

"I'm still in love with you, Mulder.  I can't live without you.  I don't
want to.  If you still want me," she offered, and he cut her off.

"I never stopped," he said to her.

Mulder stood up and crossed the room, sitting down on the couch next to
her.  "I still may need some time," she cautioned him.  "I'm not sure
exactly what I'm ready for.  But I had to tell you all of this.  I had to
make sure you knew.  I didn't want you to meet someone else and forget all
about me."

"There is no one else for me.  I could never forget about you, Scully. 
Not for a second.  I've thought about you every minute of every day for
the last year."

Scully nodded.  "I still have so much I need to work out in my head."

"I'll wait for you.  However long it takes.  Whatever you need."

"And my life...it's a mess.  I have no job.  I've been living with my
mom..."

Mulder winced inwardly.  He knew how much working for the Bureau had once
meant to her.  "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not all your fault," she reminded him.  "I'm pretty stubborn."

Scully stood up, and Mulder stood with her, facing her.  "All I know,
Scully, is that I love you.  Nothing else matters to me.  Not even the
X-Files.  It's all nothing unless you're with me."

She advanced towards him, cautiously.  "I need to hold you," she said, and
the tenderness in her voice made him ache.  How long had he wanted to hear
her say those words?  He nodded that it was OK, and she wrapped her arms
around his waist.  Mulder held her close to his body, closing his eyes and
feeling part of the ache in him melting slowly away.  

After a minute or two, Scully extricated herself and looked at him.  She
got up on tiptoe and kissed him.  Mulder returned the kiss.

Gentle, he reminded himself as he felt an electrical charge go through him
from the touch of her lips on his.  Gently.

They kissed, slowly, leisurely.  It was a tantalizing kiss.  Scully kissed
him, telling him without words what was to come.  Mulder put his hands in
her hair, savoring every moment, every movement of her body against his. 
She wrapped her arms back around him, kissing him harder, more
insistently. Scully sighed softly and arched her back.  Mulder could feel
it getting a little out of control.  He reluctantly pulled away from her. 
"Scully," he whispered, "Scully, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she whispered back.  "I feel better now than I have in over a
year."  she kissed him again, and this time he picked her up and carried
her to the bedroom, carefully depositing her on the bed.  "I thought all
you had was a couch," she murmured with a smile.  He shook his head. 

"This is my bed," he said, suddenly nervous with anticipation and the
overwhelming need to make this right for her.  He knew that there would be
no groping, no wham-bang, none of that this time.  This time he was going
to make love to her slowly, carefully, for as long as they both could
stand it.  He wanted it to be what they had both fantasized about.  He
wanted it to be perfect.

He moved down to the bed, undressing her slowly.  There were no more words
spoken between them.  Instead, there were only sighs, soft moans and each
other's names said in low, husky whispers.

*****

10 HOURS LATER

Mulder awoke first, watching Scully sleep contentedly in the crook of his
arm for almost a half-hour.  When she finally stirred, he smiled at her. 
She opened her eyes lazily and kissed him.  "Good morning," she whispered.

"Actually, it's good afternoon," he told her, motioning to the clock. 
"We've been sleeping for a few hours."

She rolled over, stretching.  Mulder watched her, looking over her naked
body in admiration.  She was so incredibly beautiful that it took his
breath away.  When she was done, she curled up against him, her warm skin
touching his.  "Mulder?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"What was in that box?  The one you left on my door?" she asked, her voice
still thick with sleep and the passion from their lovemaking.  Mulder got
up from the bed without answering.  "Where are you going?" she asked,
sitting up.

"I'm going to show you," he answered, retrieving the box from his top
dresser drawer.  He sat down on the bed, watching her as she unwrapped the
brown paper and opened the box.  Scully removed the small ring box from
the larger box and looked at him, not moving.  "Go ahead," he told her. 
"Open it."

Scully did.  Her eyes immediately filled with tears of joy.  "Mulder..."
she whispered, "Oh, Mulder."

Mulder smiled at her.  "When you're ready," he said.  He took the ring
from the black velvet box and slipped it onto her finger.  "Dana," he
said, his own tears threatening as well, "when you're ready...would you be
my wife?  Marry me?"

Scully didn't even wait to respond.  She kissed him on the mouth, then
turned his head so that she could speak directly into his ear.  "Yes," she
answered.

Mulder kissed her again, and again.  "I love you."

Scully kissed him back.  "I know, Mulder, and I love you too."

END

OK, folks, so that's it!!! Comments, please....any kind....I know it may
not all flow easily, but sometimes a story has to just be written, and so
I've written it.  Please, let me know what you thought, but remember to be
gentle (`cause I'm sensitive)!


"I don't want him to feel like he has to protect me."  --Dana Scully