By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
 

Summary:  After Scully walked away from Mulder
standing in his doorway, what was she thinking?
Post Amor Fati.
Archive:  yes
Rating:  PG
Category:  SA MT MSR
Disclaimer:  No infringement intended (nor any to
the French language I butchered for the title).
Author's note:  Yes, I know it's spelled 'fait
accompli' and not 'fati' accompli, but that wouldn't
have worked as a play on the title.  So, hopefully
my junior and senior year French teachers won't
read this story and revoke my high school diploma.
Comments (except those about my foreign language
skills) to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
Beta?  I'm working without a net, here, folks.  All
mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Fati Accompli
by Vickie Moseley

I got all the way to the car before I got the courage
to face my reaction.

Mulder had told me I was his constant, his
touchstone.  I told him he was mine.  I kissed him,
on the forehead, as we always seemed to do.  And
then, I walked away from him.

I swore the last time that I was going to stop this
aberrant behavior!  I had to stop with the 'Oh
brothers', the running away from my emotions, and
his, for that matter.  I couldn't keep doing that to us.

I sat in the car for a good ten minutes contemplating
my next move.  I thought about taking the coward's
way, accepting that I'd already walked away today
and would do better tomorrow.  I never was one to
take the coward's way, though.  I briefly touched on
trying to make up some excuse for my return, such
as I forgot to tell him something important, or I
needed to get something from his apartment.  He'd
see through that in a heartbeat.  I was just about
ready to drive over to the corner convenience store
and buy him something he undoubtedly didn't have
in his cupboard when my phone rang.

"Scully?  Are you far?"

His voice sounded strained and warning bells
flashed in my mind.

"No, I'm, uh, I'm just around the corner.  What is it,
Mulder?  Do you need something?"

"I'm . . . I fell.  I'm really dizzy -- "

I was out of the car and running up the stairs before
I realized he'd stopped talking.  "Mulder, are you
still there?"  Silence greeted me.  "Mulder, answer
me!" I demanded.  I had made it to his floor and
was slightly winded as I rummaged through my
pocket to find my keys.  "I'm coming in," I warned
him.

I had to search a bit to find him.  He was in the
kitchen, huddled against the cabinets.  A tumbler
was lying a few feet away from him, water all over
the floor.  His eyes were closed, but he was biting
his lip.  His face was pale and shone with sweat.
His phone was resting in his limp right hand.

"Mulder," I called out softly.  He didn't open his
eyes, but he raised his face toward the sound of my
voice.

"The room . . . is spinning.  I - I - I can't stand -- "
he said, panting.

I knelt next to him, checking the bandage.  No
blood stains, thank God.  "Did you hit your head
when you fell?" I asked, keeping the panic from my
voice as best as I could.

"N-n-no . . . I don' think so."  He bit into his lip
harder and his skin color went from pale to pale
green in the blink of an eye.  "I'm gonna -- "

It was all the warning he gave, but it was all I
needed.  I grabbed his trashcan and positioned it
directly in front of him.  I watched helplessly as he
heaved into it.  It seemed to go on forever.  I
reached for a towel hanging on the oven door,
inspected it quickly and deemed it usable.  I
dampened it in the sink and then pressed it against
the back of his neck.  Finally, he waved his hand to
signal his need to sit back up.  I moved the trashcan
out of his way.

"I think I need to lay down," he whispered.

"Just sit still a minute, I want to check you out," I
told him.  That got a ghost of a smile from him.

"Not tonight, Scully.  I have a headache," he said
with just the corners of his mouth upturned.

"Open your eyes for me," I dutifully ignored his
innuendo, as he expected me to.  I knew he was
scared and was trying to cover that with a bad joke.

Slowly, he lifted his eyelids and tried to focus on
me.  From what I could see, both pupils were equal
and reactive to light.  He only let me look a minute
before he slammed his eyes closed again.  "Light
hurts," he complained.

"Are you still dizzy?" I asked, assessing how to get
him off the kitchen floor.  He nodded once.  "OK,
I'm going to have to help you."  I stood and grabbed
his arm just past the elbow, bracing my feet to give
me better leverage.  He helped as much as he could
and soon we had him standing.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" I asked and he
gave me a sour look, even with his eyes closed.

"No.  I just need to lie down," he murmured
breathlessly.

It was decision time.  His couch was closer, but I
wanted him to rest and that meant his bedroom.  I
didn't bother to give him a choice, I didn't think
either of us was up to the argument.  I just steered
him into the short hallway and through the door,
avoiding a pair of shoes and a stack of magazines
on the floor to finally lower him to the edge of the
bed.  He fell back on the pillows gracelessly and I
lifted his legs and tucked him in.

"I was feeling better," he said frowning.  "What
happened?"

"You were doing too much too soon," I chided,
regretting my tone as the words left my mouth.
"You just need to rest.  Where are you pain meds?"

"I took one before you came," he answered,
wiggling to get comfortable.  He got a funny look
on his face, something between concentration and
exasperation.  "Scully, can you, uh, help me with --
"  He was struggling with something under the
covers.  I quickly surmised that he was trying to get
out of his dress pants and was having trouble with
the belt.

"I'll help you, Mulder, but only if you'll respect me
in the morning," I told him.  I was pleased with the
grin I got for my effort.  Together, we made short
work of the belt and pants and I helped him out of
the dress shirt.  He seemed comfortable enough in
his boxers and tee shirt, so I left those alone.  He
toed off his own socks, having slipped off his shoes
when I got him to the bed.  He kicked his feet a few
times and the socks fell from the end of the bed
onto the floor, meeting other socks, which had
shared a similar fate.

After seeing him settled, I got him a glass of water.
"Just rinse," I directed as I pressed the glass into his
hand.  He winced and cracked one eye open, sipped
the water and spit it back in the glass.  He closed his
eye and sighed tiredly.

"I really hate this," he said sadly.

I patted his shoulder and went to the bathroom to
dump the water, rinse the glass and fill it again.  I
brought the water back to the bedroom and set it on
the nightstand.

"Scully, I'm sorry I made you come back," he said,
turning his head away from me.  I heard the crack in
his voice as he kept talking.  "You don't have to
stay.  I know you were headed back to the office.
I'll be fine now."

He was offering me an escape.  Typical Mulder, one
step forward, but always willing to let me take two
steps back.

"No, I don't think so," I said crossing my arms even
though he wasn't looking.  "I want to keep an eye on
you this afternoon.  You get some rest, I'll go call
Skinner and explain where I am."

Kim was instantly concerned, but I was just as
quick to point out that it was nothing serious.  Of
course not!  Wasn't it every day that an agent called
in sick because of illicit and undetermined brain
surgery?  But I appreciated her concern and told her
that I'd call if circumstances warranted.  She
promised to relay the message.

I knew Mulder needed sleep more than anything, so
I decided to tidy up in the living room.  He was
never much of a housekeeper when healthy; when
he was under the weather the place took on the
characteristics of an environmental hazard.  I picked
up a pizza box half hidden under the couch, three
glasses of some unknown but now congealed
substance on the bookshelf just below the fish tank
and took them all into the kitchen.  I tossed a few
flakes of Tetra meal D in the tank and it looked like
a piranha attack as the starving masses fought each
other for the food.  I tossed in a little more food in
sympathy.

Socks, two undershirts and a pair of yellow pajama
bottoms were recovered from the cushions of the
couch.  I was taking them into the bathroom to put
them in his dirty clothes hamper when I spotted it
lying on the floor near his bedroom door.  It was
black and in the darkness of the unlit hallway, I
immediately mistook it for tie.  As I picked it up, I
almost dropped it in revulsion.  It was a bra.  Sick
fascination welled up in me and I checked the label
before balling it into my fist.  It was a 38 D cup,
underwire.  It had to be Diana's.  Now I felt bile rise
in my throat.

On autopilot I dropped his clothes in the hamper.
I'm not exactly sure what overtook me at that
moment, but without hesitation I threw the
offending lingerie into the toilet, slammed the lid
and flushed it to oblivion.  For a fleeting moment, I
thought I might have overloaded the system.  The
last thing I wanted to explain to Mulder was how a
bra managed to clog up his commode.  But God was
smiling on me, laughing more than likely, and
everything washed out to sea.

As soon as the water stopped running, I started to
cry.  I hurried into the living room and dropped
down on the couch.  Pulling the blanket off the back
cushion, I wrapped it around me and let the tears
fall.

She'd been in his apartment.  She'd taken off her
clothes.  How long had that bra been there?

She was dead, my rational mind kept reminding me.
So what, my heart demanded.  She had been sent to
spy on him, sent to derail him, sent to --  As the
similarities between her and me became more
apparent, I cried all the harder.  We'd both had the
same mission.  Maybe, in some ways, we'd both
accomplished it.  He was flat on his back, weak,
unable to even leave his bed.  She'd put him in a
psych ward and I'd left him and run off to Africa.
Who was the bigger deserter?  Just because I
thought my actions were pure didn't forgive me the
bigger sin -- leaving him alone while they
experimented on his mind and body.

I thought I was helping him.  I thought if I could
unravel the puzzle, figure out the answers to the
questions we hadn't the nerve to ask, I would
magically find the cure.  But it wasn't the answers
that cured him.  It was a drill, a 'crown' of thorns
and a doctor who ignored his Hippocratic oath that
saved Mulder's life, even as he was carelessly left
for dead in that operating room.  All I did was pick
up the pieces after the battle had been won.

I don't know how long I sat there, but the sunlight
was fading when I heard him call my name.
Wiping the remaining tears from my eyes, I prayed
that he would still be unable to keep his eyes open
long enough to get a good look at my face.  I didn't
need to burden him with my own self-doubts and
guilt.  I plastered on a smile and went into the
bedroom.

His eyes were open to slits in deference to the
remaining sunlight.  "Do you want me to close the
blinds?" I asked.

"No, it's a little better," he replied.  "I . . . I uh, . . . I
need to go to the bathroom."

"Let me help you.  I don't want you to fall again."  I
helped him to his feet and once again braced myself
against his weight.  He was trying to stand upright,
but it was just not going to happen.  "It's OK,
Mulder. I have you," I told him.  He just smiled at
me, a weird, sort of sad smile.

"You always do, Scully," he replied and we got him
into the bathroom.  By the time we got there, I was
more confident of his abilities and really didn't want
to embarrass him more than we already had, so I
stepped out of the room and closed the door.  I had
a brief moment of panic when I heard him flush the
toilet, hoping the damn thing would go down, but
soon he opened the door and all was right with the
world again.

"Let's get you back in bed," I told him when I saw
that he was fading fast.

"I felt better this morning.  I even ate at the table,"
he muttered.  I had seen his breakfast -- a bowl of
pink milk with a couple of stranded apple jacks
floating in it and a half glass of iced tea on the
counter in the kitchen.

"You haven't eaten since this morning, then and you
didn't keep that down.  Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I am, kinda.  I was just gonna call in an
order -- "

"Mulder, all the sodium and fat in carry out food is
not what you need right now.  Let me see what I can
find."  He obviously hadn't looked in his freezer or
he would have commented on the neatly ordered
foil-wrapped packages I'd stocked in there the day
he came home from the hospital.  I had a surprise
for him.

We got him back in bed, I handed him the remote
for his 19 inch TV in the bedroom and soon he was
happily channel surfing.  Meanwhile I went in the
kitchen and found exactly what I wanted in his
freezer.  I set about heating it all up and went in to
check on the patient.

"I can't do this another week, Scully," he
complained the minute I got to his door.  I sat down
on the edge of the bed facing him and crossed my
arms.  "I laid around all this week.  I should be
fine."

I nodded.  Let him fume then I'd hit him with the
facts.

"I can sit at a desk.  I mean, how hard is that?  I'm
sitting here, now."  He waved toward his supine
position on the bed.  "And the office is fairly dark."
I had to snort at that--I always considered our office
to be a cave.  "I think it was the sunlight that got
me.  It was so bright today.  I need to wear
sunglasses, I can do that."

He was waiting for me to answer.  I just sat there
for a moment, giving him time to start up again.
"Are you gonna say something?" he asked in
exasperation.

"Two words, Mulder:  Brain Surgery.  They peeled
back your skin, drilled holes in your head, did
something we can't even fathom in there and stapled
the skin shut.  Now, under normal circumstances,
you would probably be in hospice care right now, a
rehab facility where you would spend most of your
day flat on your back.  Initial convalescence varies
and can take up to four weeks.  Full recovery is not
expected for at least eight weeks.  But let's not
forget that you were gravely ill _before_ the
surgery!  So take the convalescence out the full four
weeks and I would dare say tack another week on
for full recovery bringing the total up to nine weeks.
Your brain was working so hard you taxed all your
other systems to the breaking point.  And now you
want to bounce out of bed, come to the office,
wheedle me into letting you go out on a simple case
-- "

"I don't 'wheedle', Scully" he interrupted with a hurt
expression, but I was on a roll and plowed right on.

"Mulder, what happened today is called a 'relapse',"
I said and I admit, my tone was one I would use
when talking to a child, but I had to make him see
the foolishness of his thought processes.  "We were
lucky, it could have been much worse.  If you had
fallen, say in the bathroom, and hit your head on
any of the porcelain surfaces in there -- Mulder you
could have bled to death before anyone found you!"

"You're telling me you're not letting me in the office
for nine weeks?" he wailed.  "Just shoot me now,
Scully, because you'll save me the trouble of eating
my gun!"

"Don't be so melodramatic," I warned.

"You try it!  You try lying in bed for weeks, having
to watch daytime television because even HBO runs
the same damned movies five times over a day.
How many weeks could you stand to watch old
Saturday Night Live reruns on Comedy Central,
Scully?  You wouldn't last a day!"

"Need I remind you, Mulder, I already have!"  That
shut him up.  The look of pure guilt that hit his eyes
almost knocked the wind out of my sails.  But I
wasn't giving up; he wasn't going to 'out-guilt' me
on this.

"I want my life back, Scully," he pleaded.  "Please."
Oh yeah, he'd pulled out all the stops.  I think he
sensed that moment of weakness when I saw the
guilt in his eyes.  But I had to be firm.

"We'll see."  Little did he know that in the Scully
household, a 'we'll see' is as good as a no.  Besides,
the nine weeks was my negotiation point.  In all
honesty, I didn't expect to keep him in his apartment
more than two more weeks and figured I could
safely keep him occupied in the office for about
three weeks after that.  I wasn't a fool; I knew his
limits and mine.  But if I'd told him that he would
have tried to whittle that time frame down and he
would have been in real trouble.

He was stewing in his checked anger when his face
lit up.  "What's that smell?"

I could feel the Cheshire cat grin on my face.  "Oh,
something I think you'll like."

"No.  It can't be.  Scully, that's your mom's meatloaf
I'm smelling or they messed around seriously with
my olfactory receptors!"

My grin turned into a full fledge smile.  "I would
deem your olfactory receptors in prime working
condition.  The menu tonight includes meatloaf,
mashed potatoes with brown gravy and green beans,
if you think you can handle all that.  How's your
stomach feeling?"

"Famished," he replied happily.  "Can we eat?"  He
started to get out of bed and I stopped him.  He shot
me an angry look.  "Scully -- "

"Humor me, Mulder.  Stay in bed.  I'll bring it to
you, I promise."

"Gonna chew it for me, too, I bet," he griped at my
back as I left to get the food.

One good thing about my mom, she has no sense of
portion control.  There was easily enough for two
people in each of her little packets.  And she has a
tendency to baby Mulder almost as much as I do.
The breakfast tray I found located above the
refrigerator was an anniversary present from us kids
to our parents 20 years ago.  She brought it over
when I got him back from Alaska and every time he
tried to return it, it would find its way back again.
He finally gave up and found a place for it in his
kitchen.

As I divided the food onto two plates I remembered
that I hadn't had lunch either.  I was going to grab a
sandwich on the way back to the office.  I carried
the tray into the bedroom and found that Mulder
had already propped himself up on pillows and was
watching the door expectantly.  I had to smile at
him.  He looked so happy.

He saw the two plates and his smile grew brighter.
He scooted over so that I could set the tray on his
lap and still have room to sit next to him on the bed.
"Scully, remind me -- "

"She'll get mad, Mulder."

"Yeah, but what woman doesn't love flowers?
Besides, she never gets mad at me," he chuckled.

It was a standing tradition.  After she'd pampered
him from afar with homemade meals when I got
him back from Alaska, he sent her a dozen roses.
She called me up and yelled at me!  She didn't want
him wasting his money on flowers 'for an old lady'.
Well, once I told him that, it became a game.  He
switched from roses to exotic bouquets, then back
to roses of different colors.  She'd thank him and hit
me with a ton of bricks.  Like I could have stopped
him if I tried!

For several minutes, we ate in silence.  I was
pleased that his appetite seemed unaffected by the
headaches and dizziness.  His nausea from earlier
had disappeared, fortunately.  If it had continued it
would have required taking him in, if just for
hydration.  He would have really hated that.

He scraped up the last bit of mashed potatoes and
gravy, looked longingly at the empty plate and then
up at me.  "What's for dessert?"

I shook my head.  "Peach cobbler.  But you don't
have ice cream so we have to let it cool a bit."

"You microwave it to heat it up and then you make
me wait for it to cool down?  Where's the logic in
that, Dr. Scully?"

"Stop acting like a three year old, Agent Mulder,
and I'll see if it's ready.  I'm one step ahead of you."

I rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher,
put the dessert on the tray with a refill on Mulder's
iced tea and brought it back to him.  In minutes, he
was through his portion and eyeing mine.  With a
mock sigh I pushed my plate over to him and let
him finish it off.  When he was done he leaned back
into the pillows and moaned in satisfaction.  "I love
your mother, Scully."

"I'll tell her," I teased.  I took the remaining plates
into the kitchen and cleaned up what little mess
there was.  As I started the dishwasher I realized I'd
run out of excuses.  It was already 7 o'clock and
time to leave.

Mulder was cruising the channels again, stopping
for a second to catch a score and then zipping on.  I
stood in the doorway and watched him for a minute
while he was intent on his mission to find
something to watch.  He looked much better than
when I'd found him on the kitchen floor.  If this had
been a serious relapse, I would have been forced to
take him back to the hospital.  As it looked, it was
just Mulder trying to do too much and his body
telling him no.  I could handle that.  At least his
body was on my side.

"I should be going," I told him, still standing in the
doorway.

He turned his head and looked very sad for a
moment, then almost seemed to look resigned.  He
started to say something and then stopped and
shook his head.

"What?" I asked.

"Scully . . . nah, go ahead.  I've taken your whole
day.  You have things to do."

"Mulder, what is it?  Do you need something else?"

He bit his lip and looked down at his hands, still
clutching the remote, but resting in his lap.  "You."
He said it so softly I almost didn't catch it.  He
looked up at me and I his eyes looked wet.  "Stay.
Please."

My heart cracked a little and I wanted to throw my
arms around him and make it better.  Instead, I
hesitated.  Like a thousand times before.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I know that was . . .  Go.  Go on
home.  Please thank your mom for me.  I'll . . . I'll
call you tomorrow.  You don't have to come over.  I
know you're busy -- "

"Shut up, Mulder," I said firmly.  Not again.  I
wasn't going to do it to us again.  I was not going to
run.  I walked over to the edge of the bed and toed
off my shoes.  I pushed at his side and he scooted
over, wide-eyed staring at me, as if I'd just sprouted
wings and a halo.

When I was settled in the bed, I took the remote
from his senseless hands, found the History Channel
and placed the remote on the nightstand.  "Look
Mulder, it's Haunted Places!"

That got him out of his stupor.  He laughed and put
his arm around me.  It felt good, it felt so right.  I
snuggled into his shoulder to watch the show.

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

I looked up at him in total confusion.  I had no idea
where that had come from.  "I'm sorry about . . .
Diana," I blurted out.

He nodded and ran his tongue over his teeth.  "I
think she saw it coming," he said evenly.  "Scully, I
don't want you to feel guilty about her death.  You
had no part in it.  Neither did I.  Please, don't waste
your tears on that."

I swallowed hard.  He had seen me all puffy and
tear-stained.  I should have realized Mulder catches
everything.  "I wasn't crying about her death," I
found myself saying.

He shot me a perplexed look.

"I was crying . . . about what you and she had," I
explained brokenly.  I didn't want to cry again, I
didn't want to cry in front of him, but I couldn't help
it.

His perplexed look deepened.  "What we had -- you
mean eight years ago?"

"You loved her, Mulder.  I know that.  And I was
jealous of that.  And when I found her bra -- "  Oh
shit.  That just slipped out before I could stop it.  I
moved to leave the bed but he hugged me tighter,
refused to let me get up.

"You found her bra?" he asked, sounding totally
confused.

"Mulder, it was lying right by your bedroom door.  I
. . . I, um, flushed it down the toilet.  I should have
said something, I was just so angry and jealous and
-- "

"You assumed we had . . . ?  Scully, the woman
may have taken off her bra, but when she tried to
seduce me and I rejected her advances, she hit me
with a tazer!"  I clicked on the fact that there
were minor burns on his chest noted on his hospital
admitting form.  He cocked his eyebrow and looked
at me.  "You flushed it down the toilet?"  I could
only nod.  He was fighting a grin as he considered
my actions.  "There's a clause in my lease about
tampons and condoms, but I don't remember seeing
anything about lingerie."

"Mulder, it's not funny," I insisted.  Then I thought
about it.  How I hadn't really thought about it
before.  I could see the humor, for a moment.
"OK," I said and bit my bottom lip to keep from
joining his laughter.  "I guess it could be considered
funny in some circumstances."

"Scully!  Are you kidding?  In any circumstance I
can think of.  Remind me never to bring home a pair
of panties in my briefcase after a long assignment.  I
think you'd plug something other than my
plumbing!"  When it struck him what he'd said,
what he'd implied, he stopped laughing.  "I'm sorry.
I didn't mean -- "

They say it's always darkest before the dawn and I
guess that's where I'd been all afternoon.  Sitting in
the darkness.  For that matter, it's where I'd been for
a long time.  Since my cancer, since Antarctica,
since our reinstatement to the X Files.  It slowly
seeped in on my consciousness, like the first rays of
dawn on the horizon.

"You didn't make love to her," I said stupidly.

He bit his lip and sighed.  I froze.  Maybe I had it
wrong.  I needed to leave.  He was holding me
again and I fought this time.  "I have to go."

"No, Scully, I want this out.  I have to talk it out
before it destroys me, destroys us.  First of all, you
are correct:  I didn't make love to her."

I searched his face.  He was telling the truth, but
there was something he wasn't saying.  That
something scared the shit out of me and half of me
wanted to bolt, the other half wanted to hear it all so
I could tear his heart out and stomp on it a few
times.

"I told you I had a dream," he started.  I was quiet.
The heart ripping side of me had won out.  I would
stay and listen.  "When they took me, well, I don't
think things happened the way I remember them."

"Mulder, you were unconscious when they took
you.  The nurse had gone in to check on your just
fifteen minutes before your mother signed you out.
It's all documented in your medical records."  He
sighed in relief at my words.

"Thank god.  OK, well, I don't know what they did,
but I had a very vivid dream.  Scully, I dreamed
Spender, Cancerman, came into my room and
injected something into my head, right here."  He
pointed to a spot right at his temple.  "It burned like
hell's fire and I thought it was a poison, but after a
minute or two, I started to feel better -- better than
I'd felt since this whole thing started."

"Do you think it might have been Phenytoin?" I
asked.

"No, I felt like shit when they shot me up with that
crap.  I could speak, I felt lucid, but I seriously felt
like I could curl up and die any minute."  He said it
so calmly that it thawed a bit of the ice around my
heart.  How could I forget how horrible this ordeal
had been on him?

"So, anyway, he was talking to me, ordering me to
get up.  And I did.  The next thing I know, I'm in a
car and he's driving.  It's raining and I feel like I'd just
woke up.  But I feel better, great, in fact.  I feel like
I'd never been sick in the first place.  A hellava lot
better than I felt today," he muttered before getting
back to his story.  "Anyway, it was a long dream,
but basically, the old bastard took me to a house and
Deep Throat was there.  He told me he'd faked his
death, a form of retirement I guess you could say.
He told me I had to let go of all my guilt, that I
couldn't save the world.  He told me I'd done
enough already."

I smiled.  How many times had I thought that, too?
Mulder was on a fast track to an early death if he
continued on the path he'd chosen.  But it was his
path and I was just there to help him as much as
he'd let me.

I realized he'd stopped talking and he was playing
with his blankets again, nervous about the rest of
the story.

"Just tell me, Mulder.  It was just a dream."

When he looked up at me, there were tears in his
eyes.  "Old Smokey had told me that if I tried to
contact you, I'd put you in danger.  He didn't come
right out and say it, but I understood that to mean
that if I turned my back on my life, you would get a
second chance, too, Scully.  I couldn't risk hurting
you."

"OK," I said, encouraging him.  He was getting very
emotionally involved in the events of this dream.

"I fell asleep.  Did I mention that the Black Lunged
son of a bitch had put me in handcuffs?  Well,
anyway, I was in this house, a really nice suburban
house and I was trying to fall asleep and -- "  He
stopped and looked around for the glass of water
still on his nightstand.  "Could you hand me that?"
he said, pointing.  He drank half of it down and my
apprehension was building.

"Mulder, just tell me what happened.  And
remember, this was just a dream!"

"OK, OK, already.  Diana came in . . . and she was
dressed, well, really she wasn't dressed, ah, hell, she
looked like a harem girl, and she had the key to my
handcuffs and she kissed me and god, I - I - I don't
want to do this, Scully," he wailed.

I reached my arm around him and hugged him
closer to me.  "Mulder, it was a dream.  Unlike you,
I don't think we dream things we want.  I do think
it's what you told me long ago -- that we are trying
to work out our problems.  So just tell me.  I
promise not to judge."

"I slept with her!" he blurted out.  "I mean, it wasn't
that type of dream, hell, I have that kind of dream
all the time.  It wasn't a 'wake-up-and-change-the-
sheets kinda dream.  I just know that we, um, we
had sex, but I didn't dream any of the details.  Next
thing I know, I'm dressed and out on the lawn,
picking up the morning paper.  Diana comes out to
me with a cup of coffee and she, uh, she tells me
that I'll never know true commitment until I become
a father."

He waits for my reaction and I don't do a thing.  I
can't move, I can't speak.  Even in the dreamworld,
this bitch could find a way to hurt me.  Finally, I
realize he's waiting for me.  "Go on," I said as
calmly as I could muster.

"The next part was all flashes, no talking, no time to
even really comprehend what I was seeing.  I saw
myself in a tux and Diana in a wedding dress.  Then
Diana was standing in a doorway, very pregnant,
telling me it was time.  Then I was opening a door
and two really cute little kids run in and hug Diana
and me.  Then I was looking in a mirror and my hair
was grey and I turned and Diana was lying in a
coffin, looking 'peaceful' and I knelt down beside
the coffin and cried.  And then it all slowed down
and I was sitting in a chair and he came to me again.
He was smoking and telling me that I could rest
now.  Finally, I was lying in bed, my death bed, but
I didn't hurt, I was just so very tired.  I wanted to let
go, but I wanted to look outside one last time.  He
told me I didn't need to, that I should just let go.  He
told me -- he told me you were dead and I cried,
Scully.  It hurt so much.  But then he told me you
were waiting for me -- you and Sam and Deep
Throat and I just wanted to go to you.  But outside
my window, what my dying body couldn't see, the
world was being overrun by alien space ships.  The
world was ending."

He sipped the water again, slowly.  "Then you
walked in.  You were -- well, you were you!  You
were young and beautiful and I was so happy to see
you.  But you were really pissed off at me, Scully.
You called me traitor, deserter, you were hurling all
these names at me.  I was dying and I told you that,
but you told me it wasn't my place; that I wasn't
supposed to die in a comfortable bed 'with the devil
outside my door'.  You said that.  And then I was
lying on a table and I was in such pain and this
thing was on my head and I was screaming and I
could hear your voice . . ."

He looked exhausted and I rescued the glass before
he could drop the little remaining liquid on the
blankets.

". . . then I saw you looking down at me.  I was just
waking up.  My throat hurt, my head was killing
me, but everything else was numb -- I couldn't feel
my arms, my legs.  I felt so sick and you were
trying to get me to sit up and you were crying, I
could feel your tears hit my face.  That's when I
knew it was real, that I was awake and it was really
you there."  He took my hand and kissed it gently.
"You told me the truth, Scully.  You saved me.
Diana might have given you the key, but you came
and found me.  She knew exactly where I was and
she left me for dead."

"Mulder, you mustn't -- "

He interrupted me.  "I've had some time to think
about it" he said slowly, thoughtfully.  When he
turned to look at me, it was tired confidence in his
eyes.  "Diana could just as easily have been Cindy
Crawford or Elizabeth Hurley in that dream.  It was
just a path, a comfortable life where I did what
everyone else does -- 2 kids, a dog, a mortgage.  But
in the end, I'd let everyone down.  I helped destroy
the world by not stopping the destruction.  Without
you, it all went to hell."

I was reeling by his revelation, but it had taken
everything out of Mulder.  He looked like a rag dog
propped against the pillows.  He needed rest,
immediately.  I could sort out everything he'd told
me later, but for now, just the knowledge that we
seemed to be in tune was enough for me.

It wasn't hard to help him slide down so that he was
lying flat.  He sighed wearily when I got up, but it
was only to turn off the lights in the hallway.  In the
dim light of the television screen, I could see his
smile when I came back into the room and crawled
back on the bed next to him.

I thought he was asleep, but he turned his head
toward me.  "I can't do this without you.  I was
stupid to think I could.  My life -- it's two-
dimensional when you aren't in it.  Please don't
leave me, Scully.  You don't have to love me, just
please, please don't leave me."

"But if I stay with you, is it OK if I _do_ love you?"
I asked, hoping the tears on my cheeks would go
unnoticed.

He smiled tenderly and brought his hand up to wipe
away the tears on my face.  "I would like that very
much," he said and then leaned down to kiss me.  It
wasn't on the forehead.  It felt like home.

When we broke the kiss, he closed his eyes.  "I'm
not really much good to anybody at the moment,"
he said with a heavy sigh.

"That's all right.  We have time," I told him.  I held
him until we both fell asleep.

the end