West of Sunrise

By Lea Nicci
lea_nicci@inbox.com


Disclaimer:  These characters are the property of Chris Carter/1013.
No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating:  NC17 (for adult situations)
Genre:  Mulder Angst, MSR
Summary:  Mulder falls.  Scully tries to catch him. Will they make it?

^*^

It had only been two days, but Scully's intuition wouldn't let her wait.  

A weekend where Mulder actually took a weekend and there were no
calls, forty-eight hours without a "hey, Scully, it's me" which might have
been a record.  She didn't want to worry, but something intangible
niggled at her and after six messages left with no response, the drive
to his apartment was made with white knuckles, hands clutched hard
around the steering wheel.

Her rational mind claimed she was overreacting, but her foot stayed
heavy on the gas pedal nonetheless.  

Mulder hadn't been himself for weeks.  As his partner and his friend --
his best friend -- Scully could see the signs of something not right.
Day after day of faraway looks, a distracted manner coupled with
dark circles under his eyes.  His vitality; usually such a lively and
integral part of his personality appeared to be slipping away before
her eyes.

She could tell he hadn't been eating well either.  His impeccably
tailored suits and shirts, usually so well-fitted, hung on him in all the
wrong places.  He looked drained ... pale ... too thin for her liking and
with the lack of sleep, interest and appetite it didn't take a medical
degree to figure out there was something wrong.

When she reached Mulder's apartment, she was surprised by the
mess that greeted her.  He wasn't a spotless housekeeper by any
means, but piles of laundry and old newspapers strewn on the couch,
as well as the floor, certainly wasn't his style.  She wrinkled her nose
against the smell of garbage that needed to be taken out and peeked
into the kitchen to see a mountain of plates in the sink, overflowing
onto the counter.  

A touch of fear gripped her and she called out his name.  "Mulder?"

There was a barely audible sigh and from the bedroom she heard, "In
here, Scully."

Sidestepping a sagging trash bag, Scully opened the bedroom door
and saw Mulder lying there, curled on his bed amidst crumpled linens
and more papers.  There was a haphazardly made meal sitting
untouched on his night table and one look told her Mulder hadn't
showered in a few days.  

He seemed embarrassed that she should see him like that, but after
she gave him a small smile, he relaxed.

"I was worried about you," she said, gently, trying her hardest not to
sound accusing.  "Are you okay?"

He laughed dryly.  "I'd say `okay'  is a relative term."  With a grimace,
he rolled over and reached for a bottle sitting on the table next to the
abandoned plate.  He handed it to her with a glum expression.  "But
the FBI shrink thinks I could use a round of this."

Scully turned the bottle over and read the label.  Wellbutrin, an anti-
depressant and strong dose of it too.  Tilting the bottle sideways, she
did a quick and expert pill count.  "They're all still in here; thirty
days worth.  Are you planning on taking them?"

"I don't know yet," he replied, his voice edged with exhaustion.  He
shrugged.  "Maybe I'll get a second opinion."

"I can give you that," Scully paused, not wanting to be overbearing,
but she had no choice to tell him what appeared to be obvious.  "I
think you should take them because the Mulder I'm seeing here isn't
the Mulder I know.  I think this medication might help."

"Might help?" he repeated faintly.  It was chilling, the dead look in his
bloodshot eyes.  Even more frightening were his next words: "I feel
like I'm drowning, Scully," he whispered brokenly and her breath
caught in her throat.

Impulsively, she reached out and squeezed his hand.  He closed his
eyes at the touch and it was all she needed to see.  

Quietly, she left the room and began making phone calls.

It was going to be a long day.

^*^

The first call to Mrs. Mulder didn't go anywhere productive.  She
listened patiently while Scully described her son's symptoms, but
when she got to `clinical depression', Scully could feel the woman
closing up on the other end of the line.  

"We're all depressed," Teena interjected tersely. "In our own way.  I'm
not sure what I can do besides suggest he snap out of it."

Oh, great, that's really useful advice Scully thought with an eye roll.
"It's a bit more complex than that," Scully started, then thought better
of it.  Teena Mulder was a stressor for her son on a good day, maybe
this wasn't someone who could be considered 'help'.  Scully quickly
changed her approach. "Anyway, I just thought I'd keep you informed."

A click was the only response.

The next call was to Skinner, who listened intently, interrupting only to
ask for certain specifics.  Finally ... "I'll trust you to take whatever
steps are necessary to bring Mulder back up to speed, Agent
Scully," his tone grim. "Mulder's the last agent I want to see falling
into this kind of emotional trap."  Skinner paused, parsing his words.  "I
know from experience how difficult the situation can get if left
untreated."

Scully's curiosity was sparked, but she didn't press him.  "I appreciate
that, sir."

"Just remember, there are certain  ... factions ... who wouldn't mind
seeing Agent Mulder permanently disabled. I'm trusting you with
seeing that doesn't happen."

A shiver of paranoia ran down Scully's spine at Skinner's words.  "I
understand."

On a frightened impulse, she ran back to check on Mulder upon
hanging up.  Thankfully he was sleeping peacefully and she touched
his cheek before heading back to the phone, shutting the door behind
her.  

For a second, Scully had to stop and remember to breathe, to catch
herself from despair because seeing Mulder topple over the edge in
such a profound way, hurt her -- horribly.  

Maybe that's why her last call was the most comforting one.  "Mom?
It's me, Dana.  I have to ask a favor.  "Could you stop by my
apartment and pack a bag for me and bring it down to Mulder's?  No,
not for overnight. I'll need a bit more than that."

^*^

For a long time that night, Scully lay awake on Mulder's couch, the TV
turned down low, the fish tank's blue light shimmering in the far corner.
She tried to close her eyes, but her mind raced, wondering how this
could have happened.

How could she have let her observation of her partner's health slip like
this?  

It couldn't have happened overnight, but like an iceberg, perhaps, you
don't see the danger until it's right on top of you.  Maybe he'd been
sliding into a depression for years, his spirit finally succumbing once
it all became too much to bear -- the fruitless hunt for his sister, the
constant roadblocks to the truth and ...

God, what else could there be that he hadn't told her about?

Scully grimaced to think of it.  Suddenly, she started, thinking she
heard Mulder stir, but it was just another burble of the fish tank.

Shaking her head, Scully realized she had to get a grip.  She had to
be the strong one now. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax
and it felt like hardly a moment had passed when a slice of morning
sunlight coming in from between the blinds made her blink awake.

Peering around blearily, she was surprised to see Mulder sitting in
the armchair, distractedly flicking through the television channels.  He
still looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all, but Scully knew that
lack of deep sleep was just another one of the symptoms.  "Hey," she
said, grimacing as she pushed into a sitting position.  "How are you?"

Mulder blinked at her for a second, before shrugging.  "Okay."  His
voice was hoarse and he squinted at her with a befuddled
expression.  "You're still here, huh?"

Scully nodded, ignoring the knot in her gut at Mulder's foggy,
confused look.  "I'm going to be staying a little while. Only until
you get
back up to speed."  She paused.  "If that's okay."

He shrugged again.  "Sure.  Although I don't see why you'd want to."
He frowned.  "Even I don't want to hang out with me."

Sliding over the couch, she moved in close enough to take his hand
and smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. "I like hanging
out with you, Mulder.  No matter what."

For a long moment, he stared at her fingers, entwined with his, then
nodded distractedly.  "Yeah, that's great."

Another vague answer and Scully tamped down her worry.  Rising,
she made her way to the kitchen.  It was a disaster, but not so much
she couldn't make a pot of coffee, which bubbled to life without too
much effort.  

Breakfast would take a while longer to procure, but in a few minutes,
she'd cleared enough room on the counter, sniffed through the eggs
and squeezed the bread, before finding the last clean frying pan and
plate.

Scrambled eggs, toast and coffee were placed on a tray. Not the
breakfast of kings, but it was good enough for now. She'd take a few
minutes to go shopping later, when she felt confident enough to leave
Mulder on his own. "Here you g ..." Scully stopped mid-sentence
when she saw Mulder fast asleep in the chair, his head slumped to
his shoulder.  

With a sigh, she put the tray down on the coffee table and put a hand
to his forehead.  Cool enough and Scully's anxiety ratcheted up
another notch.  

Distractedly, she ran her fingers through his hair, which was gritty with
lack of washing.  "God, Mulder," she whispered.  "I'm sorry I didn't see
this coming.  But I'm going to make it right."

With one last touch to his cheek, she went back to the kitchen and got
to work on the dishes, wiping away any stray tear that fell with the
back of her soapy hands.

^*^

It took hours to get the kitchen back into usable shape, but once the
last of the clean dishes were put away, the final bag of trash sent
down the incinerator and the floor's vinyl pattern was visible again,
Scully felt she could finally brush her hands together with a satisfied
nod of approval.  

She checked on Mulder occasionally, surprised to see how deeply he
slept the day away.  His hours are backwards, she thought,
considering if she should wake him up or not.  Before she could
decide, he stirred awake.  "You're still here?" he asked groggily.  He
shook his head as if to clear it. "Oh, right.  You're staying, I think.
Right?"

"That's right," she said, trying to keep her tone light.  She reached out
to rub his shoulder.  "What do you say to me running a bath?"

"Is this an invitation, Agent Scully?" he asked wryly, with a bit of his
old panache which cheered her up immensely.  "Because the tub is
kinda small for two of us."

"Then it'll just have to be you, I'm afraid."  Reaching down, she dug
through her overnight bag, pulling out a small orange bottle, which she
waved at him.  "Essence of nectarine, very refreshing."

With aching slowness, he reached out to examine the bottle.  "I
dunno, Scully." He leaned back in the chair and looked at her with
quietly sad eyes.  "I'm kinda tired."

"It'll make you feel better, I promise."  She took the bottle back.  "You
can leave out the fruity bath oil, if you like.  But you really need a
cleaning up."  She didn't want to make him feel worse, but she
couldn't wrinkling her nose when she said it.  "It'll make you feel
better,
really."

He considered her for a few minutes, then rose slowly. With a weak
smirk, he grabbed the bottle from her hand. "As long as this is our
little secret."

"Cross my heart, hope to use Mr. Bubble forever if I'm lying," Scully
swore. She hesitated as he headed into the bathroom.  "Um, do you
need any help?"

Mulder's chuckles could be heard over the running water.  "I must be
in bad shape if you're leaving me this many openings.  But no, I don't
think I need any help, as attractive an offer that is."

"Right.  Okay.  Right,"  Scully muttered, blowing out a long breath.
She started to straighten out the living room, gathering and sorting the
laundry and papers, keeping her ear trained on the bathroom.  Slow
splashes were heard intermittently, comforting her and when Mulder
emerged,  he looked much better, although still tired, the stubble
intact.  

"I wasn't up to shaving today," he murmured, embarrassed. "Maybe
tomorrow."

Scully shrugged.  "Whatever you feel comfortable with."  

She sniffed appreciatively as he passed by, smelling warm, clean
and only slightly of oranges.   It was a definite improvement.

Mulder settled back in the chair, curling up against the high back,
remote in hand again.  He returned to mutely switching the channels,
but Scully felt enough had been accomplished for the day.  It was
baby steps, two forward, one back and she wasn't about to ask for
more than that.  

Not yet.

^*^

The laundry room was empty and still, except for a whirling dryer
working the far corner.  Normally, doing Mulder's laundry would be far
down on Scully's list of 'things to accomplish', but it comforted her to
know she was doing some tangible to help out.  

In some ways, she felt almost as helpless as he did, so this was a
small thing she could do while trying to figure out a way to get him
started on the medication.

Filling the machine, she measured out the soap and softener, before
putting the coins in.  The washer spun to life and she sat in one of the
plastic seats provided by the building's management.  Putting on her
glasses, she unfolded the information she'd downloaded and printed
off of Mulder's computer, regarding depression and the medications
available.

Wellbutrin seemed like a good choice, but there were side effects.
And like all anti-depressants there was the small chance that it would
succeed only in giving him just enough energy back to kill himself, if
he were entertaining any suicidal thoughts.  

Startled at the revelation, Scully nervously folded the sheets back up
again.

Suicide.  A very common side effect of the disease, the worst of all
possible.  Common because it was so intolerable to live in such
emotional agony for any extended period of time, so utterly hopeless
and miserable, that death seemed like the better option.  Many of
those suffering from severe depression lacked only the drive to take
their own lives and when they got a little better, there was always a
window of deadly opportunity for them to find the strength, not to go
on, but to end it all.

Glancing at the ceiling, almost as if she could see through it to peer
into Mulder's apartment, Scully couldn't help but wonder if Mulder had
mentally gone down that road yet.

Surely the FBI therapist would have taken more drastic measures,
such as hospitalization, if Mulder admitted to such impulses, but then
again, Mulder was a smart man and probably knew how to avoid
getting stuck in a facility.   He had a very natural disinclination
against
being put in a hospital, one that Scully shared after all the times job-
related injuries put her in one.  

Still, the psychiatrist would know, wouldn't he?  Or had he been some
Bureau drone, handing Mulder the pills and telling him to go on his
way?

A minute later, she was on the elevator back up to Mulder's
apartment.  "Mulder?" she called out upon arrival, her throat tight. No
answer and she pushed the door shut behind her.  "Mulder?"

"Yeah?" and Scully was sure she'd never heard a sound so sweet.

"Um, I'm sorry, I forgot a few things," she lied, grabbing blindly at a
blanket that covered the back of his sofa. She paused, clutching the
blanket. "It's a little lonely down there."

"S'okay," he murmured, before tucking his long legs over the arm of
his chair.  "Do you want company?"

Scully thought for a minute, but in reality, her mind was already made.
"Yeah, I'd like that a lot.  Want to come down with me?"

Mulder's eyes opened a crack.  "All right.  But only for you, Scully."

Fine, she thought, whatever excuse he needs is good enough.

^*^

Together they did the laundry in companionable silence, with Mulder
folding clothes alongside Scully.  The corners weren't neat, the whites
were pretty much mixed in with the colors, but none of that mattered.  

He was with her and he was relatively all right, so all was well.

Night fell soon enough and once the laundry was put way, Scully took
her time to examine a take-out menu with a critical eye.  She picked
one of the local grill places over the Chinese food, thinking it might go
down more easily or, at least, be a little bit more healthy.  "Check this
out, Mulder. They have a whole page of chicken wraps."

Not surprisingly, Mulder was wide awake and not in the best of
moods.  The reversal of his waking and sleeping hours had obviously
been playing with his temperament in a negative way.  "No, thanks,"
he replied tersely.  "I'm not hungry."

Scully knew better than to argue with him. Lack of appetite was
something he couldn't help.  "I'm getting the chicken Caesar wrap.
Are you sure you're not into anything?"

"No, thanks."

She didn't press him, but covertly ordered an extra wrap alongside
her own.  He might be hungry later and even if he wasn't, she could
have it for lunch the next day.  

Mulder tapped at the remote with a tense expression, his knee
jumping restlessly as he punched the 'channel' button.  He didn't seem
interested in any particular show, just in the flow of images, skittering
across the screen, like a file being flipped through.  "Why did I bother
getting a dish?" he grumbled.  "It's the same shit on every station."

Scully squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa.  The incessant channel
surfing was making her dizzy, but she wasn't willing to take the remote
away, lest it cause a problem.  "Maybe if you try to focus on one thing
..."

Obviously agitated, Mulder squeezed his eyes tightly shut.  "Scully,
please."

Stung, she bit her lip.  It's only been a day, she reminded herself, a
few hours really and there was a long road to haul.  "I'm sorry,
Mulder."

Now he looked at her remorsefully.  "I know I'm being a pill.  It's
just ...
my tether is kind of short these days."

"It's okay, really.  I'm just a little confused.  How long has it been
like
this?  You seemed okay until just a few days ago and then ..." Scully
paused, feeling the familiar wash of guilt.  "I just wish I knew how to
make it better."

"It didn't happen overnight."  Mulder clicked the 'mute' button.  He ran
his hands through his hair uncomfortably. "I don't know when it
happened, I guess it's been crawling up for a while now; every action,
every thought becoming harder and harder to follow through on, until I
found myself wondering how to get out of bed in the morning."  He
blew out a shaky breath. "I feel weighted down. I don't know how to
describe it.  Heavy ... stiff ... useless.  Mentally, physically ..."
 Finally,
he shrugged. "Like I told you, it's like drowning, except you can
breathe, more or less."

Scully's stomach did a painful twist at this confession.  "God,
Mulder."  She paused.  "And you still think taking the medication is a
bad idea at this point?"

"I'm not ruling anything out, but ..."  Turning pale, he looked away.  "My
brain has run on a fragile balance for years.  Not sure I'm willing to try
and tip the scales either way."

The doorbell rang with the food delivery, ending the conversation.
Scully laid out plates, one for herself and Mulder, who hauled himself
reluctantly from his chair, to pick at his wrap.  He took a couple of
bites before he pushed it away, as Scully pretended not to be
watching.  

She understood what he meant, about maintaining a fragile mental
balance in the face of the pressures that surrounded them. She'd felt
it herself during medical school, when she fell into a funk mid-first-
year, so severe, she thought her career was over before it began.

It had lifted, without the use of meds, but it had been a close call
to the
abyss, closer than Scully would feel comfortable in admitting to. But
watching Mulder struggle tore at her heart, bringing back memories
she might have rather left untouched.   She wondered if now were the
time to share with him, but chose to wait until he opened up more.  

She had to be patient, make him her focus, if she truly wanted to get
through to him.

There wasn't much talking for the rest of the evening, as Scully
stretched out on the sofa, with Mulder sitting on the floor, leaning his
head back against her waist, watching the ball game together.
Absently, she ran her fingers through his hair and he leaned back into
her touch, his mouth curved into a thin grin.  

At least this was some sort of comfort she could give.  The rest would
be up to Mulder.

^*^

She woke up in the middle of the night, painfully aware of Mulder's
harsh breathing sounding through the room.   

Immediately, she got up and tried to orient herself in the semi-gloom
of the living area.  "Mulder?"

"Scully," he panted and she squinted through the darkness to see his
face, pale in the lamplight.  "I don't think I feel so well."

Instantly, she got up and snatched her medical bag, something she'd
insisted her mother bring over with the overnight sack. Thank God
she'd thought ahead that far. "It's okay, Mulder," Scully said, her heart
pounding in her throat.  Pulling out the blood pressure cuff, she rolled
up his sleeve with one smooth motion.  "Just breathe."

"That's what it feels like I can't do."

She pumped the cuff full, then allowed a slow stream of hissing air to
escape.  "One seventy-five over one hundred.  That's a bit high.  Do
you normally have hypertension?"

"No."  He shook his head.  "I don't know what happened.  I was just
flipping the channels and all of a sudden it felt like I was falling
out of
an airplane.  It's ... it's ... awful.  I think I'm dying," he gasped,
clutching
her arm with a sweaty, shaking hand.  "God, Scully."

"You're not dying, Mulder.  I think you're having a panic attack."

He stared at her incredulously.  "A what?"

"A panic attack," she explained, tearing off the cuff.  "It's when your
body goes into the flight or fight response without appropriate stimuli.
Very disorienting.  It's a side effect of the chemical imbalance that
also causes depression."

"It's fucking horrible," he cursed uncharacteristically.  Frantically,
Mulder tried to regulate his breathing, laboring with every heavy
inhale. "Are you sure I'm not dying? I think I'm choking."

"If you're talking, you're breathing," Scully countered gently.  "I
know it
sounds ridiculous, but if you try to relax, you'll find it easier to
breathe.
And look at it this way, if you do get into trouble, you have a doctor
right next to you.  I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

This seemed to calm him and Mulder closed his eyes, forcing himself
to slow his inhales.  "I feel so stupid."

"You're not stupid, you're sick."  Gently, she rubbed his back in slow
circles.  "You're okay, Mulder.  Physically, anyway and this isn't
something that's uncommon or unusual.  Your brain is not sending the
proper signals to your body anymore and it needs to regulate itself
again."

Mulder took a deep breath, the tremors in his hands gentling.  "And to
do that, I need to take the medication."

"It's been proven to help, but it's completely up to you.  I'm not
going to
force you into anything."

Exhausted eyes met hers.  "Think you can find that bottle for me, Dr.
Scully?"

Scully smiled wanly and reached into her medical bag, pulling up a
familiar bottle.  "I think so, Agent Mulder."

^*^

^*^

The next few days settled into a rhythm of sorts, with Scully doing light
work online and keeping watch over Mulder.  He'd started taking the
medication and Scully kept quiet count of the pills when she could, but
in her heart she knew compliance would be his cross to bear, not
hers.  

He had to want to get well.  If the desire wasn't there, then there was
nothing she could do to make it happen.

The panic attacks slowly lessened, but not until after a terrible night
spent holding onto him for dear life, convincing him through touch and
words that he was going to live.  She'd hesitated before crawling into
the bed beside him, but all embarrassment disappeared when he
buried his face into her shoulder and she heard his voice, tremulous
in her ear, repeating two words ...

*"Thank you ... thank you."*

Hours passed then, spent stroking his hair and staring at the ceiling,
listening to his shaky breathing.  She'd thought that maybe he was
crying, but it was hard to tell, especially as her own eyes were
stinging and watering.  

Again she wondered what had been the breaking point for him and
Scully's anger rose to think of all those who'd been instrumental in
driving Mulder to this point.

Damn them all, she thought viciously, pulling his arm more tightly
around her waist.  She could ... she *would* be strong for them both,
for as long as she had to be.  

There was no burden too heavy, not when it involved Mulder.  

It had taken hours, but eventually they'd fallen asleep like that,
wrapped in each other's arms.  Scully noted with a bit of a blush that
she'd woken up partially draped over Mulder, her leg thrown over his
thigh and that he was already wide awake, watching her with gentle
amusement in his eyes.  

"Sorry," she mumbled, but found herself digging in more deeply
beside him.   It was too warm, too comfortable, to move.

"Don't be.  Being a human pillow has its good points."  He sighed and
Scully could feel him stiffen, the tiniest bit. "I'm sorry about last
night.  I
... I need to pull myself together."

"No, you don't."  Gently, she disentangled herself from his grasp and
sat up.  "The pieces will fall into place when the time is right.  All you
have to do is take care of yourself."

"Seems like all I've been doing is making you take care of me," he
said, frowning.  "You deserve better than wasting your time being my
babysitter, Scully."

Sternly, she grasped his chin and forced Mulder to look her square in
the eye.  "One, I'm not your babysitter.  I'm your partner and caring for
you is my job ... and my pleasure. Frankly, I'd be pretty damn unhappy
anywhere else, knowing you weren't okay."  Scully's voice lowered
and she let go of Mulder's chin, reaching around to stroke his cheek.
"This is where I belong.  Right by your side."

He gave her a watery smile.  "I'm really dead if I ever ditch you again,
aren't I?"

She nodded, before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.  "So
incredibly dead."  Ruffling his hair, she rose and padded into the
kitchen, calling out: "Eggs or cereal?  I'm leaning toward eggs; the
milk is on its last legs."

"I know how that milk feels," Mulder muttered. Scully could hear some
water being poured and a pill bottle opening. "So when do these
things take full effect?  All I can feel is a really bad case of morning
cottonmouth so far."

"A few more days," Scully said, after a quick mental calculation.
"Used to be six weeks or more, but they've refined the doses.
Although I have to say, you seem a little cheerier this morning."

Mulder made a noncommittal noise and hit the bathroom.  Scully was
pleased to hear the shower go on without a word of nagging from
herself.   She busied herself with the eggs and toast until he
appeared, freshly shaven, looking more ... alive ... than she'd seen
him in some time.

Hope filled Scully's heart, but she said nothing. She simply filled two
plates and set them down, pleased when Mulder actually took a
couple of bites.  "This is good," he noted. "For a doctor, you don't
skimp on the butter."

"That's the best part." She smiled and put another piece of toast on
his plate.  "So, what are we doing today?"

"Doing?"  Mulder paused, as if such an idea was a revelation.  He
paused before saying: "I guess we can go out for a walk.  There's a
park a few blocks away."

"Sounds great," Scully enthused, taking a sip of her orange juice.
She glanced out the tiny kitchen window, seeing a bright blue sky
without any clouds shining over the city. "If we go early, it might not be
that hot yet."  It was August and the Washington summer, as always,
was something terrible to behold -- and smart to avoid. "Although I
don't mind a little heat, seeing that we'll be just a few blocks away,"
she quickly corrected, just in case that deterred him from going
outside.  "Whatever you want to do, it's fine with me."

"There are sprinklers in this park," Mulder explained, with a welcome
twinkle in his eye. "But the dress code is white t-shirts only, so ..."

Chuckling, she threw a tiny bit of toast crust at him, which he batted
away with a smirk.  "I hope you have a clean white t-shirt, Mulder."

And for the first time in a long while, he laughed.

^*^

It was a Tuesday, so the park was relatively empty except for a few
mothers pushing their toddlers on the swings.  The sprinklers were
running in full force, but besides a half-hearted nudge toward them,
Mulder didn't force Scully beneath their scant, cold spray.

They found a shady spot beneath some of the older trees, glad to sit
and watch the shadows cross the hopscotch court.  The air was thick
with heat, but pleasant in its own way, filling Scully with a sleepy
contentment.  She said nothing when Mulder took her hand and he
returned the favor when she rested her head on his shoulder.

If there was a perfect moment in the universe, Scully thought, this
might very well be it.

"Sometimes I wonder if a normal life would have been better," Mulder
said quietly, breaking the silence.  "Ordinary desires, simple
pleasures -- a house with a lawn, a job that's nine to five and not
caring if there's anything else out there."  He paused, squeezing her
hand.  "And then I remember that you would probably hate something
like that."

"So it's all my fault?" Scully smiled, turning her face up to the sun and
enjoying the heat on her cheeks."I guess I can live with that.  But you
have to admit, you'd look awful silly mowing a lawn every Sunday."

"I'd do it shirtless.  You couldn't argue with that."

Scully cracked a single eyelid halfway open.  "Who says I'd be there
to see it?"

Mulder wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.
"Where else would you be?"

Scully snorted.  "I can think of a few dozen places. Chasing
Flukemen.  Running after aliens.  Slapping down government
conspirators, one after the other."

"You have no idea how much you're turning me on right now, do
you?" Mulder asked, playfully pinching her elbow.  

With a yelp, she pulled her arm away.  "Watch it, Mulder." A broad
grin crossed his face and Scully couldn't help matching it.  The
warmth of the sun surrounded her and she curled closer into her
partner's embrace.  She glanced up and examined his face.  He was
looking better, if still pale and when he shifted uncomfortable beside
her, she nudged him.  "Everything okay?"

He blew out a shaky breath.  "I'm getting a little tense.  These stupid
anxiety attacks always happen when I'm outside.  Got so bad I hated
leaving the house."  He rolled his eyes. "Not that staying inside was
such great shakes either."

"Then let's go home," Scully said, rising and tugging him up after her.
"We don't have to push it.  There's always tomorrow."

Following her out of the park, Mulder gave her a wry glance.  "That's
another thing I love about you, Scully.  You're such an optimist."

Amused, Scully shook her head and put an arm around Mulder's
waist, strolling back to the apartment with him.  The sky had grown a
little cloudier, but the air remained thick and sticky.  It had been a
very
good morning, the medicine was definitely making a slight headway
and Scully held out great hope for the upcoming weeks, when
Mulder's natural strength would kick back in.   

Because Mulder was strong.  And brilliant and brave, in ways that
often left Scully breathless.  And occasionally infuriated, but at this
moment, walking together, their steps in sync, she could think of
nothing she'd like more than to spend a lifetime being maddened and
fascinated by the man next to her.

This epiphany gave Scully a little start, making her blush in spite of
herself.  Shyly, she disentangled herself when they got to the stairs
and followed Mulder up to his apartment, lost in thought.

A lifetime together.  Strange, that sounded an awful lot like ...

"Oh my God," Mulder whispered as he opened the door to his
apartment.  He quickly pushed Scully back, hissing, "Do you have
your gun?"

Scully blinked stupidly for a second, then ducked down to peer into
the apartment from under Mulder's arm.  From this vantage point she
could see little, but it was enough to make her reach inside her purse
and snatch her gun out.  Mulder let her pass and Scully took a
defensive stance in the doorway, scoping the scene, weapon pointed
inside.

The apartment had been ransacked, again, this time as bad as she'd
ever seen it.  Scully's jaw dropped in shock -- they'd only been gone
for a short while, but obviously that was long enough for whoever did
this.   

She took a cautious step inside and heard glass crunching beneath
her feet.  

Mulder's couch and coffee table had both been overturned, as was
his desk.  His computer, not surprisingly had been placed carefully on
the floor, but Scully could see the back of it open and realized they
hadn't even bothered to try and copy files -- they'd removed the hard
drive in its entirety.  "Crap," she muttered, then gasped in horror when
her foot slid into a puddle of gravelly water. "Oh, no," she moaned,
looking at the empty space where Mulder's fish tank had sat.

Scanning the floor, her worst fears were confirmed.  All of Mulder's
little fish were dead, lying motionless among the wet ruins of their
placid home.

For some reason, this was too much.  She slammed her purse onto
the floor cursing. "Those sons of bitches!"  

Behind her, Mulder was sitting on his haunches, staring at the floor,
his face a mask of numb shock.  Silently, he reached out and ran his
fingers through the glass and Scully wanted to cry when he drew them
up to his face, the tips dotted with blood from the cuts.  He rose and
began furiously sifting through the rubble with his feet and fists,
kicking away furniture and Scully could do nothing, except get out of
his way.

It was terrifying, watching him lose control like this.  Like an avenging
wraith, Mulder finished the destruction for them, his handsome face
twisted into something unrecognizable.  "Is this what they want?!" he
snarled, overturning his computer monitor, cracking it. "Is it?"

Scully swallowed hard.  "Mulder ... please."

"Is it?" he cried again, slamming his fist into the wall.  There was a
*crack* and Scully prayed it was plaster, not bone.  "What do I have to
do, Scully?  You tell me!  What ... do ... they ... want?"

"They want this!" she yelled back, her heart thudding in her throat.
She fought for breath. "They want you to lose it completely.  They want
to take down your mind because that's what they are most afraid of --
not what you have, not what you discover, but what they can't
physically touch.  Your sanity is what they want to destroy, can't you
see?!"

There was a terrible pause, as Mulder stared at her, the words
sinking in.  Slowly, he shook his head.  "Then they've done a pretty
good job," he whispered, before brushing past her and heading out
the door.

"Mulder!" Scully called, running after him.  A piece of glass bit into her
foot, but she ignored it.  "Mulder!" she cried again, her voice echoing
down the hallway.

But it was too late.  He was gone.

^*^

He wasn't answering his cell phone.  

Scully resisted the urge to throw hers out the car window and kept on
driving.  She had no idea where she was going, but it calmed her
nerves to think she might run across him at some point through the
interstate wilderness, as road sign after road sign slipped past her
view.   It was getting very dark so she turned on the headlights, hoping
there might be conspirator or two she could run over and relieve her
frustrations that way.

She soothed herself with visions of punching the cigarette right out of
Cancerman's ugly mouth, when her phone rang.  "Mulder?" she
gasped into the receiver, making sure not to accidentally run her car
off the road.

"Yeah, it's me.  See I have this vague memory of you killing me
incredibly dead if I ever ditch you again, so ..."

Scully's heart slowed to a hard thump.  "That's okay, Mulder.  Just tell
me where I can meet you and I'll reduce your sentence to 'beaten
senseless'."

"I'm near Virginia Beach.  There's a motel on the water, Tofe's Inn.
Room 212."  He sounded very tired and Scully's foot pressed down
incrementally on the gas.  "Are you anywhere close?"

She glanced at an upcoming sign.  "About thirty minutes," she lied,
knowing that it would take a serious case of speeding to get there in
that amount of time, but she was already doing seventy.  What were
another twenty miles an hour or so, if she could get to him more
quickly?  "Just stay there, okay?  Promise?"

"I promise."  He sounded so contrite, it nearly broke Scully's heart.
"I'm really sorry.  For running out like that."

"Forget it," she ordered, before gentling her voice. "I'm glad you
called. Thank you, Mulder.  See you in a bit."

"I ..."  There was a pause, before Mulder finished, "See you in a bit,
Scully."

It was a small miracle she wasn't stopped for speeding, but eventually
she cruised to a respectable speed on the road dotted with signs
leading her to Tofe's Motel.  The smell of the sea filled the car and
Scully breathed in deeply of it, eschewing the air conditioning for its
salty freshness.  She glanced at her watch, it was nearly one in the
morning so she didn't bother with stopping by the motel's office upon
arrival, she simply parked her car in front of Room 212.

When Mulder answered her knock, Scully was surprised to be drawn
almost instantly into his tight embrace.  She returned it eagerly,
squeezing her eyes shut against his chest and willing herself not to
cry.  "I'm sorry," he repeated and she shook her head.

"Don't be.  There's only so much we can take sometimes," she
whispered.  She looked up with a watery smile.  "And when I go off,
you can chase me around."

Mulder drew Scully inside and closed the door behind her.  "You're
too sane for that," he argued.  With a lopsided grin, he smoothed his
knuckles down her cheek.  "But rest assured, I'd chase you anywhere.
Anywhere at all."

She glanced around the dimly lit motel room, with its threadbare
comforters and decor straight out of the seventies. "And I'll be sure to
run away somewhere a little more upscale.  You forgot your wallet,
didn't you?"

"Fussy," he snorted, but nodded.  "Yeah, I forgot most of my stuff," he
said with a wince. "Especially my pills.  I don't know what I was
thinking."

Scully reached into her pocket and pulled out Mulder's medication.
She tossed it to him with a grin. "Luckily, I think for both of us."
On an
impulse she couldn't quite name, Scully reached out for him again,
opening her arms wide, gratified when he stepped easily into her
embrace. "I'm sorry about your apartment.  I'm sorry ... God, for not
being able to predict these things.  I wish I could stop them, if only to
make them leave you alone.  I wish I could make the world a peaceful
place for you."

"You do, Scully," Mulder whispered against her hair.  He pressed his
lips to her temple.  "In so many ways, you're the only peace I know."

These words almost undid her and Scully had to hold onto him tightly
to keep from falling apart all together.  It seemed like there weren't
enough words in the world to tell him how she felt about him; how he
was her strength, how she was only alive because of his faith -- how
he made her brave in the face of things almost too terrifying to face.  

But Mulder was always better with these kind of words than she was.
She was a scientist, cursed with a scientist's reliance on pure fact,
shunting feelings aside for things that were tangible.  Visible things,
and who ever saw this thing called peace?  This thing called love?

Not for the first time, Scully regretted her own narrow view, but that's
why she was here, wasn't she?  Not only to help Mulder, but help
herself by standing by him.  He was her anchor, as unpredictable as
he was and how she wished she could explain to him how she felt, but
in some ways, she thought he might know.  

Even if he didn't, there were ways to show him, without words.

Was it wrong to reach up and stroke his hair, with intentions that were
more than friendly?   Scully had no idea, but Mulder didn't seem to
mind, leaning into her touch, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow.
He buried his face in her neck and she swayed in his arms, her lungs
gulping for air.  

It was too much; and yet it was not enough.  She felt light in his arms,
trying to figure out exactly what she was doing, but every road had
been leading up to this point, that much she knew.  But now, when he
was not well ... surely that was wrong.  Wasn't it?

It didn't feel wrong, that much she had to admit especially when his
hands moved up her back, warm against her spine and there was
electricity then, tingling darts shooting through her, racing down each
limb.  Her mouth moved wordlessly and she could feel his breath,
warm and sweet against her cheek ... her lips, and God, kissing him
was going to be so simple.

Simple, sweet and perfect.   

There was a brief touch of lips, hesitant almost, before he opened up
to her, teasing her with a press to the corner of her mouth.  She nearly
growled before pulling him down into a proper kiss.  He has a
beautiful mouth, she thought dizzily as she kissed him, shuddering as
he gasped above her.  

But part of her still wasn't sure. He's not well, a little voice in
her head
repeated and Scully wrenched away, breathing hard.  "Mulder ... I
don't know if this is the right time."

The longing look he gave her nearly broke her heart. "I can't think of
any better time, but it's up to you."

She laughed weakly.  "If it's up to me, I'm not sure you know what
you're in for."  Tearfully, she touched his cheek. "I do want you, more
than I was ever willing to admit.  With that desire is care, Mulder, I
care for you and I don't want to do anything that will make things
worse."  She paused, flushing hotly, realizing that she wasn't only
admitting something to Mulder, but to herself. "I ... I love you. I
love you
enough to wait."

A slow smile crossed his face, part bemusement, part adoration and
Scully wondered why it was getting so hard to breathe.  "And I love
you enough to want you more than life right here, right now.  Could you
trust me, Scully?"  He cupped her face between two trembling hands.
"Could you?"

Her answer was another kiss, this one no longer hesitant, but filled
with hard promise.  She could feel him shaking with anticipation and
this only made her become more leisurely, intent on enjoying every
brush and stroke against his clothed body.  Slim muscles slid
beneath worn cotton and with every inhale she could smell him, warm
skin and faint traces of sweat.  

His chin was rough with stubble, making her hiss when she rubbed
her cheek to it.  He was languid in her arms, putting up no struggle
when she backed him toward the bed, lying them down together,
pinning his hands gently over his head.  He kept them there, even
when she let go to undress, willing her shaking hands to obey and just
get off the damned t-shirt already.  

It was hard not to stare, to simply look down on him and tell him he
was beautiful, but she managed to get in another kiss, down his neck,
then down further, pushing up his shirt until she could get to the warm
expanse of tummy, muscles quivering beneath each touch of her lips.  

Already he was hard, and Scully felt him move restlessly, panting with
the exertion of doing nothing.  Smiling against his stomach, she
thought that there was no better medication than this, loving physical
contact and it was easy then to unzip him and simply go down on him,
taking him in her mouth, enjoying his warmth and salty taste against
her tongue.  

It had been a while since she'd done this, God, years maybe?  But
thinking about the man beneath her, this man she loved and cared for,
it became simple, a pleasurable experiment in figuring out what
made him crazy.  

His fingers couldn't stop combing through her hair.  Scully could hear
him chant her name, like a wild prayer and this only made it hotter,
driving her to move faster, take him in more deeply, her slippery hand
guiding him in repeatedly.  With her urging, he put his hands on the
back of her head and she moaned her approval when he fucked her
mouth with abandon, even though she could tell he was desperately
trying to hold back, perhaps out of fear, perhaps just to be a
gentleman.

This spurred her on even harder, until she heard him crying out that oh
god oh god ican't ican'tican't and she felt a pulse against her tongue.
She swallowed without hesitation, an action which made him cry out a
little, a sound which sent a jolt of sharp heat straight down between
her legs.

Breathing hard, she struggled to sit up and pull off her pants, and he
helped her, pushing his hand into her panties without preamble and
she rocked onto his fingers, eyes closed, mouth opened into a small
'o'.  Coming had never been this easy for her, not even by herself and
Scully clutched at his shoulders, nails digging.

Her orgasm was quieter, a stream of babbled nonsense. Mulder
thought it best to double his efforts and made her come again, this
time making her work for it, ordering her to say his name, to tell him
again that she loved him, to think about how much he adored her and
the second one was even more achingly wonderful than the first.

Mulder was still murmuring to her, even as she collapsed onto his
chest, her breathing ragged.  His slick fingers cupped the nape of her
neck and Scully couldn't help but laugh breathlessly.  

It was a sound of pure joy, like none she'd remembered making
before.

"So," Mulder said hoarsely, after the room turned quiet, maybe a little
too quiet.

"So," Scully replied, pulling herself up with some effort and kissing
him lightly on the mouth.  "Are you still okay with this?"

His smile was broad and very, very real.  "As long as you still respect
me in the morning."  Tenderly, he pushed a damp piece of hair away
from her forehead.  "This changes things.  For the better.  Right?"

"I want it to," Scully agreed, sinking down to rest her head against his
chest.  "I want you to be better most of all.  We can't fool ourselves
that this will cure you, Mulder.  There's still a long road ahead.  And
people who don't want us to be content.  Those things aren't going
away any time soon."

She felt him nod.  From over her shoulder she could sense the rising
of the sun, tendrils of sunlight brushing against the curtains.  It was
going to be another warm day, maybe to be spent by the water, or
maybe inside, making love again or maybe ...

It was just going to be a new and wonderful day.

^*^

The End