TITLE: Legacy of the Reverend AUTHOR: Wylfcynne DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Ephemeral, Xemplary, MulderTorture, Further X-Plorations; anyone else, please ask; that way I'll know where it all goes, so I can visit. RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: post-ep Orison, MSR, MA, SA, DAL, RST SUMMARY: How do Mulder & Scully deal with the aftermath of Pfaster's return? DISCLAIMER: They aren't mine; if they were, they'd be having more fun, and I'd have more money DEDICATION: Ravenwald and the Sisters Spooky, and Frohike51; they know why. Legacy of the Reverend by Wylfcynne She walked silently out toward the parking lot. Mulder followed, unnerved by her silence, by the confession she had made. (*She believes Satan used her fear and desperation as an access window, and that she's been subverted. That's the old `the devil made me do it` defense, and that wasn't ever very convincing! Whether she believes it to be the actual truth or a metaphor, she's denying any personal responsibility for the act, and that scares the HELL out of me! She's never avoided responsibility for anything she's ever done, before...*) The incident kept replaying through his consciousness: he had been worried when he arrived at her door without being at all certain what he would say to her. He had not been sure why he was there. He had only been certain that he needed to be there. When he had discovered her door to be unlocked, he had drawn his weapon. Too much had been done to them over the course of their partnership for either of them to leave themselves so vulnerable. He had been unutterably shocked to see Donnie Pfaster standing calmly in her living room, and for those few moments he had been certain she was already dead, that he was too late. He had been about to shoot Pfaster himself, danger or not, just to avenge her. Then she had destroyed all his macho posturings by calmly walking out of the bedroom and shooting Pfaster where he stood. No warning, no chance to surrender and go back to prison had been offered. She had simply found him and shot him. Mulder shuddered, knowing all this was far from over, wishing desperately that he had shot Pfaster, instead. He stopped at the edge of the lot. "Scully?" She stopped and turned to face him. He shivered. She was totally armored, totally blank before him. "Yes, Mulder?" "Would you rather we took your car? Then you won't be stranded...?" She blinked. She understood what he was offering her: all the control that she had lacked since Pfaster had first touched her five years ago. But her answer was still utterly flat. "I don't want you messing with my mirrors, Mulder. You can bring me back here, later." "All right." He unlocked his car and put her bag in the back seat. He started the engine, and waited while she buckled her seat belt. "Where do you want to go, Scully? My place? Your mom's? A hotel?" She was sitting absolutely still, her back straight and her attention on some spot a thousand yards away through the rain-dirtied windshield. "Take me home, Mulder." "Okay." He put the car into gear and pulled out into traffic. He did not turn on the radio he did not want to hear that song again! and he had no idea what to say to her, so he kept still. In the silence, his mind rehearsed the shooting over and over, trying to reconcile the Dana Scully he knew with what she had done today. As they drove silently past the Alexandria exit, Scully turned to look at him. "You missed your exit." He glanced at her, confused. "You said you wanted to go home. I was heading for Baltimore." She did not smile, but her expression lightened, and he felt some of the tension in his spine fade. "I meant Hegal Place," she explained softly. "Take the next exit and double back." "Okay." His mind was suddenly headed for lightspeed. (*She's never referred to my apartment as home, before. What does this mean? Dammit, when I need to be telepathic, I can't do it anymore...!*) "Mulder?" He glanced at her, startled at the suddenly real tone of voice. "Yeah?" "How did you know I needed help?" He shivered. (*Here it comes...*) "You didn't need me at all, Scully. You handled it." She did not say anything to that, but her chin lifted a bit, and he knew his acknowledgment of that fact had struck home. "How did you know he was there?" she rephrased the question. "I didn't." Out of the corner of his eye, as he watched the road, he saw her frown, puzzled. "Then what were you doing there, Mulder?" (*Truth. I owe you that.*) "Because I couldn't sleep. Because that same song started playing on my clock radio, and I decided I needed to talk to you really talk. But you didn't answer your phone." "Didn't that worry you?" He shrugged, hoping he looked more casual than he felt. "Not really. You have a right not to answer your phone if you don't want to, and after the way I acted on this case, I was kind of expecting you not to answer." "After how you acted?" she repeated. "When?" "After I insulted you again by getting all protective, by not really listening to what you were saying... I have trouble believing in Satan, because that belief requires the converse belief in Jehovah, and I'm sorry, but I just can't buy into that. I know you do, and I try very hard to respect that belief. But we can't discuss the possibility of one without allowing for the possibility of the other, and then we fight. And I really hate fighting with you." There was a long moment of silence. "Mulder, I almost killed you." That came from so far out in left field that for a moment he floundered. "What are you talking about?" "Mulder." Her flat, calm tone cut right through his confusion. "What?" "I almost killed you," she repeated. "I fired on Pfaster as he turned toward me; I was squeezing off the third round before the shadow behind him resolved into a human figure you. I thought I was alone, and I could not allow him to get his hands on me again. But when I saw you standing there, looking shocked, I remembered that I had heard your voice. I just didn't care. I needed Pfaster dead." Mulder swallowed the lump in his throat. "He'd already roughed you up, Scully, and promised to kill you and..." he shuddered. "Of course you " "Mulder. You're making excuses for me that you dismissed out of hand when they were offered up on behalf of Peyton Ritter." "That's different, Scully. He " "He did exactly what I did, Mulder. I fired at a suspect without being sure of my target and the safety of others. It's only luck that you aren't dead." "Scully?" "Hmm?" "I'd've been happy to take a round if it helped you put Pfaster down." "Don't you EVER say that to me!" she shrieked. "Never! Never!" Her voice broke and she started to cry. She buried her face in her hands. Mulder pulled over into the breakdown lane and put the car into PARK. He turned in his seat and reached out to touch her. She turned on him, screaming, beating at him with her fists. He unfastened both seat belts and pulled her out of her seat and into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She only fought him for another moment. Then her tears came again and she collapsed against him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." There was no point in trying to stop her; she needed this release. Mulder held her and let her cry, murmuring, "I love you, I love you," in a soft baritone counterpoint to her hysteria. Long minutes later she was limp and silent against him. He pulled his hands off her body and cradled her face, tipping her chin up so he could look her in the eye. "Okay?" She shuddered. "No. But better." "Good." "Thank you." "De nada." The Spanish phrase was so appropriate it literally meant `for nothing` he could not resist using it. Scully could not smile, but she kissed him lightly and then retreated back to her seat. They fastened their seat belts and he eased the Taurus back into traffic. +++++ Even with the detour, it did not take him long to get home. He walked her into the building with his right hand familiarly on the small of her back. He insisted she take the bed, and got himself a couple of blankets. He settled down on the couch. "Just sleep, Scully. I'll order food when we wake up. I've turned off all the phones; both cells are in the frig." Her eyes were wide and looked bruised. "I don't think I can sleep, Mulder..." "Try. You're going to crash after that adrenaline rush. In fact, you're crashing already. Lie down. You'll sleep." He tucked her in, kissed her hair at the top of her head, and padded quietly out into the living room. +++++ Dana Scully blinked, and lowered her Sig. Donnie Pfaster was down and he was not moving in the least. (*Good. I don't want him to ever move again...*) She was marginally aware that one of her shots had gone wild and struck the light fixture on the wall, but she was still in combat mode as she approached her attacker, the 9mm Sig Sauer automatic held out in front of her trembling body. A dark figure huddled against the wall beyond Pfaster's body moved just slightly, and her weapon came up again. (*Pfaster never worked with anyone before...!*) "Federal Agent!" she snapped. "Don't move! I'm armed!" The man's head came up slowly. "Sss'ully...?" he slurred. It was Mulder. Shocked, Scully lowered her weapon. "Mulder?! What are you doing here?!" There was a long pause. "Bleeding," he finally replied. His voice was almost inaudible. Pfaster forgotten, Scully dropped to her knees beside her partner. "Mulder? What happened to you?" "...Shot...me..." he breathed. He coughed, and the pain doubled him over. Still coughing, he wilted slowly against her, slid until only his head and shoulders were cradled in her lap. Scully was frozen. Donnie Pfaster had not had a gun. The only gun being fired had been hers. (*Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us...*) She ripped open his shirt. Mulder's coughing had stopped; he was barely breathing, now. Blood trickled from his mouth, and more, from the bullet wound high in his chest, was soaking her pajamas and the carpet beneath her. His eyes were half-open, but glazed. He was no longer aware of her, or much of anything else; shock had taken the pain and most of his consciousness. He was dying. Scully was struck by an intense sensation of deja vu; a situation similar to this one had happened before, although details escaped her. The horror of Fox Mulder bleeding to death in her arms was overwhelming. "No... no... no, God, Mulder don't leave me like this! Mulder! You can't die like this! Mulder! Mulder!!" Then someone was shaking her, hard, and calling her name. She blinked back tears and focused on the face above her. "Mulder...?!" She looked down at her hands, and they were not covered with his blood. As more awareness filtered in, she realized that she was lying in his bed, in his apartment. It was a nightmare. (*It was a nightmare... Oh, thank God, thank God...*) She threw herself into his arms, and clung to him desperately, sobbing her relief into his chest, aware of little but his heart beating against her, his arms warm around her, his chin on top of her head, and his voice gentle in her ears. She could not hear what he was saying, but it did not matter. (*I didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. I killed Pfaster. I didn't kill Mulder...*) Mulder waited until he felt her relax against him, until her hysterical sobbing faded away and her breathing calmed. Then he gently pushed her far enough away that he could look down into her face. "Are you all right, now? I could hear you all the way out in the living room." Childishly, she knuckled her eyes. "I... I guess." "You were screaming my name," he pushed a little, his insatiable curiosity surfacing. "What was I doing that was making you so upset?" She shuddered. "Dying. In my arms. I'd shot you." "Been there, done that," he teased gently. "Lived through it." She shuddered, and buried her face against his chest again. "Scully? I'm sorry..." This time she pushed back, so she could look up. "Mulder, why were you at my place? How did you know?" He hugged her close again. "I didn't know," he told her again. "I just needed to see you." "I had no idea you were there, you know. I could've shot you. I nearly did." "Nah," he dismissed that with a grin. "I ducked. You missed me by at least a foot." Despite herself, she chuckled. "Attagirl. Want something to drink?" She shook her head. "No, I'm all right, now," she spoke very softly. "Thank you." "You're sure?" "Yes, Mulder. I'm sure." "Okay." He hugged her one last time, and then stood up. "Go back to sleep. It's late." She dragged her eyes up; he was wearing a gray tee shirt and a familiar pair of dark plaid flannel boxers. She focused on his face, and not his body, and smiled at him again. "Thank you, Mulder." He smiled at her and left the room, padding silently across the hardwood floor in bare feet. Scully was still smiling as she nestled down into the bed again. He had given her his bed, and retreated to his couch. At first she had not believed he actually used the bed after that nightmarish Monday morning a few months ago, but this pillow and these sheets smelled like him. She rubbed her face in the pillow and settled down to sleep again, comfortable, warm, and happy. +++++ Dana Scully blinked, and lowered her Sig. Donnie Pfaster was down and he was not moving in the least. (*Good. I don't want him to ever move again...*) She was marginally aware that one of her shots had gone wild and struck the light fixture on the wall, but she was still in combat mode as she approached her attacker, the 9mm Sig Sauer automatic held out in front of her trembling body. A dark figure huddled against the wall beyond Pfaster's body moved just slightly, and her weapon came up again. (*Pfaster never worked with anyone before...!*) "Federal Agent!" she snapped. "Don't move! I'm armed!" The man's head came up slowly. "Scully...?" he panted. It was Mulder. Shocked, Scully lowered her weapon. "Mulder?! What are you doing here?!" There was a long pause. "Bleeding," he finally replied. His voice was almost inaudible. Pfaster forgotten, Scully dropped to her knees beside her partner. "Mulder? What happened to you?" "...You... you... shot...me...!" he breathed. He coughed, and the pain doubled him over. Still coughing, he wilted slowly to lean against the wall. His left arm cradled his right against his body, and his upper right arm was soaked with blood. Scully froze, horrified. Donnie Pfaster had not had a gun. The only gun being fired had been hers. (*Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us...*) She dropped to kneel beside him, reached for him to rip open his shirt. He flinched back. "Thanks, you've done enough to me, tonight..." She stared at him. "Mulder, you're bleeding " "No shit. Who's fault is that?" Scully was totally taken aback. This was an attitude she had never seen from him before. "Mulder, I'm a doctor: let me do something about this..." He backed farther away. "Don't touch me. The PD and EMS are right behind me. I'll be fine." "Mulder..." That was almost a whimper. He lifted his head; anger was warring with the pain that showed in the hazel depths of his eyes. "I came here to save your pert little butt from this crazy, since you couldn't be bothered to answer your goddamned phone, and this is the thanks I get! A bullet, a broken arm, three months of limited duty, thank you very much, Agent Doctor Scully!" She could only stare at him. He had never been so unreasonable before... (*But I shot him... This doesn't make sense; I've shot him before, on purpose! He forgave me instantly. It was never even mentioned.*) "Mulder, are you hurt anywhere else? Did you hit your head when you fell...?" "No, and I don't need a concussion to realize that before I met you, I hadn't been in the hospital since I broke my arm playing basketball against the Secret Service. I've had it. This is it. I'm transferring you out. As soon as I can fucking write, again " His voice dropped to angry muttering. "At least when I'm working alone I don't have to worry about friendly fire..." "Mulder...?" That was a whimper. "Leave me alone!" She cringed back, and felt tears running down her face. "Mulder...? Why are you being like this...?" He stared at her. "You fucking shot me! How the hell do you think I should take it?!" "It was an accident! I didn't know you were there!" "I made enough noise! I was reading him his fucking Miranda!" "It was an accident, I swear it. I didn't know you were there..." He turned his back on her, and she dissolved into tears. Everything was ruined, and it was all her fault... She buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Then someone was shaking her, hard, and calling her name. She blinked back tears and focused on the face above her. "Mulder...?!" She looked down at his arm, and there was no blood. As more awareness filtered in, she realized that she was lying in his bed, in his apartment. It was a nightmare. (*It was a nightmare... Oh, thank God, thank God...*) She threw herself into his arms, and clung to him desperately, sobbing her relief into his chest, aware of little but his heart beating against her, his arms warm around her, his chin on top of her head, and his voice gentle in her ears. She could not hear what he was saying, but it did not matter. (*I didn't shoot him. I didn't shoot him. I killed Pfaster, but Mulder doesn't hate me...*) Mulder waited until he felt her relax against him, until her hysterical sobbing faded away and her breathing calmed. Then he gently pushed her far enough away that he could look down into her face. "Are you all right, now?" She brushed away the tears with the palms of her hands. "I... I guess." "You were sobbing like your heart was broken, but the only word I could make out was my name," he led up to the inevitable question. "What was I doing that was upsetting you so?" She shuddered. "I'd shot you." "I have this overwhelming sensation of deja vu," he teased gently. She shuddered, and buried her face against his chest again. "Scully? I'm sorry..." She did not look up, and when she spoke, her voice was muffled against his chest. "I'd shot you, by accident, but you hated me for it, and you said you were going to transfer me out." He stroked her back gently as he held her against his chest. "It'd take more than that to get rid of you. You're like a bad penny, Scully. You keep turning up." She was still crying, but she was calming down. "And I would never, ever send you away," he whispered intensely, both his hands smoothing her hair down. "Not even to save my own life." She had no idea how to react to that, but it felt good to hear. She had always suspected that he felt that way, but it was wonderfully reassuring to actually hear him say the words out loud. She felt the horrible desolation of the nightmare fading away. "Thank you, Mulder..." she whispered, hugging him, her arms around his body, her face still buried against his chest. "Thank you for staying with me..." "Always, Scully... always..." he whispered in reply. "You're my one in six billion..." He held her until he was sure she had fallen asleep, slumped against him, nestled in his arms. Then he laid her back down in the bed, tucked her in, and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Scully. Sweet dreams, this time..." +++++ Dana Scully blinked, and lowered her Sig. Donnie Pfaster was down and he was not moving in the least. (*Good. I don't want him to ever move again...*) She was marginally aware that one of her shots had gone wild and struck the light fixture on the wall, but she was still in combat mode as she approached her attacker, the 9mm Sig Sauer automatic held out in front of her trembling body. Another form lay sprawled near the wall beyond Pfaster's body. Her weapon came up again. (*Pfaster never worked with anyone before...!*) "Federal Agent!" she snapped. "Don't move! I'm armed!" The second figure did not move in the least, and she approached warily. After three steps she could see his face. It was Mulder. Shocked, Scully lowered her weapon. "Mulder?! What are you doing here?!" There was no answer, no movement. Pfaster forgotten, Scully dropped to her knees beside her partner. "Mulder? What happened to you?" There was no motion whatsoever. "Mulder...?" A horrible fear began to grow in her heart. "Mulder...?" He was sprawled on the floor like a rag doll, and that total laxity of muscle tone was terrifying to the pathologist in the back of her mind. The smell of blood was overpowering, but her vision was playing tricks on her, and she could not see any colors, anywhere. There was a smear of something on the side of his head, partly in his hair. Without her consciously willing it, her right hand went underneath his head. She felt wetness, softness, the jab of a sharp bit of bone... She pulled her hand away and stared at it, frozen with shock, as her color vision slammed back into use, and the blazing scarlet of fresh blood, marred with the unique lumpy softness of ruined brain matter, coated her hand. Mulder was dead. He had taken a bullet to the temple and the bullet had, upon exiting, had taken about a third of his upper skull out with it, splattering the floor and the wall with that beautiful mind and with the blood that nourished it... (*He's dead. A bullet killed him.*) And her gun was the only one in the place. +++++ He was prepared for it, this time. The scream that ripped its way out of his bedroom sounded like an air raid siren. Mulder was off the couch like a track star off the blocks, and he was in the bedroom in moments. "Scully? Scully!" She was curled up in a fetal ball, the blankets tangled around her, her arms clamped tightly around her head. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, and she was still screaming, screaming until her voice broke and she gasped for breath, then screaming again. The screams were throat-tearing, so loud he could hardly think. He climbed up onto the bed and scooped her up to hug. She was rigid, still screaming. "Scully! Scully! Wake up!" He shook her hard once. She choked, gasped, swallowed, and went limp against him. He was still worried; she was still shuddering, and she was practically hyperventilating. "Scully, take it easy. Whatever it was, it was just a dream... It was just a dream, Scully... sshhh..." Slowly, gradually, she relaxed into normal sobs. Mulder just held her, his hands gently stroking her back, his arms holding her snugly against his body. He reached out one long arm and caught hold of the box of tissues on the nightstand. He put the box within her reach, and she let go of him to pull a handful out. She blotted her eyes and blew her nose, then tossed the used tissues toward the wastebasket. She did not sit up away from him, but continued to lean against him like a tired child. "Was I dead again?" he asked quietly. She nodded, and pushed closer. "Head shot. Brain splatter." Her voice was harsh, hurt by the force of her screams. He tightened his hold on her. "I've been shot in the head, Scully. I'm still here." "I'm a better shot than any Consortium flunky," she growled. "I'm sure. Scully, look at me." Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. "I'm here," he said distinctly. "Why do you keep dreaming me dead?" She shuddered. "I came close to shooting you tonight, Mulder." "Close is only significant in horseshoes, high explosives and sex," he smiled at her. "I'm okay, and you're okay. That's how we wanted it to come out." She shuddered, and hid her face against his chest again. "But I murdered him, Mulder. You had him, the crisis was over. I shot an unarmed suspect." "Scully..." He took a deep breath. "When did you first see me?" She shivered and huddled into his hold, made no attempt to answer him. "Did you hear me talking?" "When?" "When I kicked in your door and threw down on Pfaster." Scully shook her head and pushed deeper into his embrace. "What had he already done?" Mulder asked diffidently. She told him in a few short sentences. "You were so focused on saving yourself that you never knew I was there, did you?" he challenged carefully. "I... I..." "Scully, you're the toughest agent I've ever known, but you're still a foot shorter than Pfaster and half his weight. In a physical altercation without weapons, size and strength win. You needed the advantage of your weapon, and he was stupid enough to give you a chance to reach it. You're alive, and he's dead. That's the happy ending I wanted, anyway." "I murdered an unarmed suspect." "He had a knife and had voiced his intention to mutilate and kill you. And he wasn't a suspect, Scully. He was a convicted murderer who had escaped from maximum security. He wasn't likely to be taken alive, no matter what the circumstances, and you know it. Every uniform out there has a wife or a mother, a sister or a girlfriend that he could imagine in Pfaster's clutches." "But I killed him, Mulder!" "Are you upset because he's dead or because you were the actor?" She started to cry, again, and he hugged her, rocking her. "You aren't an evil person, Scully. And I don't think ending Donnie Pfaster's earthly career is any kind of a sin. Now he can't add to his sins, right? And he can't hurt anyone else. He wasn't curable by any means known, Scully. He was wired wrong from the beginning. Did you plan on him being dead? Did you lure him here so you could kill him?" "I couldn't do that...!" "See?" He pushed her back so he could study her expression. "You aren't a murderer, Scully." He decided she was not buying his argument. He tried another tack. "You've killed before, Scully. Why is this one tearing you up?" "I... I don't know," she admitted in a small, uncertain voice. "You killed Linda Bowman just the same way," he pointed out. "The only difference was she was trying to kill me. Why is it okay for you to kill to protect me, but a heinous sin to kill to protect yourself?" "I don't know." "It's not different, Scully. You're alive, and you deserve to try to survive. He was fighting back, and he had every advantage. Think of it as evolution in action." That startled her. "What?!" He shrugged, and smiled down at her. "You were fighting for your life. So was he. You won. Natural selection at work: the smarter, more fit individual survived." She choked, coughed, and started to laugh. Mulder waited for several heartbeats, afraid it would turn to hysteria. But it did not: she was really laughing. In moments she was limp against his chest, still laughing. "God, Mulder, how do you always know what to say?" "Interpersonal Communications 603," he grinned back. "Defining the right thing to say and identifying the right time to say it. I got an A." "And you retained the details all this time?" He was delighted to hear her banter-voice again. "Useful skills get used frequently. I got to stay in practice." She relaxed against his chest, and slid her arms around him again with a sigh. He relished that contact, then sighed himself. "C'mon, Scully. Go back to sleep. You're exhausted, I'm exhausted... this will all make a lot more sense after we get some sleep." He started to push her away, to lay her back against the pillows. But this time she refused to let go of him. "Stay here with me, Mulder." He froze. "What?" "It's your bed. And if you're here, maybe I won't dream about...about that, again." Wary that he might be reading too much into her invitation, he moved slowly. He tucked her in, and started to lay down on top of the blankets. "Mulder, don't be obtuse." "Scully, you are stressing my gentlemanly sensibilities, here." "I promise not to be offended," she growled. "Get in here--I need to TOUCH you!" "It's always nice to be needed..." He lay down on his half of the bed, leaving a polite distance between them. Scully growled again. "Mulderrr..." He shifted onto his left side, facing her, and tucked his left arm under his pillow. "Scully, what do you want from me?" She froze, then started to back away. "I'm sorry..." He reached for her hand. "Stop. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be harassing you." His thumb was rubbing the back of her hand very slowly. "Tell me what you want." Suddenly shy, she looked away, avoiding his eyes. "I... I want you to let me call you Fox." He blinked, startled at the abrupt shift of topic. "What? Why?" he asked, completely confused. "Because everyone you've ever loved calls you Fox. But you won't let me." He was dumfounded, and his first reaction was to temporize and cover. "Scully, your mom calls me Fox. So did Melissa. I think she did it because she knew it annoyed me." "Your family calls you Fox. Agent Purdue did. So did Agents Patterson and Fowley. People you cared about. But you won't let me." He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed a prayer to a deity of whose existence he was unsure that he would not ruin this moment by saying the wrong thing. "Scully, when I asked you not to use my first name, we were barely partners. We weren't even friends, yet. We were just co-workers, and I was your supervisor and field operations trainer." "And you thought I was a spy," she smiled faintly. "Yeah, I did," he returned the smile. A little more confident, he went on. "I was trying to maintain a professional distance, Scully. It was already becoming difficult, but it was one way to keep you at arm's-length. The last thing I wanted was to fall in love with the prettiest spy I'd ever seen." Her expression flattened out, as it always did when she was subjected to what she perceived as empty, insincere compliments. "Scully, note the consistent use of the past tense in the preceding paragraphs." She cocked her head to one side. "Noted." He took a deep breath. "Scully, you're the only person of whom I've made that request who has respected my wishes from that point on. The. Only. Person. In my entire life. And over the years, you're the one I would have been most pleased to forgive that nominal disrespect." "Names are identities..." she said very softly. "I couldn't do that without your permission." "And I couldn't offer that permission out of the clear blue sky, Scully. You know that." She nodded minutely; she did understand. "I just asked for permission. What's your answer?" His hand abandoned hers and moved to cup the side of her face; his thumb stroked her cheek. "Call me whatever you like," he spoke very quietly, his voice a full register lower than usual. She studied his face for a long moment, until he nervously decided she was judging his sincerity. He saw her inhale, saw her mouth open, and had time for a moment of utterly gut-freezing terror before the words emerged. "Fox," she breathed. "MY Fox." The possessive was a shock, and he could only stare at her. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his mouth had gone dry. His hand had frozen on her face. She laid her palm on top of his hand to hold it in place. Eyes locked on his, she rubbed her chin against his hand. "Mine," she whispered as she moved toward him. Still frozen with shock, he nearly flinched from the touch of her lips on his. Then his hand slipped back to cup the back of her skull and hold her still. His other arm snaked out from under the pillow, slid along the mattress, wrapped itself around her body, and pulled her tightly against him. Her mouth opened under his and he plunged inside, warm to the soul for the first time in years he could not recall. And the heat they generated together burned away the last of their fear.