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.