Fox Mulder was self-aware enough to know he was approaching critical mass. He managed to bite back his sob and blink away the tears that threatened to fall. Shifting his weight onto one hip, he dug in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a handkerchief. Dabbing gently, he wiped the dried blood from the photograph and tucked it, along with the soiled square of linen, into his jacket pocket. And then he sat back and waited.
        He heard the sudden sound of laughter coming from Scully's room; muffled by the door separating them. A tiny smile crossed his face and faded away. It didn't even occur to him to join the celebration. This was Scully's time with her family. Even Skinner's presence there seemed more appropriate than his own.
        He'd slipped out of Scully's room a few hours earlier, just after Dr. Zuckerman had come in and pronounced her cancer as having gone into remission. Scully's eyes had found his as she'd been hugged tightly by Margaret Scully. They'd been bright with tears as she'd lifted one hand from her mother's back and held it out to him, open and beseeching.
        He'd somehow made it to her side without stumbling and falling on his face and had clasped her hand tightly in his. His heart had felt huge in his chest, its expansion threatening his ability to breathe. He'd held his legs stiffly at attention, terrified they'd give out at any moment. He knew he must have said something to her, expressed his joy, but he couldn't remember the words. He'd been overwhelmed with relief and the power of it had terrified him. It had been easy in the ensuing chaos to mumble an excuse to leave for awhile. To utter a promise to come back later. Scully had grudgingly let him go, her eyes holding him to his pledge.
        He hadn't gone far. A trip to the mostly deserted hospital cafeteria for a much-needed shot of caffeine had been the extent of his wanderings. He'd soon found himself back outside her room, shedding his suit jacket and tie and sipping the atrocious brew that claimed to be coffee.
        And now he sat perfectly still, his eyes focused on the tiled floor beneath his feet, his mind slipping and sliding like an out of control car on icy pavement. Mulder was thoroughly exhausted, wrung out, but his brain wouldn't shut down. There was too much to process, to puzzle over, to try to understand.
        The door to Scully's room swung open and Skinner stepped out. Mulder glanced up at him and was amused by the lingering smile on the Assistant Director's face. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Skinner do that. Well, he supposed if anyone could cause the stern facade to crack, it would be Scully.
        And then he got another surprise when Skinner reached out and briefly squeezed his shoulder. "You should go home and get some rest. It's been a long day for all of us."
        Mulder rubbed his forehead with a shaky hand. Whether it was caused by the caffeine kicking in, exhaustion, or something else entirely, he wasn't sure. The only thing Mulder knew with any certainty was his need to stay as still as possible. Any more abrupt movement and he was sure he'd shatter into a million pieces. They'd be picking up the remains for days to come. "Yeah, yeah I know. I'll head home soon." He didn't mean it, but he said it anyway.
        "And I don't want to see you at the Bureau for at least a week, Agent Mulder. Is that clear?"
        Mulder looked up at him with a puzzled expression. "Sir?"
        "Take some time, let things settle down a bit." There was a long pause. And then, "Spend some time with Scully. Let yourself enjoy this victory, Mulder. It may be awhile before the next one comes along."
        Mulder chuckled low in his throat. "Is that an order?"
        "Does it have to be?"
        He shook his head. "No. No, it doesn't. Thank you, sir."
        Skinner nodded his acknowledgment and walked away.
        It was only a few minutes later when Scully's mom and brother came out, accompanied by Dr. Zuckerman. He forced himself to his feet as they thanked Zuckerman one more time and said their good-nights. From the corner of his eye Mulder could see Bill Scully studying him and steadfastly ignored the man. He didn't figure there was much more to say. Brother Bill had stated in no uncertain terms exactly what he thought of him. Mulder didn't have the energy or the inclination to try to redeem himself. Not tonight anyway.
        Just let me get to Scully, he silently pleaded. Then it'll be okay.     His need was instinctual and unquestioned.
        "Fox?"
        He pushed away some of the fog crowding his brain and lifted his eyes to Margaret Scully's. Hers were warm with concern and Mulder felt himself begin to shatter. He realized in a vague sort of way that it was probably a good thing she reached out and pulled him into her embrace at that very moment. It was the only thing keeping him from flying apart.
        "Thank you for being here for Dana," she murmured as she released him and stepped away.
        Mulder didn't know for which he was most grateful: what she'd said or what she hadn't. He couldn't seem to make the words to respond to her. He was relieved to see she didn't expect him to.
        "Will I see you later?" she asked, and seemed satisfied by his slight nod.
        And then he happened to glance over and see the hand stuck out in his direction. Mulder swallowed back his amazement when he realized it was attached to Bill. He glanced up at the man's face and back down at his hand before he thought to lift his arm and take it.
        Just goes to show how wiped out I am, Mulder realized. I actually have to tell my body what to do. Habit had been numbed by inertia.
        And then he kept his face blank as his hand was nearly crushed in Bill Scully's grasp. Somehow it didn't surprise him. Feel better now? Mulder wondered.
        He waited until the Scullys had walked all the way down the corridor and disappeared around the corner before he grabbed his jacket and stepped into Scully's room.
        The overhead lights had been extinguished, leaving only the soft light on the wall above Scully's bed. She was leaning back against the pillows, her face turned away. He thought she might be asleep and he softly called out her name.
        No, not asleep. Her head swung around and he was greeted with a smile. "Mulder. You're still here."
        He took another step into the room and stopped. A small part of his brain got busy trying to figure out what it was about Scully that calmed him. Simply walking into her room had settled and centered him. He could feel the threat of shattering begin to reverse itself, his pieces coming back together to make a whole. Scully was his glue.
        "I told you I'd be back," he reminded her.
        She sat up a little and absently adjusted her hospital gown. "Come here," she urged him.
        His feet obeyed instantly, bringing him closer even as his words gave away his hesitation. "It's getting late, Scully. I just wanted to say good-night."
        Her look told him she wasn't fooled in the least bit by his polite hedging. "I'm not tired, Mulder, and you're not ready to go." She patted the edge of the bed. "C'mere," she repeated. "Come sit with me for awhile."
        He felt like a leaf in a whirlwind. Unable to control the upward flight of his soul. Powerless to resist her pull. Why do I even try? he asked himself. I never stood a chance. He settled on the edge of the bed and took the hand she offered him.
        "I'm sorry it got so crazy earlier," she said. "We didn't really get a chance to--"
        "Don't worry about, Scully. It doesn't...it doesn't matter."
        She started to respond, but seeing something in his face, stopped. He took advantage of her silence and allowed himself a long time to simply look at her, and let himself be looked at. Her gentle study of him was a soothing balm to his blistered soul.
        "So when are they springing you from here?"
        "Dr. Zuckerman wants to run a few more tests later this morning, but I should be able to go home this afternoon or early tonight."
        "Good."
        A quiet fell over them, charged with an element that hadn't been there before. To Mulder it felt like a calling out. And a calm, attentive listening. A need to express things that hadn't been said before, to hear them said aloud. Yet the sensation rendered him mute.
        Scully seemed to feel it too. She grasped his hand tighter. He bowed his head, unable to meet her eyes. It was a long time before she spoke again, breaking the fragile silence. Even then, she approached their need in a roundabout way.
        "You've told me about Blevins and what happened at the review," she said. "But there's more, isn't there? Something you haven't told me."
        "It doesn't--"
        "Don't tell me it doesn't matter, Mulder. What's happened?"
        He blinked back sudden tears and felt his face begin to crumple. He gulped down a deep breath and somehow found the strength he needed to get through the telling of this part of the story. "I, um, I saw my sister last night, Scully. I sat in a diner drinking coffee and talking to my sister. Weird, huh?"
        She didn't even try to disguise her shock. "Mulder." She shook her head as though to clear it. "How?"
        He studied their entwined fingers and then moved his free hand to cup them. His thumb traced tiny circles on the back of Scully's hand. "The deal I mentioned this morning; the one I said I wasn't gonna take?"
        "Yeah."
        "It was offered by the smoking man. He wanted me to quit the Bureau and come to work for him. He brought Samantha to me as an enticement." He glanced up at Scully and saw the unspoken question in her eyes. "It was her, Scully, I'm almost positive. No clone this time."
        He watched as she looked aside. He let his eyes move over the smooth planes of her face, drinking in the simple beauty of skin and bone. She visibly swallowed down the lump in her throat and turned back to him. "Did you talk about....?"
        Mulder nodded tersely. "Yeah. She doesn't remember what happened that night--not really. I guess she spent some time in a foster home until...." Mulder's mouth pulled tight. He wondered if he could actually make himself say the words aloud. But Scully was here and he was already too far gone to stop and he had to tell her before something really awful happened to him.
        I'm toxic, he realized with dull clarity. I'm poisoning myself with this deadly mixture of joy and sorrow. I'm burning in heaven. I'm burning in hell. I can't tell the difference anymore.
        He opened his mouth and just let it spill out in stops and starts, the words choking him at the same time they freed him. "She... Scully, she called that man her father. She remembered me...but she didn't really want to see me. He raised her, Scully. He knew where she was the whole time. Twenty-three years," he sobbed quietly and then shoved it down with brutal determination. "I've spent almost my entire life not knowing and she was probably close enough to touch the whole time. It's ironic, huh?"
        Scully had pushed herself farther up from the pillows behind her, slowly closing the distance between them. Her free hand settled on his forearm, her fingers curling around it as her grip on his hand remained strong.
        "She, um, she's got family. Kids." He pushed a ragged breath out from between pursed lips and glanced up at Scully. Her image blurred and ran as his tears welled up tears and broke free. "She's got a life, Scully. And I...I think she's happy. I have to believe she is."
        Scully whispered his name, a low crooning, and he let her pull him into her arms. His snaked around her and he cradled his head on her shoulder. His tears fell silent and hot, soaking into the soft cotton of her gown.
        Over a matter of seconds that stretched into an eternity, Mulder became aware of the tactile information his brain was receiving from his hands. His fingers spread as his palms pushed flat against her. He could feel every one of Scully's ribs, separate and distinct. He was suddenly achingly aware of how very fragile she'd had become over the last several months. How the cancer had leeched the life from her--second by second, minute by minute. All as he'd stood helplessly by; absorbed by his guilt and consumed by a need to chase an eight-year-old girl who didn't exist anymore, and hadn't for a very long time.
        How anticlimactic, he thought. That the search for my sister should end in a greasy spoon in the middle of Washington-fucking-DC.
        And yet here was Scully, right where she'd always been. And, he hoped, where she wanted to be. What had been wrong with him that he could see a dream shimmering just beyond his reach but not the reality right in front of him?
        Scully was here, and would be for a very long time to come. He was certain of that, had faith in it. At the very last moment something-- an answered prayer, a necessary drug, a tiny metal chip; he didn't know and didn't care--had snatched her from the reaper's grasp.
        Mulder's head echoed with Cancer Man's words of three years ago: *I like you, I like her, too. That's why she was returned to you.*
        ...returnedtomereturnedtomereturnedtome...
        It was a litany, a sweet song that managed to drown out the grief for the part of himself he'd lost over the last few days. He didn't have to ask himself if it was worth it. The answer was Scully cradled in his arms; alive, healthy.
        He grudgingly forced himself to pull away and swiped at his eyes. "There's something else I haven't told you, Scully."
        She surreptitiously dabbed at her own eyes and lifted them to his. "What?"
        "Well," he said, shifting a little on the bed. "It seems that imitation may indeed be the sincerest form of flattery."
        "What do you mean?" Her brow creased and Mulder unwittingly reached out and smoothed the lines with the tip of his finger. He didn't  give much thought to the familiarity of the way he'd touched her lately. Or the way she'd allowed and even returned it. It simply was. Just another milestone passed without conscious recognition.
        "According to Skinner, our smoking friend is dead." Off her surprised look he added, "The thing is, they didn't find a body. Just blood. A lot of it."
        "You think he's still alive." It wasn't so much a question as a statement.
        Mulder nodded. "I don't know if this will make any sense or not, Scully, but I think I'd know if he were dead. I think I'd feel it somehow."
        Her eyes came level with his and she spent a good long time studying him. She finally looked aside and Mulder could see her doing that amazing, unique Scully thing she did when she was thinking really hard. Her face went lax and her eyes became distant. He loved to watch Scully go at things full-bore with that astonishing mind of hers.
        She finally looked back at him. "What do you think it means, Mulder? I mean, if he--or someone else--*has* faked his death?"
        Suddenly Mulder couldn't find it in him to care, and his shoulders slumped even more as he bowed his head. The time would come to ponder what impact the events of the last few days would have on them. But not now.
        I don't want to think about death and conspiracies and shadow organizations, he thought. I don't even want to think about a grown-up woman who thinks she's my sister, and may very well be. He began to slowly shake his head.
        "Mulder?"
        He raised his head and meet her eyes squarely. "Y'know, Scully, I really don't care." There was no response and Mulder didn't know if he could take her silence as an invitation to go on, but he took the chance anyway. "The only thing that matters is you. The rest of it...." He trailed off and made a dismissive face. "It doesn't matter to me right now."
        Her eyes skittered away from his and focused somewhere at the end of the bed, slightly downcast. "I'm going to be okay," she told him quietly.
        He lifted his hand from hers. With the tips of his fingers on her jaw, he gently turned her face to his. "I know that, Scully. And that's why the rest of it doesn't matter." He topped off his words with a shy, exploratory smile. His heart soared when she returned it.
        Mulder's fingers left the line of her jaw to tuck a stray lock of copper hair behind her ear. He lingered there for another long moment before slowly pulling away.
        "We're starting over from scratch," he told her softly. "Everything is changing for us. The work and its focus. The answers we need to pursue now." He caught her eye and waited, seeking out her silent permission. Can I say it? he inwardly asked. Mulder felt a great weight lifting from him when he received her answer. It was simple and small: a tiny tilt of her head. "And you and me. That's changing, too, Scully. Nothing is the same. It can't be. Not now."
        She went very quiet. And very still. Scully was an expert at stillness. It was a long time before she looked away and dipped her head. Her hair fell to form a silky curtain across her face. He gladly gave her the momentary privacy she sought. After more than four years together, Mulder was still learning when to push and when to keep quiet. But this time it was easy. This time he felt in his bones.
        She finally looked up at him and her face was suffused with a look he recognized as determination mingled with faith. "Mulder, I'm going to need some time. I think we both do." She glanced away and he watched as she took a deep breath before looking back at him. "But you're right," she admitted. "We can't go back to the way it used to be. I don't quite know what that means for us, but I'm willing to find out, if you are."
        Mulder flashed her his best toothy grin, knowing he probably looked goofier than hell, but not caring. "I'm always willing, Scully. You should know that by now. And time," he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her forehead before drawing away. "Is something we have an abundance of."
        She studied him with her gentle blue eyes and then broke out in her own grin. "We do, don't we? I think I'm still a little dazed by everything that's happened today. I guess it hasn't sunk in yet--that I'm in remission."
        Mulder could feel his answering smile tremble a little at her simple declaration. Everything in him was so close to the surface right now. Tears and smiles, regrets and victories. He swung from one extreme to the other. He felt like he was on a wildly exciting and vaguely dangerous carnival ride.
        We really won this time, he realized anew. Chalk one up for the good guys. We deserve a ticker-tape parade, he thought giddily. A marching band. At least a glass of champagne and a toast.
        "Hey, Scully," he burst out. "You think you can manage to stay awake for another hour or so?"
        She looked at him quizzically as he got up from the bed and began to back towards the door. "I...I suppose. Why?"
        Now that he'd decided, Mulder couldn't wait to get out the door. "A surprise. I'll be back. You stay right here."
        She shot him an amused look. "I don't think I'm going anywhere, Mulder."
        "Yeah," he chuckled, mildly embarrassed. "Right. I guess not. Yeah. Okay. I'll be right back."

        *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

        Right back turned into almost an hour and a half. Mulder was frantic by the time he got back to the hospital. An all-night grocery store had yielded up most of what he'd needed. Then a quick trip to Scully's had led him to believe it was all under control. It was only as he was back on the road that he realized he'd forgotten something vitally important. Back to the grocery store he'd gone, thanking the fates it was a mega-store stocking portable stereos right alongside the salad dressing. He even remember to buy batteries for that all-important sneak preview in the car on the way back to Trinity Hospital. A quick scan of all the tracks on the CD he'd taken from Scully's apartment left him feeling confident--and as emotional as a pre-menstrual woman. Okay, not the most politically correct way of thinking, he admitted to himself, but an accurate one.
        He breathed a sigh of relief when he pushed open Scully's door and found her wide-awake and sitting in a chair beside the window. The blinds were open and she sat staring up at a surprisingly starry sky. She swung her head around as he came in and started to rise, murmuring, "My God, Mulder, it looks like you're moving in."
        "Sit, sit," he insisted, "I got it." He tossed an armload of  packages onto the bed and, one by one, lifted the items from the bags and held them up for Scully's approval.
        A bottle of respectable champagne and two plastic fluted glasses. A box of Triscuts and a tiny glass jar of caviar. Four candles of miscellaneous sizes, shapes and smells. A small round of smoked gouda. A half-pint of rare, bright red raspberries. An open bag of sunflower seeds. An unopened one of M&Ms. A bag of plastic cutlery. And the boom box; CD still inside the cradle.
        Aware of Scully's unspoken amusement, Mulder plugged it in with much flourish. Placing the candles in strategic positions throughout the small hospital room, he began to light them with a pack of matches retrieved from his coat pocket.
        "I thought we should have a celebration, Scully," he told her as he lit the final candle and moved to the bed to extinguish the last of the artificial lighting. "Yeah," he murmured to himself as he turned back to her. "There we go." The meager candlelight danced upon the sterile white walls, moving and shifting, filling the room with an illumination that seemed almost alive.
        "How 'bout a toast?" he asked. Scully rose from her chair and joined him as he wrestled with the cork on the champagne bottle.
        "Let's hope we don't set off any alarms with the candles," she joked. And then the cork came free with a loud pop and a spray of carbonated liquid. Mulder looked around wildly for a second, though he couldn't say what he was looking for. Finally instinct took over and he brought the bottle to his mouth to catch the last of the geyser. Scully's quiet laughter rang sweetly in his ears.
        He swallowed down the champagne and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced over at Scully and tried to look contrite. "Oops," he said.
        "That's my Mulder," Scully remarked. "The epitome of refinement."
        "You gonna make fun of me, Scully, or would you rather make a toast?"
        "Why can't I do both?"
        Their eyes met and held. The teasing twinkle in Scully's eyes softened and became something else. Something vibrant and beautiful. Something very much like the woman herself.
        And it didn't matter to him a lick that Scully was dressed in a highly unflattering hospital gown and her fuzzy white robe. The deep circles that hung under her eyes didn't matter either. Neither did her oh-so-pale complexion. She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever set eyes on.
        He ducked his head self-consciously and blindly reached for the champagne glasses. He managed to pour them both a glass without making a further fool of himself, and set the bottle down on the ubiquitous wheeled hospital tray.
        "So," he asked, turning back to her. "What are we drinking to, Agent Scully?"
        Her face screwed up as she considered the possibilities. Finally deciding, she lifted her glass. "To the future, Agent Mulder."
        He smiled and tipped his glass against hers. "To the future."
        They each took a small sip of champagne. Scully lowered the glass from her lips and looked around, her gaze stopping momentarily on each candle before settling on their late-night snack.
        Mulder dipped his head to catch her eye. "So, is my impromptu celebration too much? Or not enough?"
        She took another sip from the glass, peering up at him through her lashes. He watched spellbound as she licked a drop of champagne from her bottom lip. "Mulder," she announced quietly, "it's perfect."
        "No, it's not. Not yet."
        He took her glass from her unresisting hand and set it down. His came to rest next to it. He turned to the CD player and selected the track he'd decided on in the car. Hitting the play and repeat buttons, Mulder turned back to Scully. Holding his hand out in invitation, he quietly but confidently asked, "May I have this dance?"
        There was only a split second's hesitation before she took his hand and let him lead her to the middle of the room. There were a few moments of awkwardness as they silently decided how they were going to do this unfamiliar thing. They settled on the customary dance pose: her right hand tucked into his left and laying against his chest, their arms held loosely around the other's waist.
        "Watch your feet, Scully; it's been a few years since those dance lessons I took," Mulder joked.
        "I'll take my chances."
        They moved together silently for a few beats. The awkwardness disappeared almost instantly as they once again began to move as a single entity; the way they had in so many ways, so many times before. Theirs was an instinctual rhythm, nothing that could really be learned. It was soul deep and infinitely comforting.
        Neither one of them spoke as the strange and hauntingly beautiful sound of a saw joined the simple chords of single piano and an upright bass.
        Finally Scully broke the silence. "Mulder?"
        "Mmmm?"
        "Why this CD? How did you know?"
        The age-old question popped into his head. Dazzle her with brilliance or baffle her with bullshit? He took the humble and honest route instead. "I just grabbed the one in your player, Scully."
        He wasn't expecting her response, which made it even sweeter. "You're so good, Mulder."
        He chuckled and pulled her closer. Released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. And then her head came to rest on his chest, her cheek softly brushing against him. He dipped his head and dropped a kiss on her hair. His declaration was nothing more than a rough whisper, stuck low in his throat.
        "Now it's perfect."
        Scully's arm tightened around him and Mulder realized he'd found his answer.
        He was burning in heaven.

        *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 
        THE END
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
X-Phile--XFR--SPCDD--SMMTFL--SASR #1--MAPS #14
       *Co-Founder of the Mulder Defense League*
"Yeah, well, Special Agent Mulder is currently being held
in five point restraints and jabbering like a monkey."
Det. Munch--"Unusual Suspects"