Title: Objects in Mirror Author: Lauren Belmont Archive: Anywhere, just let me know and give me a link. Summary: They have ten years. Rating: R Classification: The Truth post-ep Keywords: MSR, RST, A Spoilers: Just watch the whole series if you haven't already. Disclaimer: Not mine. Feedback: I've been curled in a fetal position in the corner with my computer since the finale. To pull me out of this funk, email me at pipntook@earthlink.net Author's Notes: Just remember, objects in mirror are closer than they appear. To my parents -- thanks for not committing me. To my brother -- thanks for ignoring me nine years ago when I came in and said "that stupid X-Files show is on?? Change the channel!" To Katie -- thanks for showing me that that stupid X-Files show really wasn't that stupid and for introducing me to the genre known as fanfiction. To Nick -- thanks for letting me rant every Sunday and for staying over until all hours of the night whenever I had a craving to watch FTF. To Spud and Rosie -- thanks for letting me get you addicted; welcome to our insanity. To Best Buy -- thanks for not hanging up on me, even after I called seven times in two days to see if the first season DVDs were in stock yet. To the readers -- thanks for keeping me writing. And finally...to the cast and crew of the X- Files -- thank you for nine unforgettable years. XxXxXxXxX Objects in Mirror XxXxXxXxX Life has phases, and each one takes adjusting. Scully has realized this after crossing seven state lines. There was her childhood phase with hopscotch and Moby Dick followed by her teen rebellion phase with stolen cigarettes and hidden diaries. After high school came her physics phase and medical phase, both of which led to the FBI phase and the X-Files phase. Her phase as a mother lasted less than a year. This phase, the phase involving endless highways, fake IDs, and Mulder at her side, makes number eight. After passing North Platte, Scully decides to count how many hours they have been driving since they left Roswell. The desert has turned to mountains, to lush forests, and finally to farmland. They have no real destination; they just keep driving. Looking. They seem to have settled on a path east the last time Scully looked at a map, but they are not heading toward any particular location -- not to her knowledge anyway -- and from the blank look in Mulder's face, she doubts that he knows either. Sixty-four hours and twenty-two minutes in four days, she finally calculates. She tries not to wonder what the grand total will be after ten years and -- about what, seven months? Something like that. Ten years and seven months before life as she knows it changes forever, and here she is in a car driving through wheat fields. She leans her elbow on the narrow window ledge and rests her cheek in her palm. She thinks they are still somewhere in Nebraska. The wheat flows by under the afternoon sun. At least it has stopped raining. A warm hand settles on Scully's knee and begins rubbing up and down her thigh. She looks over at Mulder, who has insisted on driving again, and smiles. He takes his gaze away from the road long enough to smile back, and Scully reaches over and laces her fingers through his. Ten years, she knows, will pass far too quickly. "What are you thinking?" she asks softly. She makes it a point to ask him at least once a day. The answers are getting better. He chuckles half-heartedly. "I'm thinking I'm going to ask for my toast on white instead of wheat from now on." She squeezes his hand. He's adjusting. They both are. XxXxXxXxX The radio is off. It's late, and the highway is empty. They left Skinner and everyone else only half an hour ago, and already Mulder can barely stand it. He can smell her perfume. He can hear her breathing. He can still taste her. Scully fidgets beside him, and Mulder swallows. He shifts and tries to concentrate on the road. They can't afford to stop -- they don't have time -- but he has missed her so much. A hand slides up his thigh and squeezes. "Pull over." Her voice is deep. She has only used that tone a few times, but every memory attached to it is very, very good. He glances over, and when he sees her face, he decides whoever may be following them won't catch up in the next forty-five minutes. The SUV squeals into park beside some bushes, and Mulder barely remembers to unlatch the seatbelt before launching himself across the car into her waiting arms. Fingers. Hair. Mouth. Tongue. Breasts. Oh God, breasts. He fumbles with the buttons on her suit and tries not to break any. It's been over a year, and the groan a quick jab of her fingers elicits from his throat makes him wonder how long he's going to last. Not long, given Scully's apparent intentions. She claws at him like a madwoman, lips and tongue sliding down his neck while she tears the blue jacket from his shoulders and tosses it aside. "Orange looks horrible on you," she breathes before grabbing the jumper. Mulder lifts his arms to help her pull it over his head, and he is moving back to those annoying buttons when he realizes that she has stopped. She sees the bruises. They cover his torso from collarbone to hips, and there are several still hidden on his legs that he would rather not display right now. "What did they do to you?" she asks, her voice nearly a hiss. Her fingers trace the deep purple one across his ribs before scanning the green and yellow discoloration over his chest. Another mottles his stomach. "Mulder?" He takes her hands in both of his and puts them to his face. He can't stop touching her hands. Doctor's hands. Mother's hands. Lover's hands. "Doesn't matter now," is all he says. Scully looks unconvinced, but when his fingers steal under her shirt, she seems to forget it. He pulls the two of them into the backseat and lays her back, stripping her of her suit, blouse, and underwear. She caresses his face, and he leans into her touch as his own hands steal their way across her body. She finally seems to realize that he still has his pants on and makes quick work to remedy that error, pulls him to her, and finally, oh God finally, he sinks into her. She feels so good. "Scully, Scully, Scully," he moans into her neck. "Mulder," she sighs back. Their eyes meet, and he begins to move within her. "Missed you," he hisses each time he slides in. "Missed you. Missed. You." She gasps beneath him, eyes screwing shut, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Harder," she breathes. "Oh God." He obeys, gripping the edge of the seat for leverage. He looks down at the woman beneath him, feeling their bodies move against each other, slick and wet. Her eyes are dark. He tells her how much he missed her. Shows her. Makes her feel how long it's been. Apparently, she's assumed quite a bit already; it doesn't take very long. Scully comes gasping his name, her back arching, and the sound of her voice is enough for him to follow behind. He collapses on top of her, spent. She strokes his hair until their hearts have slowed. When Mulder finally rolls off her, he finds three duffel bags in the back. He looks through them as she dresses. One he recognizes as Scully's and has a few clothes inside. Another contains some men's jeans and t-shirts that are a bit small for him, but anything is better than that orange jumper. He pulls on a shirt and jeans. The tags are still attached. The third bag holds three sets of IDs: Andrew and Katie Hamilton, Jared and Rachel Engle, and Tom and Judy Rosenbaum. Each person comes with a passport, driver's license, and insurance information. There are two guns and seven extra clips. The bottom of that bag holds ten thousand dollars in cash. Scully counts some of the bills with her shirt still unbuttoned, and neither discuss where the money may have come from. After climbing into the front seat, Scully kisses him again, but they don't speak, and Scully soon falls asleep. Mulder reaches over to hold her hand and doesn't let go until the dawn has broken over New Mexico. XxXxXxXxX The first thing they do before finding a hotel in Roswell is stop at a department store. She had only fifteen minutes to pack in Georgetown and needed to leave things behind. All she packed were two changes of clothes, an extra pair of shoes, some cash, and a photo album. The things she could leave behind when she had no alternative amazed her. Mulder agrees to meet her at the front entrance in an hour. Scully moves fast, picking up jeans, shorts, some t-shirts, and slacks. She buys a jacket and a sweater, socks, comfortable running shoes, some underwear, and pajamas. On her way out of the lingerie section, she spots a thin white robe and grabs it off the rack. Her splurging item, she decides. Then she runs to the drugstore across the street to get toothpaste, two toothbrushes, razors, and deodorant. She figures they can use motel soap and shampoo for another week or so. Of course it would end in Roswell, Scully thinks to herself as she sees the alien paraphernalia behind the checkout counter, although whether this is the end or the beginning of something she is still debating. Maybe it's both. They swap cars. They don't need all the room of an SUV -- they have next to nothing for luggage. The vehicle is new and in good condition, and the dealer is more than happy to trade it for a smaller, more manageable car. Mulder exchanges keys, shakes the man's hand, and he and Scully leave to find a motel. Scully calls dibs on the shower when they first walk in and washes a day's worth of dust and grime from her body. The hotel's soap isn't much, but it gets her clean. She manages to finish rinsing her body and begin massaging the shampoo through her hair before the realization hits her that she will never go home. They are on the run. She will never see another familiar face again. The bathroom starts spinning, and she has to slam her hand against the tile wall for balance as shampoo begins sliding down her face. A part of her always knew that this would happen. The shock fades as she washes out the shampoo, and she isn't depressed, just . . . stunned. Scully dries herself carefully, pulls on her new robe, and wipes the condensation from the mirror. Her hair has grown out to its original length. She thinks about that while staring at her reflection. The power goes out. She sighs and exits the bathroom. Mulder is talking to the manager in the doorway, who has brought them a flashlight. Scully sets it in the bathroom so Mulder can have his turn with the shower. Her hair is dry by the time he comes out, and he changes into a gray t-shirt and jeans he must have bought at the store. She always loved that shirt. They talk. Not rushed or hurried -- they finally have the time. When Mulder lies beside her and plays with the knot holding the robe together, she kisses him and knows they'll figure this out. "You know I still love you," he whispers as he unties the knot. She kisses him again and lets him part the fabric. "You know I never stopped," she says. XxXxXxXxX Covarrubias might know something. The thought crosses his mind about fifty miles past Des Moines, but Mulder is hesitant to head toward Virginia. She has risked her life too often, too recently, and Washington is the worst place for any of them to be. Still, he has nothing left to work with. No more leads, no more files, no more informants. None living, anyway. Sometimes he'll see them in the rearview mirror before coming to a crossroads; at the beginning, his father told him to head toward Colorado, and once they got there, Deep Throat smiled and told him Iowa. He follows the paths of ghosts, and he takes Scully with him. She's asleep again, head bobbing against the window. Mulder pulled one of his shirts out of the back half an hour ago and spread it over her, tucking the blue fabric snug beneath her chin. One of her arms has crept out since then and thrown the makeshift blanket off-kilter. She sleeps for hours on end, and he worries, but not enough to wake her up. She has earned her rest, and it's the least he can give her, considering what she's left behind to come with him. Mulder glances in the rearview mirror. "South," Krycek says. Then he's gone. They hit a pothole, jarring the car, and Scully wakes and sits up in the passenger seat. She blinks blearily and yawns. "Sorry," he mutters. Scully rubs her eyes and settles back against the window. Mulder takes the next road toward Missouri. That night they lie between the sheets of another hotel room, and he asks her if she wants to say goodbye to her mother. Their legs have tangled together, and Scully's ankles run up and down his calves. Her face still shines with sweat from their lovemaking, and some hair sticks to her damp cheek. Scully just shakes her head. "It's okay, you know," he whispers through the darkness as he traces her spine with one hand. "It isn't too late for you to stay behind." "No." "All your stuff is still in your apartment," he continues. "You've got family that will worry about you, not to mention my fish, a job at Quantico --" "No," she says again. He pauses and swallows, knowing he needs to try to change her mind yet fearing what would happen if he does. "No?" She puts a finger over his mouth and raises herself with an elbow, gazing down at him as her hair spills over her bare shoulders. She leans down and brushes the tip of his nose with hers. "No," she whispers before replacing her finger with her lips. XxXxXxXxX He hasn't been sleeping. The circles under his eyes grow bigger each day, and she asks him about it only to have him smile and say it's nothing. She knows better. Today he almost drives off the road. She makes them switch seats, and they have hardly driven a mile before his head is rolling against the headrest. Scully glances over and watches his brow furrow, eyes darting beneath the lids. He slowly curls into a ball, shoulders stiff and legs folded. He has not told her details about prison, and in all honesty, she is afraid to know. Mulder mumbles something unintelligible and cringes. God, she doesn't want to wake him up, he needs to sleep, but she doesn't know what else to do. "Mulder?" she says, reaching over and resting a hand on his bicep. He wakes with a start, sitting straight up and pulling away the moment she touches him. "It's me, Mulder," she says. She alternates her focus between the road and the man in the passenger seat, trying to maintain control of the car. "It's me." He relaxes and passes a hand over his eyes. "So tired," he mumbles. "Then sleep," she says. "Dream of me instead." He's passed out by the next mile marker. She hasn't been sleeping well, either. Her dreams are plagued with memories and regrets, and she relives them over and over. She has told Mulder about the cancer too many times to count. Sometimes he falls to the ground and cries, sometimes he laughs. Once he told her that she deserved it, threw the flowers at her feet, and slammed the door on the way out. She wakes in cold sweats, and Mulder's always awake, rubbing her back and telling her it's okay; they're okay; they'll be okay. It's not just the cancer. She's found his dead body, swollen in water or charred from fire. Torn. Bleeding. Eyes staring, eyes shut, eyes gone. Again, she wakes with her partner -- same title, different meaning -- soothing her. She dreams of Emily. She dreams of her abduction, and she dreams of Mulder's. Doggett has answered the phone and told her the verdict for the past three nights in a row. She dreams of William the most often of all. She has given birth in hospitals, fields, spaceships, and her bedroom. Sometimes Mulder is there, but more often not. William, however, is always William -- a beautiful baby with ten perfect fingers and ten tiny toes, fuzzy hair tufts and big blue eyes. When she wakes from these dreams, a weight settles directly in her gut, and it never seems to go away. Mulder begins to snore against the window, and Scully smiles and continues driving. XxXxXxXxX "Hey, Scully, hey." She wakes up struggling against Mulder's embrace in a hotel in St. Louis with his voice soft in her ear. They've been driving for a week now. "Hey. Scully. It's okay." He traces her spine, kisses her forehead, and shushes her until her heart rate slows. Scully leans against the feel of him. The utter being of him "I need water," she says after a minute. She untangles herself and stumbles to the sink without turning on the light. There's a metallic taste to the water, but it least it's not like the sulfur of eastern Iowa. Mulder comes up behind her and reaches around to take her brush from the sink. They look at each other in the mirror, and Mulder brings the brush to her scalp and slowly combs through her hair. When it snags on a tangle, he stops and gently works his way through it. Scully presses her back against his chest and dips her head forward. "You were talking about William in your sleep," he says, still brushing. She looks at his reflection, hesitates, but finally nods. "What was the dream about?" "They came to take him away again." Mulder's eyes sadden. He smoothes down her hair with one palm and continues the slow brushing. "Even when I finally had the chance to be a mother," Scully whispered, "I put my job first. What does that say about me?" Mulder lets out a long breath before speaking. "You kept working to protect him. There's nothing dishonorable in that." Her eyes burn. The room is dark, and nothing seems real. "I'm just afraid that he'll grow up hating the woman who gave him up. Maybe he'll think there was something wrong with him -- that he wasn't good enough. And that wasn't it at all." Scully watches water drip from the faucet. Mulder slides the brush through her hair. She feels the tears coming again and has to look away. He kisses the top of her head and doesn't respond. "I didn't know," Scully says, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. "I had my mom baby-sit, I ran off and helped Reyes and Doggett. I didn't spend enough time with him, I didn't know it would end so fast, I just didn't know." "And there's no way you could have." The faucet drips, and Mulder places the brush back on the sink. She looks in the mirror and sees he has turned his face away. His eyes are screwed shut. Scully turns and wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his neck. Mulder leans his forehead against her shoulder. "I miss him too," he chokes. "You couldn't have known either," she mumbles against his skin. XxXxXxXxX Mulder can't make himself release Scully's hand. Doggett and Reyes are poised at the door of the cell, ready to go, but he just can't stop touching her. Scully looks at the other agents for a moment, and she must tell them something with her eyes because Doggett nods and ushers Reyes out the door. Skinner has moved to the opposite corner and become incredibly interested with the cracks in the concrete. "I'll be back tonight," she whispers. Her free hand reaches up to stroke his cheek, and Mulder dives down to claim her mouth again, pressing the palm he's been holding firmly against his chest. Soon her free fingers have found the back of his head and pulled him closer. This is how they said goodbye. Just like this, but with William cooing from across the room. Scully pulls away far too soon and gives him one last glance before following the other two agents. Skinner clears his throat, and Mulder shifts his gaze from the door to the Assistant Director. "I need to talk to you a minute," the other man says. His face is set, and the expression sends a jolt down Mulder's spine. Skinner crosses his arms in front of him and takes a breath. "Scully has something to tell you," he says slowly, "but I think you need to hear it now, so you have sorted things out before she gets here." Mulder's heart starts beating faster, and he briefly wonders if Skinner has rehearsed this speech. "What is it?" "Since you've been gone, William's life has been endangered more times than I'd like to say," he says. "He got kidnapped once, and Scully had to shoot a man in her own bedroom when he tried to smother your son with a pillow." He's dead, Mulder realizes, stomach churning. He's trying to tell me that William's dead. "She, uh," Skinner stutters. "She gave him up for adoption a few weeks ago." It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and when they do, Mulder isn't sure if he's relieved or horrified -- relieved that William's not dead, horrified that he won't see him again. "He's safe, to the best of our knowledge," Skinner says. "I know you need time to process this, but if you even remotely imply tonight that Scully did this for any reason other than William's safety, when we get you out of here I will have your ass in a sling. Do you understand me?" William had his ears. Scully told him that the first night home as they stood hand in hand over the crib and watched their son sleep. "Mulder?" He had Scully's eyes, and, thankfully, her nose. He'd be a year old next week. He could probably crawl now, and what color had his hair turned out to be? "Mulder!" He looks up at the Assistant Director, and he nods doesn't trust his voice not to crack. Skinner looks down and walks toward the entrance to the cell. "It's good to see you again, Mulder." The guard slams the door behind him. Time passes, and the room is dark again. Mulder slides to the floor, huddles on his side and clenches his hands between his legs, and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot cry. XxXxXxXxX The towns are more frequent in Tennessee then they were in Nebraska. Scully took over the driving duties today. Mulder had hesitated but backed down when she said she would be very disappointed if he wasn't fully energized by the time they stopped for the night. Scully sees him find the photo album. She left it between their seats the previous night. She watches Mulder flip through the contents. William in the hospital, William asleep, William eating. He stops at one page for a long while, and Scully knows Mulder has found the picture of him holding his son in her living room. "I took it when you weren't looking," she says. Mulder nods and doesn't speak. The car has begun to smell rather ripe. Two days worth of fast food bags lie in the backseat. Scully pulls into a gas station, and Mulder, who fell asleep an hour ago, shifts at the change in acceleration. She leans over to kiss him and whispers that she'll be right back. Two trips to the trash and twenty dollars worth of gas later, they are on the road again. Another junction is coming up; this one will take them toward Kentucky. Scully's surprised when Mulder sits up and turns to look in the backseat. She narrows her eyes, confused, checks the mirror, and sees nothing. "What is it?" she asks. "Skip this junction," he says, "and take the next one." "Okay," she says, a bit unnerved. Mulder has been doing this a lot -- she'll catch him talking to himself when she comes out of the shower, or he'll stare at a wall for several minutes before realizing she's been trying to get his attention. Part of her wonders if it's shock or post-traumatic stress, but there's a tingling in the back of her mind that somehow doubts it. The second junction comes up, and Scully uses it to head further south. She wonders how many zigzags they will make across the country before they know what they are looking for. "Scully, when did the Gunmen die?" She turns toward him with wide eyes. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you --" "We had other things to worry about," he says quietly, staring out the windshield. "When?" She looks back to the road and squeezes the steering wheel. "They died a few weeks ago." Her vision starts to blur, but she fights the emotions in check. "They sacrificed themselves to stop a contagion. They saved thousands of people." Mulder bites his lip. He lets out a short breath. "I missed a lot in a year." Scully swallows and nods. XxXxXxXxX She sits on Mulder's side of the bed in Atlanta and waits for him to wake. The sun hasn't come through the curtains yet. He's finally started sleeping through the night again, and she's stopped asking what he's thinking. Now she's the one who hasn't been able to sleep -- not since she started to wonder. Mulder lies on his back with one hand splayed over his chest and the other cast out to the pillow she gave up about an hour ago. The air in the room chills her through the thin white robe, but she doesn't get up to raise the thermostat. She sits, knowing that if she isn't there when he wakes up, she will lose her nerve again. He shifts in bed. His hands clench as he yawns, stretching out his arms. He must register that she no longer lies beside him, because when he feels the empty pillow, his eyes snap open. She waits until he sees her on the edge of the mattress. "I think I'm pregnant." About twenty emotions cross over his face, bouncing between confused, thrilled, and dumbfounded, but when he sees Scully's expression, he settles on concerned. "This isn't a good thing?" he asks cautiously. "No," she says immediately. "It's not." She doesn't want another baby. A picture of William is in her wallet, dog-eared and worn, but it's William. "I don't want a replacement." They haven't been careful with protection, and it's not entirely his fault. Force of habit, in a way. They hadn't used any before William -- they had no reason to believe they needed any -- and when he came back from his abduction, it wasn't as if she could become any more pregnant than she already was. Mulder sits up and cautiously puts a hand on her stomach, even though the baby would be nothing more than a jumble of cells at this point. "You know nothing could ever be a replacement," he says without looking at her. "It would feel like one." She knows she is being cold. "Anyway, I'm not even sure yet, but I'm late. I just thought you should know." He raises his eyes, and they stare at each other. Scully keeps her mask in place. She wonders if she's scaring him. Eventually, Mulder reaches out and pulls her down to the mattress with him, holding her. He doesn't ask for anything more, and Scully's glad, because she doesn't know if she could have said no. That afternoon, she makes him stop at a drugstore. She buys a box of condoms. XxXxXxXxX She holds onto William until the end. Skinner pulls some strings to get the adoption agency to find a family within a week, and Scully finds someone else to teach her class so she can stay home and spend time with her son. They watch Sesame Street, and William flaps his arms whenever Big Bird appears on screen with a shrieked "Buh buh!" Scully shows him newspaper clippings of Mulder and points out how they have the same hands. She takes pictures and reads him books. She rocks him to sleep, tells him stories of angels in starlight, and describes how to play baseball. "I'm sorry," she whispers into his ear when the doorbell rings, and it is time to go. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She fills last minute forms, and the woman hands her some Kleenex. She reassures Scully that William will have very loving parents, and that makes her cry even more. Scully kisses William one more time, tells him she loves him, and gives the envelope to the social worker. She has written "William" across the front, and the social worker promises that the couple has agreed to hold onto the letter she wrote a few months ago. After they leave, Scully locks herself in the bathroom, even though there is no one there to hear her cry. Two blankets and a pillow lie on the floor of his room for the following week, and she sleeps there -- or tries to -- and she stares at the mobile above his crib whenever the nightmares wake her. She misses William. She misses Mulder. She wonders how she will ever tell him. XxXxXxXxX They have begun making their way north again, and Mulder is in Pittsburg Comfort Inn, listening as Melissa tells him to drive toward Buffalo, when Scully comes in, slams the door, and walks in front of him. Her eyes stare him down. Melissa looks at her sister for a moment then vanishes. "You can see them," Scully finally says. "Why can't I?" He stutters a moment. "How did you know?" "You've been talking to yourself for almost a month, Mulder. I'm not stupid." Oh. Mulder sits on the bed and stares out the window. Some kids are playing tag in the park across the street. Scully's shoulders are stiff as she watches him, and he pats the spot beside him until she sits. "You don't think I'm crazy?" he finally asks. She shakes her head. "I've seen the dead before, too. What do they tell you?" She almost sounds embarrassed. Mulder looks at her. "Where to go, what to do. When we're being watched and which way to go to escape." "Who do you see?" "Almost everyone." She pauses. "Have you seen Skinner? Doggett? Reyes?" "No." Still, that doesn't mean much. He hasn't seen his mother or Samantha, either. Scully sighs and looks out the window with him. The sun is beginning to set for the evening, and it casts a glow behind the buildings. "I worry about them," she says. "Me too." XxXxXxXxX Two days later, the ghosts tell him to stop in Montreal. Scully, to Mulder's surprise, doesn't question it when he tells her they need to find a place to live. They find an apartment in a decent neighborhood. It's about the size his place had been back in Virginia and has a nice bedroom, kitchen, and sitting area. It's not quite home, but it's something. Mulder buys a newspaper at a street vender the day they move in. "Hey Scully," he calls out after coming inside, "I've got the classifieds." He pulls a milk carton out of the fridge and takes a swig. Only after he puts it back does he realize she hasn't responded. "Scully?" He opens the door to the bedroom slowly in case she's asleep, but the bed is empty and unmade. Their five suitcases sit by the closet, waiting to be unpacked. Scully is not in there. A quiet sniff redirects his search. Mulder finds her sitting on the bathroom floor with her back against the sink, staring at the towels hanging on the opposite wall. He steps inside and kneels in front of her. Her eyes are red. "Scully?" Her face crumples, and she leans forward against his chest. Mulder holds her there and waits for her to speak. "There was a part of me that almost wanted it to be true, just so you could be here this time," she sniffs into his t-shirt. "I didn't want to replace him; I just wanted something to go right for once." Mulder spots the open box of tampons on the sink and understands. A lump forms in his throat as Scully starts crying, and he holds her against him, not sure what to say. XxXxXxXxX She decides they need to go to an actual restaurant for dinner. Not a diner, not a Denny's -- a restaurant. They haven't been out on a date since before his abduction, and she has missed the company. She stops at a mall and buys a sleek blue dress with a silver sheen sewn into the satin fabric that flows down to her toes. It fastens around her neck and leaves her back bare, allowing her tattoo to peak out the side. Mulder likes the tattoo more than she thought he would. The first night he stared at it and traced it with his fingers, and Scully had waited anxiously, afraid he'd be disgusted and pull away. "It's you," he finally said. "I don't know how, but it's you." She doubts he'll ever know how much of a relief those words were to her. She feels him watching as she pins up her hair with some clips she grabbed at the beauty counter. She dabs on some lipstick, adds blush, then considers the finished product in the mirror from several angles, trying to remember the last time she dressed up like this. Two long arms circle around her waist. "You look beautiful," he says. Scully blushes and covers his hands with hers, smiling up at his reflection in the mirror. "You don't look too bad yourself." He's wearing a suit. His hair is gelled, and she can smell a hint of cologne. "Hungry?" she asks. He grins and tightens his grip. "Yes." Scully smiles. "I meant dinner." "I didn't." She laughs and smacks his hand. The restaurant has violins playing in the background and cream-colored tablecloths. Voices are hushed. The host leads them to a table in the corner with a white candle flickering in the center. When they sit in the dark chairs, Mulder chooses the side closest to Scully. Their hands link below the table, and Mulder smoothes the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb as they soak each other in. "I wanted to run to you," he whispers. Scully blinks when he speaks then waits for him to continue. "When you and Skinner first came in, the guard was behind you, and all I could think about was that you were right there in the room." Scully feels her face soften. She squeezes his hand. He smiles sadly and goes on. "There was a part of me that had been afraid that you'd go on without me, and that you wouldn't need me when I got back. That there was another reason you told me to leave." "Never --" she starts with a shake of her head but stops when Mulder's finger traces a path down her cheek. "Then you were there, and I saw you, and I knew it wasn't true. And after all these months, I had you in front of me, and I couldn't do anything about it without --" He stops there. Scully waits a minute. Two. "I want you to tell me," she says. Mulder hangs his head, brow creased in memory. "What are you thinking?" she whispers. She knows it's the last time she'll ever need to ask. He chews his lip and meets her eyes again. "About how if I had made one step toward you, the guard would have made sure I wouldn't be able to do it again." "Well I've got a secret for you," she says. "The guard isn't here." She leans forward and kisses him gently, cupping his cheek with her free hand. She hovers there, content to have just a small taste of him, and when she pulls away, she wipes the lipstick her lips left on his. "Mulder, just know that whatever effort it took you to hold back, it took me twice that to let you leave." XxXxXxXxX Mulder finds work as an editor under the name Andrew Hamilton, and Scully works a daycare center as Katie. He stops by to bring her lunch and watches as she plays with the children. She bandages their scraped knees, gives them suckers, and sends them off to play. She reads to them before naptime. He's noticed she tends to the nursery in her spare moments, watching as the babies dream dreams only they will ever know. She's healing. They both are. One day, Mulder senses something is off, though he can't quite place it. He thinks about it for another two days, and Scully is fixing her hair in the mirror of all things when it clicks. He walks up behind her and kisses her cheek. "I gotta leave early. I'll be back tonight," he says. "Mm," she answers before turning on the hairdryer. Mulder brings lasagna back home and makes sure it doesn't overcook for once. Scully always complains that he overcooks things. He clears the table and opens the article he needs completed by tomorrow. He waits until she's brushing her teeth. She sees him in the mirror and moves out of the way to give him access to the sink, but Mulder spoons behind her and rests his chin in her hair. She gives him an odd look but doesn't move away. Mulder smiles, takes her left hand, and slides the ring on the fourth finger. Scully sprays a mouthful of toothpaste onto the mirror. She looks down at her hand then turns to him with wide eyes. White foam sits in the corners of her mouth. "Well," he says, looking down. "Katie and Andrew are supposed to be married, and you were missing quite a major piece of hardware to go with the costume, so I just thought -" "Yes." She's smiling. Her eyes sparkle, and Mulder feels a grin explode over his face. "Yes?" he asks. "Yes." XxXxXxXxX Mulder brings home a television and a computer. Scully takes turn with him surfing the web for any new leads, nothing doing. They find it interesting that no record exists of Mulder's arrest or Rohr's death. They've been in Montreal for five months, and they have met others with some help by X and the Gunmen. Some people have been abducted, and others have lost family. They've formed a group, and while they have no plans yet, they know how much time they have. They aren't giving up. Scully rests her head against Mulder's shoulder as they sit on the couch watching a rerun of the Wonder Years. The couch isn't leather, but it's black, upholstered, and reminds her of home. She takes her gaze away from the television to watch the light dance across the diamond on her finger. Mulder has a matching band on his. The weekend after Mulder proposed, they took a bus down to D.C. to see the Justice of the Peace. They used their real names. If anyone finds record of their marriage, Washington won't give a real hint to their location. Ten minutes later, four wedding announcements were in the mail, going to Scully's mother, Doggett, Reyes, and Skinner. Scully only hoped they were all alive to receive them. On the back of each small card, she wrote, "We're okay. We miss you." She added her signature, as did Mulder. When they left, Scully knew they would never be going back. The credits roll as the show ends, and Mulder -- her husband -- reaches for the remote. Scully smiles, loves how that sounds, and burrows further against him. They have ten years. She is determined to enjoy every moment. XxXxXxXxX end "Thanks, that was fun." -- Barenaked Ladies