Anchored

Fri Dec 13 1996
Hi gang! I guess it was inevitable. :) I didn't tape Pusher the first
time around so it was kind of tough to remember all the details. Well,
it's now on tape and has been watched many times, and of course it
inspired a follow-up story in me. I read quite a lot of the post-ep
stories but didn't find any that addressed my nagging questions about the
stand-off in the hospital room. This one is heavy on the Mulderangst. I
had a lot of trouble deciding how to classify this one. It's not really a
MSR because there *is* no romace in this one. But it does address the
unspoken feelings that exist between our favorite FBI agents, so it's up
to you to decide if you want to read it or not. Rated PG-13 for language
and subject matter. Feedback is welcome *and* expected. :)

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me and they never will. I'm
gratefully borrowing them from CC, the gang at 1013 Productions and Fox
Broadcasting. I promise to take good care of them.

For the archives:
Anchored
by Lydia Bower bower2@juno.com

S, R, Angst Rated PG-13 for language and subject matter.
Summary: Immediately following the events in Pusher, Scully's questions
force Mulder to confront some of his own demons.

Anchored
Part 1/2
by Lydia Bower<bower2@juno.com>

"I say we don't let him take up another minute of our time," Dana
Scully proclaimed. She slipped her hand from his and walked out of Robert
Patrick Modell's hospital room. Fox Mulder took one more good look at the
man and followed her out.
<Bastard.>
Scully was stopped halfway down the hall, patiently waiting for
him to catch up. She started walking again as soon as he reached her and
they made their way out of Fairfax Mercy hospital and to the car without
another word passing between them. Mulder forced his eyes to stay focused
straight ahead instead of wandering over to study his partner.

He envied Scully her cool composure in the face of what had
happened--and what had almost happened--this afternoon. Mulder still
didn't understand how he'd kept from putting a bullet into her. Every
cell in his body was screaming at him to turn the gun away from her and
onto Modell, while the voice in his head that wasn't his own was forcing
him to keep Scully in the sights of his gun. A high shot. Aim above the
vest. All the chambers of the gun empty but for the one bullet lined up
in the barrel. Aimed at her head.

He shut the car door behind him and pictured Scully's brains and
blood splattered on the hospital wall. Pictured himself alone. Again. He
sighed and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.
"Mulder, do you want me to drive?" She spoke quietly, slowly.
Almost like she was afraid she'd spook him.
<'Spooky' Mulder.>
"No. Just give me a minute."
She stayed quiet. Just as she always did when she sensed he
needed her silence. Her unspoken support was one of the few things he
could rely on when the waves of anger and regret and pain would wash over
him. Scully was his anchor.
He lifted his head and turned the key. The motor roared into
life. Mulder pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the street,
not sure where he was or where he was going. Didn't care, either. He
caught a faint whiff of Scully's perfume as she turned her head to look
out the passenger-side window.

Her face still turned away Scully said, "I talked to Skinner
before I came for you. He said tomorrow morning would be soon enough to
start on the paperwork. He'll let you know when the review board is
scheduled."
Mulder pictured the meeting in his mind. Yes, sir, I shot an
unarmed man. Why? Well, sir, because it was the only thing I could do to
stop him. And because he really deserved it, the bastard. How do I feel?
I'm fine, sir. Do I think some short-term counseling might be in order?
No, sir. That won't be necessary.
"So, should I drop you off at your place?" he asked Scully.
She slowly turned her head and met his eyes. Mulder looked away.
He couldn't let her see. It had been hard enough to look into her eyes
when they'd been in Modell's room, keeping company with the machines
hooked up to the dying man. He couldn't afford a repeat of all that had
passed between them in those moments.
"No. I'm going home with you, Mulder." Delivered in that pissy,
no-nonsense tone that alternately amused and irritated him. Doctor's
orders.
"Are you making a pass at me, Scully?"
"In your dreams."
He snorted an involuntary laugh.
<You have no idea how many times I've dreamed that.>
"I'm fine," he protested.
"No, you're not, Mulder. Neither am I. What happened today....
What Modell did to you, to us...."
"We're not gonna talk about it right now, Scully."
"That's fine," she retorted. "We don't have to talk about it. But
you're not going home alone."
"I'm a big boy," he snapped, surprised to find himself on the
skinny edge of anger. "I don't need a babysitter."

She twisted around on the seat, facing him as best she could, her
nerves evidently as raw as his: he could see the flash of her eyes.
"Would it make any difference to you if I told you that maybe I was the
one who needed the babysitter, Mulder? You weren't in that room by
yourself, you know."
He gaped at her, shocked by her admission. She wasn't so calm and
composed after all. And then Scully gasped and grabbed the dashboard at
the same time the sound of a horn blasted through Mulder's mental fog and
he dragged his eyes from her face to the windshield, finding their car on
the wrong side of the road and another car heading straight for them.
"Fuck!" He twisted the steering wheel to the right and jumped the
curb, ending up in the parking lot of a furniture store. He slammed on
the brakes and jammed the car into park, frantically unbuckling his seat
belt and lunging out the door. He made it three steps before he bent at
the waist and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the asphalt.

He gagged and retched until there was nothing left of the sick
but dry heaves and sore muscles. He absently noticed the creak of
Scully's door as she opened it. Mulder stayed where he was, bent over,
hands grasping his knees, spitting out long strings of saliva. "Ah God,"
he sighed. He hated to puke, hated to even think about it. The worst part
of it was, unlike most bouts of vomiting this one had done nothing to
make him feel better. This was a poison he couldn't expel.
A clean, white, sweet-smelling handkerchief appeared in front of
his face. He gratefully took it and wiped his eyes and nose, then his
mouth.
"What a bitch, eh, Scully?" he choked out. "That's the second
time I've almost killed you today."
And then her hand came down on his back. He could feel the
calming effect of her touch, even through suit and coat. "Let's go home,
Mulder." She turned on her heel and walked back to the car.
He took a few deep breaths and straightened up. Noticed Scully
had taken over the driver's seat. He stuffed her handkerchief in his
pocket and got in the car. He buckled up and closed his eyes, tipped his
head back against the headrest and spent the rest of the drive to his
apartment in the silent dark.
Once they got there Mulder stood by passively as Scully dug out
her keys and unlocked the door. She stepped in first and then turned to
wait for him. Mulder kept his eyes on the floor and followed her in,
heading straight for the bathroom and his toothbrush. He scrubbed his
teeth clean and washed his face, pulling his wet hands through his hair.
Mulder looked up and studied his reflection. His face was pale, his eyes
darkly circled and haunted; empty.
<Nothing like a good old-fashioned mind fuck to change your
perception of reality.>
Just a little man. Who wanted to go out with a bang instead of a
whimper. And wanted to take him and Scully with him. Bastard. He stared
himself down in the mirror until his reflection began to ripple and fade,
replaced by the image of Scully's face as he'd turned the gun on her. He
remembered his breath escaping him in a grunt as Modell had pushed him to
swing his gun arm around. He remembered the tight grip he'd taken on
Scully's arm; so tight he was certain he'd left bruises. And her eyes.
What was it he'd seen in her eyes? Not just fear. Something else, too. He
remembered the single tear that'd slipped down her face and mimicked it
with one of his own. And then another one and another one. Mulder watched
himself silently weep.
Suddenly he reached up and savagely yanked at his tie, pulling
out the knot and ripping it from his shirt. He stunk of hospital and
illness and death and fearful sweat. He shed trench coat, suit jacket and
shoes. His pants were hurriedly pulled off and then his shirt, losing
several buttons in his haste. He shoved his boxers down over his hips and
shed his t-shirt and socks, stepped into the shower and turned the water
on as hot as he could stand.
Mulder grabbed the soap and scrubbed at his arms, his hands, his
calves and chest and thighs. He soaped his stomach and roughly washed his
genitals, savoring the pain as he took his balls in one hand and squeezed
them tightly. He relished the pain. Anything to get his mind off what
he'd almost done.
<What if? What if I hadn't been strong enough? What if Scully
hadn't pulled the fire alarm. What if I'd put a bullet in her head?>
He knew what he would have done then, as soon as the sharp report
from the gun had broken Modell's hold on him. He would have killed Modell
with his bare hands, snuffed the evil right out of him and then gone
searching for another bullet. He'd only need one. And that bullet would
most surely have had his name on it. Piece of cake. Slip it into the
chamber and press the cold barrel of the gun to his temple. It was a
sensation Mulder was familiar with. Comfortable with. And then all he'd
have to do would be to pull the trigger. Follow her. Anywhere. Even into
death.
He squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his hand and lathered his
head, fingers digging deeply into his scalp, wondering if he scrubbed
hard enough if he'd be able to clean his brain. Just wash it away. Wash
it all away.
Mulder washed and rinsed, washed and rinsed, washed and rinsed
until he lost count of how many times he'd done it. Long enough for the
hot water to fade into a cool shadow of what it'd been. He killed the
flow from the shower head and stepped from the tub, dried off and wrapped
the towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom and going into his
bedroom. He pulled on a pair of gray sweats and clean white t-shirt,
rubbed the towel across his head and combed his hair with his fingers. He
still felt dirty.
There was dim light coming from the living room, and soft music.
He came around the corner and found Scully at his stereo, fiddling with
the CD player. She sensed his presence and turned to him. "Hi," she
murmured.
"Hi yourself."
"I found this CD hidden behind all your other ones. Is it okay?"
Beethoven. Piano concertos. Given to him by his mother. It wasn't
the Kinks, but it would do. If Scully liked it, well, that was good
enough for him.
"Yeah. That's fine." Mulder stood the middle of his living room
feeling like a stranger in his own home. In his own skin. Scully had
taken off her coat and jacket and slipped off her shoes, apparently
making herself at home. At least one of them was comfortable.
She glanced away from him and gestured toward the kitchen. "I
thought you might be hungry. I'm heating up some soup. Looks like I could
throw together some grilled cheese sandwiches, too, if you....?"
"Soup's fine. Look, Scully, you don't have to stay. I mean,
unless you want to. In that case, well, you know you're welcome."
She lifted her eyes to his. "I'm staying," she declared.
He nodded, more relieved than he might have thought possible.
"Okay."

He sank onto the couch and sat with elbows braced on knees, his
hands together and forming an upside-down V that covered his mouth and
nose. He knew Scully was watching him but he couldn't find the strength
to look at her. 'You weren't in that room alone, you know.' He knew he
ought to say something to her, try to help her sort through her feelings
about Modell and the stand-off in the hospital room, but in order to do
that he'd have to share his own thoughts with her. He couldn't do that.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
<Hell of a friend I am. She's the only one I trust but I'd rather
crawl into a hole than talk about what happened. And that's the thing she
needs right now. Some things never change. I'll always be a selfish
asshole.>
He ended up not being able to eat the soup that Scully brought
him minutes later. It probably didn't help that it was cream of
tomato--the only kind he had in the house. He looked down into the pale
red soup and saw nothing but blood and brains. All he could do was give
Scully an apologetic look and hope for the best. She didn't prod him to
eat it. She just sat beside him and sipped her soup. It wasn't until she
reached for his mug that he saw the bruises around her wrist--the faint,
purplish imprints of his fingers. Mulder blinked and reached out to take
her arm in his hand. Scully said nothing as he turned her wrist,
examining the marks. He shut his eyes for a long moment before he dared
look at her.
"It's nothing, Mulder. It could have been worse."
"Yeah, I could've blown your head off," he whispered.
"But you didn't." Scully pulled her wrist free and disappeared
into the kitchen.
He sat there for another couple of seconds before getting up and
stopping in the doorway. Scully was standing in the middle of the
kitchen, her back to him. Just standing there. "Scully...?"
He watched her shoulders lift and fall in a sigh. There was a
long silence. And then when she spoke it was if she were discussing the
weather, but he could see the rigid set her shoulders had taken: Scully
does steel. "It could have been you, Mulder."
"Yeah." Couldn't argue with that.
She swung around to him, soup mugs still in her hands. "Why?" She
lifted a hand and looked down at the mug it was holding like it was a
foreign object that had no business being where it was. She deposited the
mugs in the sink and turned back to him. Mulder stood patiently, waiting
for the rest of the question. Scully rarely asked one word questions.
"Why was it so easy to put the gun to your own head and pull the
trigger?"
Not a question he'd been expecting. "Why did Collins set himself
on fire, Scully? Why did Frank Burst talk himself into a heart attack?"
"It's not the same thing, dammit!" she snapped.
A grunt of surprise escaped him. "How is it not the same thing?
Are you trying to tell me now that you don't believe Modell was somehow
able to push people to do things against their will? Were you or were you
not in that hospital room, Scully?"
Scully pushed by him and he stayed right behind her, tracking her
to the couch. She sat down while he stayed on his feet, feeling the
anger bubbling up again, so close to the surface tonight. Everything was
raw, all his nerves scraped bloody. Goddamn her and her science, that
blinded her to things she still wasn't fully able to accept even after
all she'd seen.
"That's not what I mean, Mulder!" Her eyes were wide and scared
and he still didn't know what she was asking him.
"Then just what the fuck *do* you mean, Scully? You're gonna have
stop talking in circles here. My brain's a little fried right now. Can
you be more specific?"
She glared at him and threw up her hands in frustration. "It was
just-- It was just too familiar! Too easy for you, Mulder! I want to know
how many times you've put a gun to your head."

End Part 1/2

From bower2@juno.com Fri Dec 13 09:46:09 1996
Summary: Immediately following the events in Pusher, Scully's questions
force Mulder to confront some of his own demons. Rated PG-13 for language
and subject matter.

Disclaimer can be found in Part 1.

Anchored
Part 2/2
by Lydia Bower<bower2@juno.com>

He barked a startled laugh. Stretched his mouth in a smile he
didn't feel. Asked, "What's wrong, Scully, you think I'm suicidal or
something?"
She wasn't buying it. Her eyes continued to bore holes in him.
"How many times?" she asked again.
He could feel his face settle into its protective deadpan
expression. Felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. "More times than I've put
one to yours. Okay?"
"When was the last time?"
He glanced away. This was absolutely not where he wanted to go.
He looked at his watch. "About four hours ago."
"Knock it off, Mulder!" She came off the couch like somebody had
goosed her. "You know damn good and well what I'm asking!" She was
standing toe to toe with him and it didn't really matter that he had
almost a foot on her. Scully in a royal snit was a force to be reckoned
with.
Mulder was really good at staring someone down--unfortunately, so
was Scully. And she had the upper-hand. Here he'd been, all this time,
thinking that what was bothering Scully the most was the fact that he'd
almost shot her. It was apparent from her questions that his emotional
state, now and in the past, was what had her so bent out of shape. He
didn't know if that was a good thing or not. He stared into those baby
blues and felt his resolve crumbling. He knew Scully like the back of his
hand. If he didn't fess up now, she'd just keep bringing it up until he
did.
"Christ, Scully." He dropped his eyes, heaved a sigh and ran his
fingers through his hair. "What difference does it make?"
"Maybe none," she replied and he forced his eyes back to hers.
"Or maybe it makes all the difference in the world."
She was too close to him. Too close. He stepped past her and
planted himself on the couch. Mulder stared at a spot on the wall. Took
his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard. He damned himself for
thinking it, but the words came out of his mouth anyway: "It goes no
further than this room."
"Of course not." Scully stayed where he'd left her, her arms
folded protectively across her chest. He tried to ignore the wounded tone
of her voice.
Mulder scrubbed his face and fisted a hand beneath his nose. "The
first time was the New Year's Eve after Samantha was taken." It wasn't
what she'd asked but he knew he had to start at the beginning. "It was so
fucked up, Scully. Nobody talked to anybody else. The house was like a
goddamn funeral home. Everything quiet, everything said in whispers. Did
I ever tell you that up until the time Samantha was taken my mom used to
come in and kiss me goodnight? Every night. I was probably too old for it
but she did it anyway. And I liked it. That stopped too, after Samantha
was gone. It was like the sole reason my parents had for loving me was
lost with my sister. And once she was gone there was no reason to keep up
the charade." He waited as Scully settled in beside him. They were close
enough that their knees touched, their shoulders. He didn't question that
now it was all right that she was this close. It just was--and Mulder
accepted it. "They went out that night. Plans the old man couldn't break
or make polite excuses for; I dunno. They left me there alone and I knew
where the gun was. I remember thinking it would be so easy. Nothing to
it. Pull the trigger and end the pain."
"But you didn't."
He jerked a sad smile. "No. I couldn't. I didn't have the balls
for it. And I kept thinking that maybe Samantha would come back soon and
how pissed off and hurt she'd be when she found out what I'd done. I
think I realized for the first time that night that I was going to have
to be the strong one for Samantha, the one who'd stand up for her. There
was nobody else who would do it."
"I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like for
you, Mulder. How hard--"
He raised his hand to stop her words. "No, Scully. Don't try to
give me credit I don't deserve. We all have to do what we have to do. And
at that point I had to stay alive. I didn't have any choice."
Scully reached up and grasped his shoulder then and he
involuntarily winced. "My God, Mulder," she said. "Your muscles are so
tense they're like rocks."
He tried to pass it off. "Nah, that's just the results of hours
at the gym getting buff so I can impress you, Scully."
"Bullshit," she retorted. "If you're trying to impress anybody
it's that cute little file clerk who's always making goo-goo eyes at
you."
"Cheryl?"
"I guess. Is there more than one?"
He chuckled. "Hell, I've got a whole slew of 'em trying to get in
my pants."
"You wish."
Mulder looked over at her and they smiled at each other, some of
the tension between them fading away. Mulder knew he wasn't off the hook
yet, but Scully's warm smile somehow made it easier to open up.
"Here," she said. "Sit down on the floor and I'll rub your
shoulders for you, try to work out some of the kinks."
"I thought you liked me kinky, Scully."
"Shut up, Mulder."
He chuckled and slipped down to the floor. Scully slid over on
the couch and positioned her legs so that he was sitting between them.
Her hands came down on his shoulders and started to dig in, working their
magic. Mulder bowed his head and groaned at the combination of pleasure
and pain her strong fingers inflicted on his stiff muscles. Truth be
told, he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. He ached all over; in no
small part because of Modell. It wasn't just his head that'd been
invaded, but his entire body. His right arm and shoulder were so weak
from trying to fight off Modell's push to turn the gun on Scully that he
wondered if he hadn't actually pulled several muscles in the process.
They were silent for a long time as Scully worked on him and
Mulder couldn't help but imagine what it might feel like to have those
hands touching him in other more intimate ways.
<Dream on.>
"That better?" she asked as she lifted her hands.
"Oh God, don't stop now," he moaned. "This is too good. This
should be illegal, Scully." He heard her soft chuckle.
"I'll make you a deal, Mulder. I'll keep massaging if you keep
talking."
His head came up and he twisted around to look at her. "Are you
bribing me? Because you know it's against the law to bribe a federal
agent."
"It's not a bribe, it's an even trade. And I still haven't heard
all of it, have I?"
Mulder couldn't think of an adequate response so he just turned
back around. He took a deep breath and continued where he'd left off.
"The next time was in England. After Phoebe. I don't have to elaborate on
that one, do I?"
Her response was a gentle squeeze of his shoulders and a simple,
"No. Enough said."
He nodded his agreement. "There were one or two times when I was
working VCS that I thought about it. After the really bad ones. But it
never went beyond the thought. And then everything was good for awhile. I
found the X-Files and you showed up. I didn't want to like you, Scully. I
didn't want to trust you either. It's funny sometimes, the way life can
throw things at you that you don't think you want and then you find out
it's exactly what you needed. You know?"
"Yeah, I know."
"You remember the night I called to tell you they were shutting
us down?"
"Ahuh."
"That night, too."
"Before or after you called me?"
"Oh, before. By the time I called you I'd already decided that I
wasn't gonna give the sonsabitches what they wanted. And it wasn't just
about me anymore, either. I had you to consider. And Samantha. It's
probably a good thing I'm such a stubborn bastard."
Scully's hands had stopped moving but he didn't say anything
about it. It was enough to have them resting on his shoulders.
"And the last time...." He took a deep breath. "The last time was
when you were taken. I didn't know what to do anymore, Scully. I was
lost. Nothing seemed to matter. Samantha was gone, you were gone. I
didn't think there was any reason to...."
He couldn't finish the thought. Didn't need to. Scully would know
without his having to say anything. Scully always knew.
And then he felt her slide up to the edge of the couch, felt her
arms come up around his shoulders to drape over him. And then she rested
her forehead on his shoulder. He lifted one hand to cup it around the
back of her head as his other hand came up hold her arms against his
chest. He heard himself whisper, "I almost killed you today."
They stayed that was for a long time before Scully said anything.
Her voice was muffled against his back. "Mulder... If you hadn't been
strong enough to give me the time to get out of that room, if--"
"No," he muttered, trying to cut her off. "No no no no no."
But Scully just keep talking right over his protests. "If the
worst had happened and you'd shot me, you'd have found a way to put a
bullet in your head, wouldn't you? And all the work we've done, all the
things we've accomplished would have been lost. It would have all been
for nothing."
He leapt up from the floor and swung around to face her, knocking
the coffee table over on its side. Mulder unthinkingly kicked it out of
his way. "It wouldn't have mattered anymore, Scully, don't you see that?!
If you were dead none of it would have mattered! I stopped doing this
only for myself a long time ago. It was bad enough that I couldn't help
Samantha when she was crying out for me; how the hell could I have lived
with myself if I'd killed you?"
"It wouldn't have been you doing it, Mulder!"
"The hell it wouldn't! It was my finger on that trigger, Scully!"
"Mulder, you've got to stop blaming yourself for something you
couldn't prevent. Don't you know that I know that? What happened was not
your fault!" She stopped and looked aside before raising her eyes and
pinning him with a look he instantly recognized. It was the same
expression she'd had when he'd pointed the gun at her head. "Do you know
what frightened me most of all? It was knowing that you would have been
eaten up with guilt if things had turned out differently. I looked into
your eyes, Mulder, and I knew you'd never be able to forgive yourself and
that the guilt would end up destroying you. And I couldn't let Modell
turn me into the instrument of your death. I couldn't!"
"Neither could I," he whispered and watched, transfixed, as a
tear slipped down her cheek. It was the scene in the hospital played out
all over again. And his heart felt like it might burst in his chest. He
desperately wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her
tightly against him. He wanted to kiss away her tears and taste the salty
warmth of them on his tongue. But he didn't. "Scully, you have to know
that I--"
"Don't, Mulder," she pleaded. "Don't. You don't have to say it,
okay? Just don't." She pulled her eyes from his and focused on a spot
above the window.
<You have to know that I love you.>
She wouldn't let him say it. Even after all they'd been through,
even after he must have told her in a million different unspoken ways,
she wouldn't let him say the words. And it occurred to Mulder that aside
from her fear of what might have happened to him had Modell gotten his
way, the one thing Scully was most afraid of was his love for her. If
he'd been forced to answer the question of whether she loved him back or
not, he'd have to say yes. But what he still didn't know was what kind of
love it was. Maybe he was better off not knowing. Maybe it was easier for
both of them this way.
He absently scratched the back of his neck. A long time passed
before he felt centered enough to speak. Scully, meanwhile, had managed
to study every square inch of the outside wall. He quietly cleared his
throat as a prelude. "Well, since it looks like I haven't managed to
scare you off, what do you say we watch a movie, Scully? 'Plan Nine From
Outer Space' is on tonight."
He was pleasantly surprised when Scully started to laugh. She
turned her head to look at him, a wide smile on her face. The smile
turned into giggles, which gave way to true belly laughs. Scully buried
her face in her hands and gave herself over to them. Mulder just stood
there and listened to her, a bemused smile on his face.
She finally composed herself, her laughter dying down to small
hiccups. "Mulder," she said. "I swear I don't know what I'm going to do
with you."
"Are you open to suggestions, Scully? 'Cause I've got a few
things in mind."
"I'm sure you do. But I'm not going to touch that with a ten foot
pole."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Staying here with you and watching the worst movie ever made is
about all the adventure I can handle tonight."
"Cool. I'll make popcorn."
Mulder fell asleep halfway through the movie, his head pillowed
on Scully's thigh, his legs stretched out and hanging over the end of the
couch. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of her fingers
combing through his hair.
He woke up alone in the absolute dark, dragging himself out of a
nightmare about Samantha and Scully. He'd been back in the hospital room
and this time Modell had won. He'd watched himself pull the trigger,
watched the bullet leave the chamber in slow motion. Watched as it struck
Scully in the head, knocking her backwards, blood and brain matter
spraying the wall behind her. He screamed, though no sound left his
throat. He slowly left his chair and could hear Modell laughing as he
bent over Scully's body. Only it wasn't Scully anymore. It was Samantha.
Then Scully again. The faces of the two people he loved most in the world
kept shifting back and forth until it was no longer two faces but one. A
Scully/Samantha metamorphosis that combined everything he most loved and
feared in his life.
Mulder placed a hand over his chest and tried to calm his ragged
breathing. Took several gulps of air deep into his lungs. His mouth was
dry as cotton and his bladder was uncomfortably full. He stumbled into
the kitchen and opened the fridge, squinting against the bright light. He
drank straight from a bottle of orange juice, swallowing half of it down
before returning it. He closed the door and walked out of the kitchen,
heading for the bathroom. And then he remembered Scully and tried not to
be too disappointed that she'd left without waking him. He walked past
the front door and was halfway down the hall before it dawned on him that
Scully's coat and briefcase were still sitting in the wooden chair by the
door. He made it to his bedroom and peeked inside. Yep, she was there.
Curled up on her side and sound asleep in his bed. He stepped into the
bathroom and quietly shut the door, took care of his business. And then
spent several long moments deciding what his next course of action should
be. The couch or the bed? The bed won out. He padded across the floor and
carefully pulled back the comforter. Scully had obviously been digging in
his dresser. Her work clothes had been exchanged for a pair of his shorts
and an old shirt he kept around for cleaning day. He smiled at her back
as he slowly eased himself down beside her. Mulder lay perfectly still
for several minutes, almost terrified by the thought that she might wake
up and kick him out of his own bed. But Scully didn't move and all he
could hear was the soft sound of her slow, even breathing. He took a
chance then and rolled over onto his side, carefully draping an arm
around her waist and pulling her to him until they were laying like two
spoons in a drawer. Scully stirred and mumbled something under her
breath. He lifted his head to better hear her.
"Stay with me, Mulder," she murmured. "Don't ever leave me."
He kissed the top of her shoulder and snuggled in closer against
her, whispered in her ear, "I'm not going anywhere, Scully."
He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep, holding tightly to
his anchor.

THE END