- - - 4 - - -

The folk tales are true: the wronged dead do speak to us, crying out for justice. The forensic pathologist is the interpreter who understands their speech, who gives them voices so that they may bear witness from beyond the grave against those who have committed this final crime against them.

I fell naturally back into this role, remembering afresh every time I pulled on a pair of examination gloves why it had fascinated me in the first place. The human body maps its travels, records the experiences of living in its very flesh and bone. The story of its life -- and of its death -- is written eloquently there, waiting only to be read by someone who has learned the language.

I hadn't forgotten that language, but at first I felt rusty, as if from the long dearth of these constant conversations with the dead. Day by day I stretched and strengthened my mind in the lab, just as I stretched and strengthened my body in the physical therapy at the clinic.

I had been strong before the accident, and now I was consumed by the need to be stronger still. My therapists didn't say it often, but I could see on their faces how surprised they were at the rapidity of my progress. I worked incessantly -- sometimes far into the evening, there in my old bedroom in my mother's home, while I was still staying there. Even when I knew I had already done enough, I went on. It was easier to still my mind in the familiar, comforting ache of the exercises than it was to let my thoughts wander. Whenever I let my mind roam, sooner or later it came back to him. Sooner or later I would remember that I had laid my last card on the table. I would remember that he knew.

I had to think hard to remember a time when I hadn't known he was in love with me. Over the years he had told me every day, although he had only spoken the words once. He had held that door open and given me every opportunity to step through it, but I had balked. He poured himself so completely into everything he did, and I knew that he would be no different with me. I was frightened to think of having that intensity turned on me. I knew he would teach me things about myself that I wasn't sure I wanted to learn. I swallowed my feelings and did my best to turn an indifferent shoulder toward him, but I don't think he was ever really fooled.

I came to simply expect him to be there, knowing there was nothing I could do to lose him, nothing I need do to keep him. I took him for granted in the worst way. He became part of my territory -- a feature on the landscape, part of the scenery; that big rock down by the pond, the hundred-year-old tree out behind the shed... just another thing I'd never notice until something happened, and it was gone. On that falling plane I'd seen the tree uprooted, the great stone shifted; seeing it, I had cried out... and now he knew.

He knew. I felt naked before him when he looked at me -- when I read the knowledge in his eyes. He had stopped speaking aloud about it, but his eyes told me he had not forgotten, would not forget. He knew, and I had nowhere at all to hide.

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

When Mulder was released from the hospital, my mother insisted that we pick him up and drive him home.

I protested briefly. "Mom, they have a transportation service. Besides, it's a long drive. I'm not sure I can sit in the car all that time."

"You've sat for it every weekend with me, honey. You can stretch your legs when we get there. It's not that much farther to where Fox lives, and it'll really make it a nice homecoming for him."

I couldn't tell her that what was bothering me more was the idea that, when we got there, we would probably go into his apartment and stay a little while. The hallway outside his apartment was haunted now, after we'd... after I'd kissed him on the plane. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to hobble down that hallway fast enough to evade the ghosts.

On the way to the hospital, I stared glumly out the window. That kiss just wouldn't go away. I couldn't remember the accident itself, which I thought was just as well, but I couldn't get over the way his lips had felt against mine. More often than I wanted to admit, I startled awake at night, and turned on the light, and pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to forget.

Mulder didn't have much to bring home. An orderly was nice enough to put his suitcase into the car trunk, and then, after he'd said a long and fond goodbye to the nurses and therapists who had come to see him off, we got into the car and headed for Arlington.

I had given Mulder the front seat, preferring to sit behind him and stretch my legs out along the back seat. He and my mother chatted companionably for a few miles; I wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying -- I found myself studying his profile whenever he turned to look out the window, knowing I could stare as long as I wanted, because I was on his blind side, and he wouldn't know.

His blind side. My poor Mulder...

"Mulder," I said, just to stop thinking that way, "what do you have set up in the way of home care? You can't change those bandages by yourself..."

"It's all taken care of," he said with a chuckle.

The tone of his voice puzzled me. "Who do you have? Did you check out the Visiting Nurses, like I told you to?"

He just shook his head and laughed a little again. "I won't spoil the surprise, Scully. You'll see when we get there."

I frowned to myself. I couldn't see the humor in home nursing care. I had been lucky enough to have my mother, but Mulder was all alone now, and... I quelled the unbidden thought that he didn't have to be, if I could -- if I could just...

When we pulled up in front of Mulder's building I saw the derelict VW bus a few parking places ahead of us. "Oh, no, Mulder," I said, understanding. "You can't mean... This is your home health care?"

He laughed aloud. "There they are, Dana." And, sure enough, there they were -- all three of the Lone Gunmen, coming out to meet us.

The door opened next to me. "May I assist you, Agent Scully?"

"Thank you, Frohike," I sighed, swinging my legs out and taking his proffered hand. Langly had already retrieved my walker from the trunk and unfolded it, and Frohike set it in front of me. Byers had Mulder's suitcase. Our unlikely group slowly made its way up the sidewalk toward the front steps.

"Here, Scully," said Mulder. "Frohike, can you take the...?"

"Certainly, certainly." He took the walker from my hands. I put my arm around Mulder's waist and he helped me up the stairs. Langly held the front door open.

Mulder didn't seem to want to relinquish his hold on me. His arm remained firmly around my shoulder. When the elevator doors opened at the fourth floor, the rest of the group walked ahead of us down the hallway. The hallway -- oh, God, the hallway, and his warmth, pressed against me...

He bent his head to kiss my hair -- softly, just once. "I've missed you, Dana. It's good to be back."

I should have told him I'd missed him, too. "It'll be good to get back to normal," I said instead. I glanced up at him and thought I saw a faint shadow of hurt in his eyes.

"Welcome home!" Byers was calling from the open doorway. "All neat, clean, grocery-stocked, and guaranteed free of bugs both wired and insectidae, courtesy of the Lone Gunmen electronics, housekeeping, and home health care divisions."

"We didn't even kill any of your fish," Langly added.

"I don't know what to say," Mulder replied awkwardly. "I really appreciate everything. Thank you."

"Well, you did save the world. I suppose we can help you out till you can manage by yourself," Langly said dryly.

"I couldn't have done it without Scully here." He gave my shoulders a squeeze.

"Hear, hear!" Frohike chimed in.

My mother cleared her throat, and we all turned to look at her. "I think we should all sit down," she said, "and have some tea. I'll go put on the water."

Mulder set me carefully down on the sofa. "I'll come too, Margaret. I have to start learning to do things for myself, as much as I can." He glanced back at me and grinned. "Until your lovely daughter can get around well enough to wait on me, that is." And everyone laughed but me.

 

 

- - - 5 - - -

Mulder was able to come back to work as soon as he was released from National Rehab. One of the Gunmen dropped him off every morning, and another picked him up after work. He explained to me that they were taking turns spending the night, helping him with his complicated bandages and with whatever else he couldn't yet manage alone.

"Mulder, don't tell me you're making them sleep on your sofa!"

"They're driving my car, Scully," he said, laughing. "I think they've got a pretty good deal, considering. They're in no hurry to see me pass the vision test and get my driver's license back."

We did fall into the habit of having lunch together. At first, Mulder used to meet me - by chance, he said, but I knew better -- and over the course of a few weeks it became routine, almost a ritual. I often found myself wondering, later in the afternoon, how it was that I should be so comfortable when I was with him, only to find that the thought of him knotted my stomach with anxiety when he wasn't there.

I knew it was partly because I never felt 'handicapped' with him, as I sometimes did with other people. "You don't have to rush, Scully," he would say, shortening his long stride to keep pace with me as I leaned on my cane. "We'll get there."

He seemed to feel the same way with me. "Can you get that? ... Wait -- I'll do it," I would say over lunch when something required more dexterity than he had, still wrapped up as he was in those elaborate pressure bandages that were meant to prevent the worst of the scarring. He would watch patiently as I reached over and cut up the meat, or buttered the roll, or did whatever it was that had presented the problem.

"Thanks, Dana." It was never 'Scully' when I performed these little ministrations.

I always just shook my head. "Don't mention it."

I was amazed at what a good patient Mulder was. I never heard him express the least impatience with the bandages or the physical therapy. The Mulder of old would have been fidgeting and chafing at the restrictions placed on him, but this Mulder seemed almost serene.

I used to study him as he came down the long corridor toward me every day at lunchtime. He carried himself so differently now that I could no longer instantly pick him out of the crowd at a distance. There was a liveliness to his step, a lightness about him that I had never seen before. Was it just that the burdens he had carried for so long had finally been lifted? Weighed down as I found myself, I had no answer.

He smiled a lot. He laughed easily and often. The stories he told over lunch made me painfully aware that he had even acquired a social life -- there were tales of parties with his new friends from the BSU, there were his opinions on the movies he'd seen; there was the impromptu Sunday softball game when he'd laughingly taken a left-handed glove and stationed himself out in right field -- and luckily caught the one ball that came his way. He couldn't stop grinning as he told me about it on Monday.

'Aw, Scully, I felt like a kid again. I wish you'd been there." He ducked his head and shook it slowly, chuckling. "I even thought about it last night, waiting to fall asleep. ... It's such a simple thing, but I feel like it stands for something. Like another beginning. Like something bad is really, finally over."

I took my fork and pushed a stray piece of lettuce across my plate. "I'm happy for you, Mulder." The lettuce left a little trail of salad dressing behind it.

"You don't look happy, Scully."

"I -- I'm fine, Mulder." It didn't come out as smoothly as I'd meant it to. I coughed a little to cover the catch in my voice, but when I looked up from my plate I could see that he wasn't buying it.

"Are you?" he asked quietly. "Are you really?"

I steeled myself and squarely met his gaze. "What makes you think I'm not?"

He licked his lips slowly. I could see him gathering his thoughts, weighing the words. A shaft of sunlight from the window caught the scar in his right eye and made it look all cloudy.

"You've changed, Scully," he finally said.

"And you haven't?" My heart began to beat faster. I felt the color rising in my cheeks. "Look in the mirror one day and see."

"On the inside." He was unshaken. Damn him and his profiling. I fixed him with my eyes, challenging him, mentally daring him to look away.

"Have you let yourself cry since the accident? ... Even once?"

Damn you, Mulder. Damn you. I was startled at his tactic, but I wasn't about to show him that. "What good does crying do?" I asked. "What would it change?" My voice sounded eerily calm, but there was a hard edge just below the surface.

"Look at it through my eyes," I went on. "You found Samantha. You vindicated your father in ways you couldn't even have dreamed of, and you gave your mother that peace of mind before she died. You have everything you wanted. You have every answer that you almost killed us both a hundred times over to find." I saw him wince as the shot went home.

"This wasn't my quest. I followed your Holy Grail. I was drawn in. I rested on your convictions, I took my strength from your beliefs. And now it's over - it's used me up and thrown me away." I gestured at my cane. "They tell me I'll be half-crippled like this for the rest of my life. My sister died for me, Mulder. And I'll never even have a daughter I can give her name to."

Had I expected sympathy? His eyes burned. "We saved. The fucking. Planet, Scully," he ground out through clenched teeth.

I snorted derisively. "The planet doesn't even know it got saved."

The muscles in his jaw clenched and loosened again. "What did you think -- you'd get a medal?" he growled.

All of a sudden all the fight went out of me. I sagged back in my chair and sighed.

"No, Mulder," I said resignedly. I dropped my gaze at last. "This just isn't the life I wanted to live on the planet I saved. That's all."

We were quiet for a few minutes.

"Scully," he said. "Scully." I could hear him struggling to control the anguish in his voice. "You saw -- "

"What?" I cut him off wearily. "What did I see, Mulder? The more time goes by, the less I understand the things I've seen."

"But don't you believe...?"

"Mulder." I pushed my plate away. I turned from him and reached for my cane. "That time is over. Please don't ask me that anymore."

There was a long silence while I gathered myself to stand. From the corner of my eye I saw him reach toward me, and hesitate, and draw back his hand.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said softly.

"So am I." I rose, supporting myself against the edge of the table, and he didn't follow me as I limped away.

 

 

- - - 6 - - -

It was a Friday night, and Mulder and I had, on the spur of the moment, gone to dinner after work; I was dropping him off at his apartment. I let out the yawn I had been holding back as we came up the block toward his building.

"Long day, huh?" he asked sympathetically.

"Yeah. End of a long week, too," I sighed. "And I... I wear out earlier than I used to before the..."

From the corner of my eye I saw him nod in agreement. "Yeah, me too. I know."

In truth, I was always a little tired these days. I had become a light and nervous sleeper since the accident. At first I had written it off to the discomfort of my injuries, but I knew that wasn't the case anymore; now I had no explanation, no excuse. I simply bore it, and brewed my coffee stronger in the morning than I used to.

I put the car into reverse and parallel-parked it neatly in a small space. Mulder craned his neck to watch. "Maybe I can learn something from you. I wish you'd seen me trying to do that last week. I made Langly into a nervous wreck. My depth perception still isn't good enough."

"You're still learning to compensate. It's just a matter of relearning things." I hoped my tone was reassuring. "You can't expect it to be perfect yet."

I shifted the car into park, and Mulder said, "Come inside for a few minutes, Scully," and added mischievously, "You can wait for Frohike with me. He asks about you every now and then. He'd love to see you."

"I'm sure he would," I said dryly, but I turned the engine off. When we got out of the car, Mulder wordlessly took my cane from my hand and offered me his arm instead, just as he'd done all through the earlier part of the evening. I leaned on him a little, and we walked into the building and went up to his apartment in a companionable silence.

When we had gone inside and taken off our coats, he took my hand and led me toward the sofa, and we sat down side by side, still holding hands. His other arm found its way around my shoulders again, as if it belonged there now.

I yawned again. "Sorry. I guess this is late for me."

One corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. "We're showing our age, Scully," he said. "Want me to go and make you some coffee?"

"I think you'd better," I answered. "I still have to drive home."

He looked down, and studied our clasped hands, and he said, "Or I could call Frohike and tell him to stay home tonight." I could tell he was trying for his old flippant tone, but I caught the undercurrent, and my heart did a strange little flutter down inside my chest.

He was waiting. I had to say something. When I finally found my voice I said softly, without looking up at him, "Coffee sounds good, Mulder."

He held my hand a moment longer, and then squeezed it, and let it go. "Coffee it is, then," he said, a little too brightly, and got up and headed toward the kitchen.

I was so tired that it actually hurt. If I could have left right then, I would have, but I knew that if I did he would think it was his fault. I drew a deep breath and leaned back against the sofa cushions, stretching my legs out in front of me, willing myself to relax. Yawning once more, I closed my eyes, telling myself it would only be for a moment...

 

The next thing I heard was Mulder's voice, close to my ear, saying, "Scully. Dana. I'm right here. It's okay, Scully..."

I opened my eyes. My heart was racing; I was shaking all over. I was struggling against something that was -- Mulder's arms. Those were Mulder's arms around me, hugging me tight, and I realized the frantic whimpers I heard were my own. I caught a sobbing breath and sagged against him, limp with relief.

He cradled me against his chest, rocking me. "It's okay," he murmured again. "It was just a dream, Scully. It's okay now."

There were two steaming mugs of coffee on the table before us. I must have been out for a little while. My head began to clear; I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks. What had I said in my sleep -- what had I done? I sat up, pulling away from him a little; I reached up with a trembling hand to smooth back my hair. Mulder's arm stayed around me, his hand slowly rubbing my back.

Mulder picked up one of the mugs and offered it to me. I wrapped both hands around it, and around his hand as well, for he didn't let go. I took a grateful sip and sighed as I felt the warmth of the coffee flow through me.

Mulder drew the mug away from me and set it back down on the table. He laid his hand on my knee. "Do you have that dream very often?"

"No," I answered shortly.

He leaned closer; his arm slipped around my shoulders again. "What do you dream, Scully?"

"I don't dream, Mulder." And it was true: how could I dream, when I hardly slept?

"Of course you do." His fingers gently, absently stroked the back of my neck, and I caught myself relaxing into the caress just in time to stop. "We all dream, Scully. Sometimes we don't remember it, that's all."

"Then I don't remember," I said, just a shade too sharply.

He waited, and when I remained silent, he went on. "Sometimes we don't remember because we don't want to." His voice was low, soothing, inviting my confidence. "Sometimes we're afraid to remember."

I wouldn't give in. It was true. I didn't remember.

"Are you sure you don't dream, Dana?"

No. No, damn it, I didn't. And I certainly didn't bolt awake in the middle of the night from the dreams I couldn't remember, my heart in my throat; I didn't jump out of my bed and hurry to the kitchen to put on water for tea. And I'd never sat on the sofa, restlessly, relentlessly pushing the channel button on the TV remote, over and over; I'd never stayed there, my head nodding, until I was so exhausted that when sleep took me, I wasn't even aware of it. And I was decidedly not the kind of person who would have had to start keeping an alarm clock out there near the sofa, who would have begun setting it every night, because it happened so frequently these days.

No -- not me.

I wanted to tell him. I did. I knew he would understand. But the words froze within me, formed a lump in my throat; I could hardly swallow, couldn't speak past it. When I could catch my breath I slipped out from beneath his arm and got to my feet.

"It's late, Mulder," I said. I knew my voice was unsteady, and I avoided his eyes. "You said you have to get up in the morning."

"Scully..."

Don't. Please, Mulder, don't do this to me. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" I moved toward the door.

"Dana," he said, but I was already slipping my coat on; I already had my cane in my hand -- I was already turning the doorknob. I was already running away.

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

We were almost finished with lunch on Monday when I said, "You know, I called you on Saturday morning, but I couldn't get you."

He smiled a little. "That's because I wasn't home."

"I was calling your cell phone."

He shook his head. "It was turned off." He met my eyes thoughtfully. "I was... at Shul. At temple," he finally said. "I've been going for a couple of months -- since I came home."

I didn't know what to say. "At temple...?" I echoed, and he nodded.

"My mother's side of the family," he explained. "I was never... It wasn't that we were -- that I was brought up in one faith or the other. After Samantha was taken, we didn't go to any church, or temple, anymore." He reached across the table and took my hand, looking at me more intently.

"Dana, how can I explain it?... Since the accident, when I look up at the sky I've felt like there's someone there. That is -- " his eyes twinkled -- "someone other than aliens or members of a multinational governmental conspiracy. You understand, don't you?"

I nodded, because I did. He was describing the feeling I'd been missing since that plane fell from the sky. These days, when I looked up, a terrible, empty expanse yawned above me. I had told Mulder once that God has His reasons, but I couldn't bring myself to believe that anymore. I didn't know God anymore. I didn't even know if He was there.

I looked away from Mulder's face.

"I haven't set foot in a church since the accident, Mulder." He held my hand in his, stroking it gently. I could feel him waiting. "I don't... I just can't. It's not the same."

After a moment he asked, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

My mother had asked me that same question, and I hadn't known what to tell her. He was the only one I had even thought about telling. He was the only person I knew who might understand.

I shook my head. "No. I... can't. I'm sorry."

I could still feel him watching me. "When you're ready, Scully," he said softly, and let go of my hand.

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

That Friday afternoon I had to drop off an autopsy report on my way out of work, so I came toward the front lobby of the building from a different direction than I usually did. Ahead of me, I saw Mulder getting out of the elevator with two of his buddies from the BSU. I opened my mouth to call his name, but then thought it would be more fun to slip up behind him and surprise him.

The three of them were in no hurry; I could catch up. As I came closer, I heard one of them say, "Yeah, but you'd better not try any funny stuff, or she'll run to her big brother and he'll beat you up."

Mulder laughed aloud. "She won't have to wait for Ed to do it -- she'll beat me up herself. Ed says she's already a brown belt, and she's working on her black belt too."

His friends thought this was very funny. "So on Monday morning," the other one said, "if you show up with your arm back in that sling, we'll all know you tried to get fresh with Sharon!"

"Give me some credit! I'll just turn on my -- " here Mulder dropped his voice to an exaggerated drawl - "suave and sophisticated Special-Agent charm -- " the others hooted -- "and she'll melt, I tell you. It's that simple."

They had reached the front doors. One of them clapped Mulder on the shoulder. "Good luck, Fox," he said cheerfully.

"We'll expect a full report on our desks by ten on Monday morning," the second rejoined.

"That'll be the day!" Mulder laughed as they turned to go through the doors. "Have a good weekend."

I followed him out onto the front steps, where my curiosity finally outweighed my better judgement. "Mulder."

He stopped short and turned toward me, his eyes alight. That wonderful smile I had come to assume was only for me spread across his face. "Scully!" he exclaimed, reaching one hand toward me. I lifted my own and tucked it into his, and he leaned down and brushed my cheek with his lips.

"Don't you usually park around the side? Here, let me help you with the stairs." His arm found its way around my waist, and we descended the steps. I wondered if he'd noticed that I still hadn't said anything more than his name.

When we got to the bottom I looked up at him. "What was all that about?"

He looked puzzled. "All what?"

"In the lobby, with Warner and Peltz." And the sister with the brown belt, I added inwardly.

He blanched as if he'd heard the unspoken words. "I... I'm going to dinner tomorrow night with Ed Koenig's sister."

"You have a... date?" I bit my tongue, but not soon enough. I could feel myself blushing, and turned my head so that he wouldn't see.

"I... Yes, I do," he answered, slowly and levelly. "Why shouldn't I have a date, Scully?" His tone was low, almost cautious. "It's not like I already have a girlfriend or anything."

"No, of... of course not. I don't know what I..." I stopped myself before I could babble. "Forget it, Mulder." And I turned and started to walk away before he could say anything else.

"Scully... Dana?" he called after me. He caught up with me and took hold of my arm.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I have to leave. I have an appointment," I lied.

He studied me. I held his gaze until he nodded and let me go. "I guess I'll see you -- "

"On Monday," I cut him off. I watched the slight flush rise in his cheeks. After a long moment, he sighed.

"Have a good weekend, Scully," he said, and turned and walked slowly toward where Langly stood leaning against the fender of the car, waiting.

 

 

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