The Return (3/12)
by charvill

Email: charityharvill@yahoo.com 
Genre: MSR 
Spoilers: Post-IWTB
Summary: There are some things you just can't escape.


"God, this place smells even better than I remember!" Mulder says
as we walk through the doors. 

I smile --- the events from earlier that evening just a distant memory
I have chosen to forget in light of the fun I have planned for us ---
and nod in agreement, the garlic and tomato smell are like heaven
to my senses. I quickly scan the room for the man we have driven
all this way to meet. His bald head and burly shoulders rise from the
table he has chosen for us: a small four-seater on the far east side of
the room; it is directly opposite of the booth that Mulder and I used
to call "ours". I blush in remembrance of the things its shadows used
to hide.

Grabbing Mulder's hand, I pull him towards the reserved table.
Skinner's eyebrows raise, his eyes wide as he watches the ease
with which Mulder and I exchange signs of affection towards one
another: holding hands, Mulder resting his arm across my shoulder
in the booth, and, most surprising, smiling and laughing at one
another.

"So how have you been Sir---sorry," Mulder laughs, before
correcting himself. "Walter."

"That's alright, Mulder, old habits die hard."

That would explain the way he looked at us when we sat down. It
is hard to keep in mind the fact that Mulder and I have had the last
6 six years to grow in the next level of our relationship --- away
from the eyes of any outsider. How many people can say *that?*

"You look a lot better than the last time I saw you," he comments,
sliding his eyes from Mulder to me and gauging my response.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing Scully played a lot of softball growing
up." His smile, lighting his eyes as he chuckles, melts me from the
inside out.

"So, how have you been, Walter?" I ask in part to change the
subject, but also because I am truly curious.

"I can't complain," he begins, leaning back on the squeaky red
leather. "Being a Deputy Director definitely has its perks."

"Besides pulling the strings that helped save my ass?"

"Yes, Mulder. It also bought me that nice little Lexus coupe that the
valet parked out in front."

Mulder lets a low whistle escape his lips in appreciation. "Very
nice."

"Yeah, but don't let them fool you into believing that you should
appreciate the size of that paycheck. Not with everything you've
laid on the line for them."

He stares, in what I can only describe as awe, and gives me a half-
nod. *I guess he wasn't expecting me to be so verbal,* I think
with a chuckle.

The waitress, an unfamiliar face that reminds me that DC evolved
just as I did, takes our order and leaves a basket of breadsticks
and three glasses of ice water. As soon as she walks away, Mulder
gets to his feet.

"That glass just reminded me that we were just in the car for over
an hour and a half. I'll be right back."

I watch his tall form retreat around the corner, his ass looking very
toned in the jeans I purchased for him last week. I mentally give
myself a pat on the back and turn back around to continue my
conversation with Walter.

The look on his face sends me into instant panic, and I immediately
scoot a little lower in my seat while scanning the room for the basis
of his shock. Not seeing anything unusual on my hasty survey, I
ask, "What's wrong?"

His mouth still hanging agape, he picks up his red, linen napkin and
reaches across the table...to dab my upper lip.

"Oh God," I mutter, yanking the cloth from his hand to erase the
flow of blood that has quickly accumulated beneath my nostrils.

"Scully..." But before he can say anything else, I escape from the
table and retreat to the restroom.

The dinner would taste fabulous, if not for the metallic flavor in the
back of my throat which won't be drowned out by the spinach
lasagna I shovel down. Mulder is still excited about going bowling -
-- professing he can beat Skinner by at least fifty pins --- so Walter
gives us directions to a new bowling alley just a few blocks over.
Mulder leaves me at the valet counter with Skinner while he pulls
our car around.

"So, I take it from the way you never mentioned what happened
when you came back to the table that he doesn't know."

I continue staring at an incredibly ugly brown custom van
illuminated in its parking space across the street.

"Have you had any tests run?"

I nod.

"Is it back?" His voice is full of dread as he asks, and I know he
would give anything to be as oblivious as Mulder right now.

"Yes." Naciamento has nothing over the ripping sensation my heart
is feeling as I admit this. Part of me has hoped I would feel some
relief at finally telling someone. "Nearly seven years after..." My
voice trails off as familiar headlights race around the brick building,
and fear squeezes my dead heart back to life; I grab Skinner's
hand. "Please," I beg, my eyes wide, "you can't tell him."

He presses his lips into a tight line. "It isn't right" --- my knees begin
to knock together --- "but I won't say anything."

I smile up at him in relief, but he continues grimacing. He reaches
down to open the door; and, as I brush by him to get inside, he
whispers, "but it will kill him to find out from someone else. He
deserves the truth. From you."

He closes the door, and I continue staring at him through the
window.

"You ready to have your ass handed to you Scully?"

I realize he's making a joke and force a small chuckle. But,
Skinner's words keep replaying in my head: *the truth.* A bitter
laugh escapes my lips, thankfully going unnoticed by the man in the
driver seat. 

The truth is an evil bitch who has done nothing but push Mulder and
me as far apart as any two people can be pushed. Mulder doesn't
deserve the truth. He deserves happiness. And, reaching across the
center console to take his free hand in mine, I vow to give him more
than he has ever known. 

Even if it is the last thing I ever do.


END PART 3/?