Bridges
by Elizabeth Rowandale

Feedback:  Email: bstrbabs@gmail.com
Rating:  Mature
Relationship:  Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Additional Tags:  Angst, Romance, An X-File Case, Mytharc

Summary: A family in a small town in New Mexico appears to 
be suffering the ill effects of an encounter with Black 
Eyed Children. While in the desert to search out the truth, 
Mulder and Scully find themselves confronting more than 
they bargained for, both in the investigation and in their 
personal relationship. Early Season 11, turns AU after 
"This." Past and eventual present MSR.

DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully and the search for the truth 
all belong to Chris Carter and Co. I'm just borrowing them. 
I promise to return them in no worse condition than Chris 
would.

Beta thanks to Annie, without whom I would probably still 
be sitting in a corner feeling sorry for myself and 
refusing to post, to Erica who makes me much more 
presentable to the world, and to my dear friend Miriam, who 
has been kicking my butt into line for decades now.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So sorry for the super long delay between 
chapters! The holidays were crazy. But life is finally 
running at a bit more normal pace, so hopefully the next 
chapters will be completed at a much more reasonable rate. 
As always, thank you all for reading and much love going 
out to you! If I can brighten someone's day with my 
musings, then it is worth all the effort.


Copyright (c) 2018
 
Chapter 12
 
"Can you let us inside? It's cold out here."

The clear voice startled her into wakefulness, eyes 
snapping open in the blackened motel room. The red lights 
on the nightstand read 3:42am. The simple plea hung in the 
air like a shimmering specter, something uncertain in its 
existence between dreamtime and reality. Scully held her 
breath and strained to listen, waiting as time stood still 
and she determined the nature of her circumstances.

The sharp knock made her jump. "Please let us in." The 
voice was unmistakable this time. A young girl. Maybe 12. 
The inflection was flat, lacking the expected nuance of a 
child.

Scully slapped her hand onto her nightstand and connected 
with the comforting solidity of the handle of her Glock.

She slid her legs up beneath her, pushed back the tangle of 
covers, and gripped her weapon in both hands as she touched 
her bare feet to the floor.

The room-darkening curtains were drawn, so Scully could see 
very little inside the room and far less outside. She crept 
as soundlessly as possible to the door and peered through 
the peep hole. Near the bottom of the fuzzy field of view, 
she made out a figure in what seemed to be a black hoodie, 
but that was all. The voice had said 'us'.

With a quick glance toward Mulder's room, wondering if he 
was sleeping right through this and wishing she could 
somehow psychically summon his presence, Scully took a deep 
breath and called out, "Who's there?"
"It's just the two of us, Miss. We need your help. It's 
cold out here. Can we come inside?"

The words should have been innocent; the clarity of the 
youthful voice should have been reassuring. But there was 
something unnatural in the simple cadence, something 
tangible in the air. Something was wrong, askew, and it was 
shivering across the back of Scully's neck like a cold wind 
in the stillness.

The last time she checked, it hadn't been all that cold 
outside.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Scully called out.

"Please. May we come inside?"

Scully moved to the far edge of the window beside the door, 
keeping her body at a difficult angle for a bullet to come 
through the window. She kept her weapon raised at her 
shoulder as she used her free hand to push back the curtain 
just enough for a glimpse of the walkway beyond the door.

The moment the curtain shifted, the heads of two figures 
turned sharply her way, and Scully had to force herself not 
to drop the curtain and retreat.

The second figure was a couple of feet to the side of the 
first and at least a foot shorter, placing him or her 
outside of the range of the peephole. Both figures appeared 
slender, stood unusually erect, and were dressed in dark 
jeans and black hoodies. Backlit as they were from the 
parking lot lamps, Scully couldn't make out the children's 
faces. Their hands were tucked in their pockets.

"Where are your parents?" Scully called out. "Do you need 
help?"

"We need to call our parents. But we don't have a phone. 
It's cold out here," the taller figure repeated. Scully 
felt like they were reciting from a script. Like door-to-
door salesmen walking through a practiced scenario in the 
sales guide book.

Which made it even more unnerving when the thought kept 
flashing through her mind that she should let these 
children inside. They needed her help.

"Tell me their phone number," Scully said, her own voice 
sounding as foreign and eerie to her as that of the 
child's. She wondered fleetingly if she had never actually 
woken up. If the dream world had trailed out into the room 
and spilled into the night. "I can help, I'll call your 
parents for you."

The tall girl shook her head. "It won't work. They won't 
answer your call. You need to let us inside. We need to 
call."

Scully stood in silence for a long moment, attempting to 
quell her irrational fear and take the necessary actions 
expected of her as an agent of the FBI. She needed to take 
charge of the situation, get the names of these children 
who were out far too late on their own, locate their 
guardians, get them home. She couldn't shake the 
overwhelming sense that she was the one in danger.

"What are your names?" Scully called, her tone sharper than 
she had intended.

"Please," the taller one said again. "We're just kids."

Before Scully could think or reply, the shorter figure 
moved forward with a speed so smooth and swift it made 
Scully dizzy. One moment she was beside the taller one, 
then without time seeming to have passed, she was directly 
on the other side of the glass with a small hand raised and 
bare fingers spread.

"You've been with us."

Scully tried to ask 'what do you mean? where?', but all of 
her energy was consumed with the effort not to raise her 
hand to match the fingers of the girl.

She realized with a brief wave of panicked adrenaline that 
she had lowered her weapon and stepped into a more 
conspicuous line of fire before the window.

"Yes," the younger girl said. "We remember. The little girl 
who was yours...she found her way to you. Down here. That 
is rare. You were lucky." The girl's eyes. As she tilted 
her head, those eyes reflected the light of the parking lot 
lamp. Black. Every inch of them black. It wasn't possible. 
"Maybe she remembered you. You got to hold her, didn't you? 
When she was a baby?"

Scully felt sick to her stomach. Unsteady and confused, she 
tightened her grip on her weapon to ground her to the 
present, to the reality of the perceivable threat. *Her 
eyes. Like before.*

"Maybe you just forgot," the girl said. "Most of the 
mothers do."

Scully took a hard step back from the window. "Stay where 
you are," she said firmly. "I'm calling the sheriff."

Scully reached a hand behind her in the darkness and 
fumbled for her phone, eyes never leaving the narrow field 
of view afforded by the displaced curtain.

As she activated the phone, a flash of light in the 
darkness, the younger girl stepped away, disappearing from 
Scully's view.

"It's okay." The voice of the older girl carried through 
the door and as Scully attempted to scroll through her 
contact list with trembling fingers, she moved forward to 
look through the peephole. "I see our parents," the child 
said. "We'll go now."

"No, stay where you are!" Scully shouted. She moved back to 
open the door, swung it into the room and raised her weapon 
as she set one bare foot on the cold concrete across the 
threshold, practiced routine overriding the fear.

But the children were gone.

Far too fast. And much too far.

"Hello? Are you there?" Scully's own voice fell dull and 
intrusive on the silent lot. Nothing moved but the dust in 
the soft night breeze. She stood for a count of ten, 
scanning the parking lot, weapon still held high. Then with 
a sigh somewhere between frustration and desperation, 
Scully dropped her weapon and fell back into the room. She 
wouldn't even know which direction to give chase if she 
wanted to.

She slammed and locked her door. A minute later, she was 
outside Mulder's room, now in her pumps with a suit jacket 
thrown on over her pajamas.

She knocked on the door, conscious of every shift of shadow 
around her. She breathed in the uncomfortable stillness for 
what felt like a full minute, but there was no reply from 
Mulder.

She knocked again, called out softly, aware of drawing the 
attention of the other guests now that the immediate crisis 
had passed. "Mulder? Wake up. It's me."

Nothing. She moved to Mulder's window. The curtains were 
drawn tight. Scully fished his room key out of her pocket 
and let herself inside. She slapped on the light.

Mulder's bed covers were still spread neatly over the 
pillow. Clearly the work of the morning maid. The bathroom 
stood open and dark. His phone and weapon were gone from 
their usual place on his bedside table. Only then did 
Scully even think to look for their car.

She shoved back the curtain. Gone.

Scully punched Mulder's image on the front page of her 
phone. He answered on the first ring. His tone was 
mystifyingly casual.

"Hey, Scully, what's up?"

"'What's up?' Mulder, it's four o'clock in the morning, 
where the hell are you?" Her tone was blatantly 
confrontational. She knew the tension and lingering fear 
were morphing into mildly misdirected anger, but she 
couldn't bring herself to care. Her heart was still racing 
and she was still shaking. Mulder was her partner. He was 
supposed to be here. Not ditch her in the middle of the 
night.

"Scully, are you okay?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm back out at Miller's Clearing. I couldn't sleep, I 
knew you were tired, so I just thought I'd go back and give 
it one more shot, see if anything showed up. I thought I'd 
be back before you woke up. Scully, what's wrong, what's 
going on?"

She stood and breathed for a moment, pretended the faint 
lingering scent of Mulder wasn't the reason she was still 
standing in his room instead of returning to her own.

"Scully?" Mulder prompted.

"Nothing," she said at last. "It's fine. I'm going back to 
bed."

"Scully, wait, what--"

"We'll talk in the morning," she said, and she clicked off 
the phone, certain she heard his voice continuing as she 
did so.

But she just couldn't talk right now. Her eyes were burning 
with a light haze of tears she wasn't acknowledging, and 
she needed to get back to the security of her own room 
before she succumbed to the temptation to climb under 
Mulder's covers. To sleep there, where perhaps if the 
Black-Eyed Children returned they wouldn't know where to 
find her. Where perhaps Mulder might find her first.

She locked her door behind her when she returned to her own 
room. Then she pushed a chair up against it. A few minutes 
later she put the chair back at the small table, because, 
dammit, she was an FBI agent and they were kids, and she 
was fine. She fell asleep at the first signs of dawn, 
weapon tucked beneath the edge of her pillow.

*"You got to hold her, didn't you? When she was a baby. 
Maybe you just forgot."*


*****
 
"Scully? You awake?"

The sun was already a tangible force on Mulder's skin, 
despite having taken control of the day only a short while 
ago. The call from Sheriff Aster had woken him from a sound 
sleep and he had sent a text off to Scully before grabbing 
a quick shower. Late night alien hunting was a little harder 
to bounce back from than it had once been.

Now dressed and noticing he was hungry but eager to get to 
the station, Mulder was standing outside Scully's motel 
room door, knocking enthusiastically. She hadn't replied to 
his text and her curtains were still drawn, but it wasn't 
like her to be asleep after 7am.

"Scully?"

This time he heard a vague mumble that sounded like her 
voice from inside. Before he could think too much about it, 
Mulder took Scully's key card from his pocket and let 
himself into the room.

As the door swung inward, so did the rays of bright 
sunlight into the cave Scully was still nestled within. He 
could just make out the mop of red hair on the pillow.

"Mulder...what are you doing here?" she said, voice hoarse 
and sleep-ridden.

"You still asleep?"

"I was," she said, enunciation a bit clearer, now. "Why are 
you here?"

"I sent you a text a little while ago. Sheriff Aster needs 
us at the station. He's made an arrest."

Scully pushed to a seated position in the bed, shoved back 
her hair and reached for her phone. She cleared her throat. 
"Arrest for what?"

Mulder stepped to the window and pulled the curtains 
halfway back, prompting a soft sound of discomfort from 
Scully. "Last night, a local family reported being stalked 
by a couple of Black-Eyed Kids. Aster's deputy drove out to 
the neighborhood of the report, caught a couple of dressed 
up kids in the act. They're holding them now. We need to 
get out there."

"What time was the arrest?"

"What *time* was it?" Mulder shook his head, "I...I'm not 
sure. Late, I think. Near morning, maybe."

Scully stared down at her phone for a long moment, but she 
didn't seem to be reading anything or scrolling or typing. 
She reached out to her nightstand and retrieved a glass of 
water, took a long sip.

"Scully?" he prompted, taking a few steps nearer to the 
bed. "You okay? What were you doing awake last night?"

Scully took a long moment of over-deliberation to return 
the water to the nightstand. Then she closed her eyes and 
let go a weary sigh.

"I'm fine. I just didn't get much sleep. But there's 
something I need to tell you before we see the sheriff."

As much as the adrenaline was charging through Mulder's 
restless limbs, as much he wanted to use The Force to 
compel Scully into the shower and out to the car, he could 
hear there was something in her voice that needed his 
attention. He took another step forward and lowered himself 
gently to sit on the edge of her bed. "Okay. What's up?"

Scully looked anywhere but at his eyes, swallowed hard, met 
his gaze for a moment, then said, "I've been seeing them, 
too."

He shook his head in confusion. "You've been seeing...who?"

Her tongue slid over her sleep-dried lips. He could make 
out faint blanket imprints in the flesh of her cheek. He 
knew how her skin smelled in the first moments after 
waking. The precious warmth and flush to her skin.

"The Black-Eyed Kids," Scully said, tone solid and matter-
of-fact, but he could feel the visceral reluctance and 
tension in her admission.

"What? Scully, what have you seen? Last night, you mean? Is 
that why you called me?"

She drew a slow breath, shifted her legs beneath the 
blanket. "Yes. But that wasn't the first time. Just...the 
most significant one."

His gaze fell on the thin ray of sunlight angling toward 
the edge of her pillow, and he caught sight of the butt of 
her weapon. Scully wasn't in the habit of cozying up to her 
arsenal.

"Were they here? At the motel?"

Scully nodded. "Yes. They knocked on my door last night. 
Around 3am. Or...closer to 4. Two of them."

"And this wasn't the first time?"

"Not the first time I saw them, no. But it was the first 
time they knocked or...spoke to me."

His throat felt dry. "They *spoke* to you?"

"Through the door. They wanted to be let inside."

"I'm assuming you did not let them in?"

"I did not. I tried to call their parents or the local 
police, but they said their parents had arrived and then 
they disappeared."

"Define 'disappeared.'"

"Presumably, they ran off."

He stared at her. "Presumably."

"They...," Scully swiped a hand through her tousled hair, 
drew a deep breath then let her posture sag. "It happened 
fast. I opened the door and stepped out and tried to find 
them, but...they were gone. I couldn't track which 
direction they went."

Mulder sat quietly, processing her words for a stretch of 
silence. Scully stared down at her hands, nails delicately 
scratching at the back of the opposite hand.

"And you didn't think this was something you should share?" 
Mulder said at last. "Something your partner should know?"

"I went to your room last night to tell you. I call--"

But Mulder was shaking his head. "No, Scully, from the 
beginning. When did you first see them?"

He watched her gaze skip around, her breath lose rhythm for 
a moment as she inhaled through soft lips. She really 
didn't want to answer this. "I saw...*something*...the 
first night, when we were checking into the motel."

"The first night we were in town. Explain this to me, 
Scully."

She lifted her eyebrows along with her voice, appealing, 
meeting his gaze solidly this time. "I didn't know if I was 
really seeing anything or not! I didn't--"

"Well, you seem pretty damned sure now," he snapped, 
letting the genuine emotion spill into his tone. "And does 
that even matter? You don't think we should have been 
figuring it out together all along?"

Scully swallowed, exhaled through her nose. "Probably. I 
just..."

Mulder shook his head again and pushed to his feet. "You 
should get dressed. Aster's waiting."

"Mulder...."

He knew she was looking for eye contact, even from behind 
his back (he always knew), but he couldn't bring himself to 
oblige. "I'll meet you at the car."

"Mulder, I..." He heard and felt the defeated sigh. He knew 
he was turning away like an angry child, stalking out of 
the room and closing the door with a bit more force than 
required. But, Goddammit, they were supposed to be past 
this. They were past this. She could have gotten hurt. Or 
sick. Fuck.


*****

Scully was withdrawn and moody on the drive to the station. 
Mulder used the time to get a message to Aster that Scully 
might be another witness and let him prepare to add her to 
those being asked to look at a lineup. Scully's distance 
remained in place through the paperwork and the tedious 
wait for the lineup to begin. Mulder knew her well enough 
to know there was more to this than the admissions he had 
pried out of her so far.

He wanted to be kind, sympathetic, and gentle the remaining 
truths from her. She was obviously scared; the gun in her 
bed alone told him that. And there was more there than 
fear. But the anger bubbling beneath his skin was too 
virulent to allow for kindness just yet. He needed time to 
let his reaction dissipate. They had spent so many years 
fighting past this behavior, both of them; learning to 
answer questions the first time. They had lost a lot in 
recent years, but he had thought they had at least held 
onto the honesty in their partnership.

The first lineup proved useless. Scully couldn't identify 
anyone. Aster told them afterward that the other two 
witnesses had agreed upon a suspect.

Getting the second lineup into place took excruciatingly 
long as well. (Long enough for Mulder to get into some sort 
of blood-fueled death match with the soda vending machine). 
During the second, this one aimed at the younger of the two 
suspects, Scully took more time studying a couple of the 
faces, but still she did not speak.

"Are any of those one of the kids you saw?" Mulder 
prompted, hands on his hips, caffeine from the soda pulsing 
in his veins.

Scully shook her head, still staring through the glass. "I 
don't know. I can't be sure."

"You don't know?"

"The height seems...close. On both groups. Like I said, one 
child was much taller than the other."

"That's all?"

"I told you it was dark. They had hoods. I don't know."

Mulder watched her profile with a stark intensity.

Scully felt his scrutiny, and she turned, lifted her 
eyebrows, held out a hand, palm up. "What do you want me to 
say, Mulder? It was probably the same kids everyone else 
saw. That's all that makes sense."

"But you're not sure."

"No. I'm not sure. Certainly not enough to accuse a child."

They were quiet another moment, and finally Scully said to 
the local cop in the room, "I'm sorry, I can't identify 
anyone from this group, either."

"Yes, ma'am." The younger man nodded to Scully, then 
Mulder, then he left the room, presumably to notify the 
sheriff.

"Maybe Aster should arrange a voice lineup," Scully said 
after a moment.

That got Mulder's attention. "You remember their voices?"

"Yeah. They were very distinctive. Kind of...off."

"Off in what way?"

"Lacking intonation." Scully turned and leaned back against 
a small table against the wall, folded her arms across her 
chest as she puzzled through the specifics in her head. "Or 
maybe the intonation didn't match the words. I don't know. 
But I might recognize it. Then again, if these kids were 
trying to fit the mythology, they were probably faking the 
vocal inflections, and they would be smart enough to use 
their normal speaking voices for a staged lineup."

Mulder nodded. "Maybe. Any other details you've neglected 
to mention?"

Scully's jaw tensed at his subtly accusatory tone, and her 
eyelids fell heavy, gaze to the floor. Her armor had risen, 
he could feel her withdrawing, and he felt a matching pang 
of regret, knowing he had just hurt her and he was 
succeeding only in pushing her away. But he still could not 
bring himself to stop.

Without a word, Scully pushed up from the table and walked 
past him out of the observation room.

They were standing in the empty lobby of the sheriff's 
station when Aster emerged from his office to check in 
before they left.

"Well, we've got two positive IDs on both the kids from 
last night," Aster said. "All except for yours, Agent 
Scully."

"Sorry I couldn't be more helpful, Sheriff," Scully said.

Aster shrugged easily, and Mulder noticed in the angled 
sunlight that this was the first time he had seen this man 
anything but clean-shaven. The pace of this case (or the 
random incidents that all might or might not be related to 
it) had picked up of late. "It seems like there was more 
light where the others encountered the kids," he said to 
Scully. "Next up, I'm going to try to get the Garcias in 
here and probably Vera and Nate Monroe, see if these are 
the same kids folks have been seeing all along."

Mulder nodded, "Makes sense. It would certainly answer a 
lot of questions."

"That it would."

"All right, well...we'll be in touch. Let us know if you 
get any other IDs. I'm just going to--"

Scully's cell phone rang. She snatched it from her pocket 
and glanced at the display. "It's Donna Garcia. Excuse me, 
Sheriff. We'll be in touch?"

Aster nodded, and Scully slipped away.

"What about the kids you brought in?" Mulder asked. "Do you 
know them? Anything about them? Ideas on motive?"

Aster shook his head. "Not much. They're from the local 
school in Verdad. Not the best students, but no past 
trouble with the law. Now that they've been ID-ed I'll be 
talking to their parents in more detail."

Mulder nodded. "Well, keep us posted."

"Will do."

By the time Mulder pushed out into the noonday sun, Scully 
was standing by their rental car just lowering her phone 
from her ear.

"So, what's going on with Mrs. Garcia?" he asked as he 
approached.

"She wants to talk to us," Scully replied. "She knows we 
were waiting until she could get through the funeral before 
we pressed her for a proper interview, and she called to 
let us know she would be willing to meet with us now."

"That's good. Did you set a time?"

Scully nodded. "She's heading over to the hospital to visit 
her son now. She said we could meet her there."

"Sounds good. Christian still improving?"

"Yeah. Rather miraculously so. He still can't go home, 
but...Mulder, frankly, I'm a little shocked. Grateful, of 
course, but...if I were Christian's doctor, I would be 
scrambling to try to figure out what kind of powerful 
angels were watching over this boy."

"Maybe the universe is balancing itself out. A family 
that's had this much unexplained bad luck in a row needs a 
shot of miracle juice to bring back the status quo."

Scully exhaled softly in agreement. "I guess we've had a 
few years like that ourselves," she offered softly, tossing 
him the barest trace of a wistful smile.

The near quarter-century of fighting for their lives and 
the lives of everyone they loved pulled between them like a 
magnet.

"I got my miracle juice when my year of private hell ended 
with you in spontaneous remission," he said, offering her a 
tender tone and sincere feeling in his eyes.

"It wasn't my best year, either," Scully replied, her voice 
slightly hoarse and so much older than that of the 
comparative girl who had clung to his hand from her 
hospital bed those last days of darkness.

They held the eye contact, Scully squinting against the 
sun, her blue eyes beginning to water from the glare. Then 
Mulder's phone rang, jarring them back to the present. He 
snatched it out of his pocket, using his free hand to shade 
the screen in the sun. "Unlisted" showed faintly on the 
display.

He met Scully's gaze, shook his head slightly. He accepted 
the call. "Mulder."

"Is this Mr. Fox Mulder?"

"Who is this?"

"I believe you met my son the other day. At the high 
school."

Mulder lifted his brows in recognition, and Scully mimicked 
the gesture in question. Mulder waved to her to come closer 
and leaned down so he could bring the phone to both of 
their ears.

"We did speak to someone on the high school grounds, yes."

"Yes. That was my son. You're investigating the things that 
have been going on? Here in Verdad?"

"We came here to look into the recent tragedies that have 
befallen the Garcia family."

"Right. So you're looking into the sightings of the kids. 
The Black-Eyed Kids."

Scully's shoulder was pressed close against his arm as she 
listened. "Those reports are a part of our active 
investigation," Mulder said. "Do you have some information 
for us?"

"I might. Can we meet?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Something local. I'm not coming to the Sheriff's station. 
I won't go on record."

"Do you have a reason to hide?"

The man gave a scoffing chortle. "We should all be off the 
record. You of all people should know that. They don't need 
any more information about us than they've already stolen."

"Who are 'they'?"

"The government, man."

"Sir, you realize my partner and I are agents of the FBI, 
here in an official capacity."

"Yeah, I know. But I know your work, Mr. Mulder. You're not 
exactly...one to toe the party line and throw the rest of 
us under the bus, ya know?"

Scully shifted beside him, and he knew she was trying not 
to react or breathe too loudly, lest their caller suspect 
someone unauthorized listening in. "I'm only interested in 
the truth, sir."

"Well, if you want to know what I have to tell you...my son 
will give you a call from a different phone line in a 
couple of hours, one more secure than this one, and he'll 
tell you where and when we can meet. Can you do that?"

"We'll wait for his call."

"All right, Mr. Mulder."

The phone beeped in their ears as the connection was 
terminated from the mystery caller's end.

"Wow. That is one paranoid man," Scully said as she stepped 
back. "And we thought his son was bad."

"Maybe he's been on the wrong side of Verdad's bad luck 
streak for too long without a miracle," Mulder said, 
tucking his phone back into his pants pocket.

Scully rounded the car to the passenger side, shrugged out 
of her suit jacket. "Or maybe he's been out in the desert 
sun too long," she said over the top of the car.

Mulder cracked a tolerant smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

Scully tossed her jacket into the car, then dropped in 
after it.

They proceeded in a more comfortable silence than that 
which had pervaded their morning drive. Once they were out 
on the highway toward Las Cruces, Scully leaned her head 
back and closed her eyes. She really hadn't slept much the 
night before and Mulder was happy to give her a moment of 
quiet.


/////////

He knows he really has her when she crawls into his lap on 
a Thursday evening.

They are still getting used to their new normal, to being 
an actual (if unadvertised) couple, not just a strange sort 
of undefined pair of significant others who never speak 
their deepest feelings yet follow one another like beacons 
in the night. He has followed her home from work tonight 
and flopped down in her easy chair in front of her TV. He 
has followed her partly because they do that now, a lot. 
Partly because it's been a tough case, particularly for 
Scully, and he has been staying close on instinct. He is 
halfway through an episode of the new Outer Limits, when 
Scully, barefoot now but still dressed in her untucked work 
blouse and slacks, emerges from the hallway, climbs into 
his lap, and curls in a ball, tucking her toes around his 
thigh, wrapping her arms around his neck. She closes her 
eyes as she burrows into his shoulder.

He smiles at first, charmed by the affection, but she just 
stays, eyes closed, not moving, and he feels a spark of 
concern. "Hey, beautiful...," he whispers, "you okay?"

She nods against his shoulder. "I'm fine. I just need this 
for a little while." Then she looks up, lifts her head as 
though suddenly registering why he might have asked this, 
why it might be a problem. "Is this okay?" she asks, with 
almost painful sincerity in her eyes.

His affectionate chuckle bounces her a little. "Of course 
this is okay. It's always okay," he says, unable to hide 
the adoration in his eyes.

She tucks back in. "You can keep watching," she says. "I 
just want to stay."

He kisses the top of her head. Whispers, "As long as you 
want."

And she does. He watches his show, and she just stays in a 
ball and holds on, and he keeps an arm around her, breathes 
into her hair, feels the rise and fall of her ribcage 
against his. He pulls a blanket over them both and they 
forget about dinner for a while.

He realizes she trusts him. Really trusts him, in a way 
that for all their devotion to one another, she never 
really has. No one has died, she hasn't been assaulted or 
injured. It's just been hard, and she is a little 
vulnerable tonight, and she trusts him enough to come to 
him, tuck into him, let him keep her safe, let him know she 
needs this support for a night.

There is an intimacy to this simple act of vulnerability 
that surpasses all that has come before.

He loves her so much it hurts. He will never let go.

/////////


He should have been there when she looked for him last 
night. She should have told him what was happening. But he 
should have been there to hear.

She should have slept the rest of the night in his room 
while he stayed awake and kept watch.

*****

(end Chapter 12)