This story is based on characters created by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. Characters used without permission. No infringement intended. TITLE: She Loves Me Not (1/2) AUTHOR: Jo-Ann Lassiter EMAIL ADDRESS: 70302.3654@compuserve.com DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Post anywhere. Thanks. SPOILER WARNING: None RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: S, A KEY WORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance SUMMARY: Mulder tells Scully he loves her, but the sentiment is not reciprocated. Can they still work together? AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story carries a severe sap alert. THANKS: To Gerry, Cheryl, lore, and Jill for beta reading. I am two fools, I know, for loving, and saying so. - John Donne She Loves Me Not (1/2) by Jo-Ann Lassiter On the road to National Airport Washington, D.C. Tuesday 6:50 p.m. "Achoo!" Mulder had been dozing, and the explosive sneeze was a thoroughly rude awakening. For Scully, too, it seemed, as she nearly hit the roof--which was quite an accomplishment, even if it was unintentional. "Sorry," he sniffed. "Bless you. Mulder, are you sure you ought to be traveling?" Scully took her eyes off the road to gaze at him in concern, and he felt warm all over. "It's just a cold, Scully." He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. "People travel with colds all the time." "And infect the passengers around them." Her frown only diminished his glow a few degrees. "I promise I won't breathe on you." He sneezed into his handkerchief. "Or sneeze on you." Another sneeze. "If the plane's not full, I'll even sequester myself away from all the other passengers." She gave him a sideways glance. "That might not be a bad idea." He had been joking. He had been looking forward to the three-hour flight to Denver sitting next to his partner. "Um... yeah." "Don't look so dejected." She patted his knee. "I'm sure you've already infected me, so I'll sit next to you." He felt warm again. A good warm. The best warm. Scully loved him. He was tired, he was irritable, and he didn't feel well. If there was ever a time for her to keep her distance, this was it. Yet she didn't. She told him to sleep while she drove, she let him keep the heat on 'high' even though she was sweltering, and just a second ago she looked at him so... intimately. "Hey, Scully," he said, very quietly. She darted a look his way before returning her attention to the DC traffic. "Yeah?" "I love you." It seemed to him that she'd stopped breathing. Certainly she'd ceased all movement. He wondered if he'd managed to shock her and then decided that, yeah, he'd most definitely shocked her. Hell, he'd shocked himself. After all these years, after all they'd been through, it took a sneeze to discover she loved him. Granted, it was one hell of a sneeze, but it was one hell of a discovery. "Scully?" "What, Mulder?" He blinked at the flatness of her tone. Was this the voice of a woman about to profess her undying love to him? "Did you hear what I said?" When she kept on driving and didn't acknowledge him this time, he began to worry. Is it possible she just didn't hear him? Either time? "I said--" "I don't want to have this discussion with you." All the air left his lungs. His heart stopped beating in his chest. She didn't love him. He loved her, and she didn't love him back. ***** National Airport Washington, D.C. 7:10 p.m. Scully parked in long-term, and he picked up their bags and carried them to the terminal. After they checked their bags with the skycap, they proceeded to their gate, Mulder walking slightly ahead of her, never letting her catch up. He didn't want to see her face, didn't want to see the pity, or the repulsion, or the indifference. Whichever it was, he didn't want to know. She didn't love him back. The reason really didn't matter. Almost to the gate, he noticed the absence of her heels clicking after him. He slowed, then stopped, then looked behind him. Scully was about fifty feet back, paying for a carton of juice and a small coffee. He waited while she accepted the bag and walked up to him. "I got you some orange juice," she said, and she sounded so much like herself that he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Obviously she received confessions of love on a daily basis. "Thanks," he said, attributing his unsteady voice to his cold. He let her precede him through Security, then followed her to the waiting area. "Why don't you let me check you in?" she asked, holding out her hand, glancing over at the people standing in line. "You look like you're about to fall over." No kidding, he thought, nodding and lowering himself into a chair. He dug his ticket and ID out of his pocket and handed them to her. Their eyes met, and he had to look away before he embarrassed himself. Her eyes were full of pity. "Here, Mulder." She used the same tone of voice he'd once heard her use on her dog after the poor thing had been begging for some attention. She handed him the bag. "Drink some juice. It'll help your cold." Taking the bag, he forced a smile onto his face. "Sure, Scully." She left to join the crowd, and he fumbled with the carton, vainly trying to pull out the 'easy spout.' Finally, in frustration, he let the container drop to his lap unopened. She didn't love him. He stared at the orange juice carton until a drop of water splashed onto it. Startled, he glanced quickly over at Scully, relieved and then hurt, when he saw her engaged in friendly conversation with the nice-looking man in front of her. Mulder placed the carton of juice and the bag on the seat next to him. He rose, walked away from her, and didn't stop walking until he found himself staring at a wall at the end of the terminal. Suddenly faced with absolutely nothing to distract his mind, his thoughts returned to Scully; numbness metamorphosed to despair, and he looked around frantically for a men's room. All doors he scanned proclaimed, "No Admittance," and Mulder had to return to the main concourse before he found one. Shouldering the door open, he turned away, embarrassed, when the scholarly-type washing his hands met Mulder's red-eyed reflection in the mirror. Striding quickly to a stall, he stepped inside and locked the door; he leaned into the wall and closed his eyes until he heard the footsteps fade away and the outside door open and close. He took a deep breath and was horrified at the sob that came out when he exhaled. Angry with himself, he tore off a piece of toilet paper and blew his running nose, then slammed his palm against the wall. How could he be so stupid? Of course she didn't love him. What had he been thinking? That because she'd been kind to him she loved him? Where the hell were his brains? Scully could never love him. He realized that now. He could admit it to himself. He could think it without his heart being torn apart strip by bloody strip. She didn't love him. Oh, Jesus, she didn't love him. ***** When Mulder sat back down in his seat, Scully handed him an open carton of juice with a straw sticking up out of it. The nice-looking man was nowhere in sight. "Did you have a pleasant walk?" Her voice was tight with anger, and he looked up. "I had to use the bathroom." He furrowed his brows, confused. "You couldn't wait a few minutes?" The intensity of her gaze was making him nervous. He looked away. "No." "All right, then. Here." She slapped his ticket and ID case onto his lap. Still puzzled, he looked down. "What's this?" "Since you're so full of energy, you can stand in line." He searched her eyes. "But I thought you were going to--" "You weren't in your seat, Mulder. You may be an FBI agent, but you aren't exempt from the check-in procedures." It finally clicked. *Did you pack your own bags?* * Did anyone ask you to carry anything for them?* The security questions. He wasn't there to answer them. "Yes, of course." He gathered up his belongings, discarded the untouched juice in the nearest barrel and shuffled to the end of the line. Only two men were ahead of him, and in less than five minutes he dropped back in his seat next to his partner. "The flight's practically empty," he told her. "They said we could sit in the last row." She nodded. "I know. I asked, too, before you did your disappearing act." He remained silent. He really wasn't up to sparring with her. "You owe me two dollars." "What?" "For the juice you threw away. It cost two dollars." "Oh." He extracted his wallet and sifted through the bills. Hesitating only a fraction of a second, he pulled out a five dollar bill, then turned his head away and sneezed. "Excuse me." He held the five out.. "I don't have any ones. Take the... Achoo!" He sniffed. "Take this so I can..." Another sneeze. "...get my..." Another. He let the money fall onto his lap while he reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose, then slumped back, exhausted. "God bless you." Scully held out the five to him, and he was puzzled by the apology in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mulder. You don't really have to pay me for the juice." He pushed it away. "No, no. You're right. You were nice enough to buy it for me, and I threw it away without even touching it." He closed her hand around the bill. "Keep it. In case you feel the need to make another purchase." He made an attempt at a smile. "Mulder, you don't--" "Please keep it, Scully. I really don't have the energy to put it back in my wallet." He closed his eyes against compassion he couldn't bear to see. Why did he have to love her? Why couldn't she love him? He moistened his lips; he hated having to breathe through his mouth. His lips always ended up dry and cracked. He swallowed and then was sorry he did as the saliva burned a hot trail down his enflamed esophagus. He wished he hadn't thrown the juice away. Absently, he patted his pockets, wondering if he'd taken his lip balm. And didn't he have a package of throat lozenges somewhere? He started awake when the announcement to board rows 25 and higher blasted from the speaker directly above him. His heart was still pounding when he felt Scully's hand cover his. Unable to shake the cobwebs from his head, he turned to gaze at her. "That's us, Mulder," she said softly. "Come on. Let's go." Standing up, she brushed the wrinkles out of her suit pants and headed for the ramp. Mulder watched her walk away, then realized that he was supposed to be following her. By the time he stood up, several passengers had come between him and his partner. When he reached the attendant, Scully was standing off to the side, scowling at him. "Here he is," she told the woman. Mulder produced his ticket and showed his ID, then pulled his jacket aside to reveal his firearm. The airline employee handed him his boarding pass and nodded him through. He walked over to Scully and followed her to the plane. "Where the hell were you?" she whispered as they moved down the ramp. Her tone was unmistakably annoyed. "I told her my partner was right behind me, and some guy almost fainted when she asked to see his weapon." "For Christ's sakes, Scully. Give me a break, will you? I just woke up. I can't help it if you're three leaps ahead of me." She seemed to take a good look at him then, and Mulder wished he'd never said a word when he saw it again: the pity. He pushed ahead of her, nodding to the flight attendants as he boarded the plane. Eyes down, he hurried through First Class to the very rear of the plane. He stopped when he heard her behind him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stretch out and sleep." He moved his head only enough so that she could hear him clearly. "How are you feeling?" Her tone was so gentle, so caring. He hated it. He loved it. "I feel fine," he said, and he was surprised that the lie came out sounding so convincing. "Mulder..." He lifted the seat dividers from in between each of the three seats. "I'm really tired, Scully." He climbed in and curled atop the seats, his back to her. She sighed, and he heard her moving away, down the aisle, back to her own seat in 14A. He was relieved she would be so far away, although a part of him still wanted her near. A part of him would always want her near. He wished he could die. ***** On board the flight to Denver 9:30 p.m. An ungodly screech jolted Mulder out of a deep, dreamless sleep. He sat up abruptly, blinking in the dim cabin light. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I didn't realize anyone was back here." A young woman holding a crying baby was speaking to him, and Mulder wasn't sure he'd caught everything she'd said. "Um... that's okay," he mumbled, wincing as the screaming still assailed his ears. "What's wrong with... her?" The woman smiled grimly. "Him. And I don't know what's wrong. He's been crying since we took off." Mulder nodded. As a veteran of more flights than he cared to remember, he had an idea of what the problem could be. "How long have we been in the air?" he asked. He had no clue as to how long he'd been asleep. The woman didn't look at her watch. "About an hour." She looked totally frazzled. "I think it might be his ears," Mulder told her. "Did you give him a bottle?" She shook her head. "It's not time for him to eat yet." Then he saw it dawn on her. "Oh, of course. He doesn't know enough to swallow against the air pressure." She smiled at him. "Thank you very much." Her gaze drifted to the blanket that sat bunched in his lap. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I hope you feel better." Mulder didn't want to think about how bad he must look if a mother who'd been dealing with an hysterical infant noticed enough to comment. He smiled weakly and nodded as the young woman made her way to the front of the plane. For the first time, he noticed the pillows that his head had been resting upon and the blankets spread over him. Scully? Who else on the plane cared enough about him to take care of him? Who else anywhere cared enough about him at all? He lay back down but found that he was wide awake. He sat up and looked along the aisle to row 14. Not bothering to put his shoes back on--he added yet another item to his list of thanks for his partner--he headed toward her. Maybe he'd join her for awhile. He'd been rude to her after they'd boarded, and he'd never get a better opportunity to apologize than right now. Besides, even if she didn't feel anything for him, he still loved her. And now that he was awake, it was lonely back there by himself. He needed a little human companionship of the Scully kind. He heard her before he saw her. She was laughing. He supposed it could be because she was reading a really humorous book. But he didn't think so. He moved close enough to recognize the nice-looking man from the check-in counter. Sitting next to Scully. In Mulder's seat. He stared, stunned. Scully never laughed at his jokes anymore. She hardly laughed about anything with him. He felt cold all of a sudden, and exposed, and yearned for the anonymity the back row would afford him. Before he could take a step, though, he felt a tickling in his nose and, try as he might, he couldn't prevent the sneeze. As he stumbled toward the rear, he could have sworn he heard Scully's voice. "I know that sneeze," it said. But, no. He'd seen the look on her face. He'd heard her laughter. She was with a man who wasn't him, and she was having fun. She wouldn't be attuned to a partner with a head cold and a man she didn't love. Falling into the seat, he pulled out his handkerchief and kept it handy until his sneezing stopped. He lay down and cradled his pounding head. And then he remembered and he hurt all over. "Mulder?" He was too surprised to even think about hiding his feelings from her. "Scully?" All he could do was stare up at her. His eyes darted behind her; he half expected to see Nice-Looking-Man bringing up the rear. Suddenly her eyes widened and she went still. "He's not behind me, is he?" she whispered. Mulder spared another glance to the aisle. "Who?" "That guy. He didn't follow me, did he?" Mulder was thoroughly confused. "No, but..." She breathed out, and he felt her relief. "Thanks for rescuing me, partner." He nodded, still bewildered. "You didn't look like you needed rescuing," he said softly. "Looks can be deceiving, Mulder. You know that." He did. Yet he had the feeling that she was referring to something else entirely. It suddenly occurred to him that Scully was truly standing there; she had left Nice-Looking-Man and come to him. But why? He sat up and moved over, and she lowered herself into the seat next to him. "Head hurt?" she asked. Wondering how she knew, and then realizing that he'd been peering at her through squinting eyes, he nodded. "I was going to take a couple of aspirin." "You have some?" She sounded surprised. "I have a whole drug store," he answered, only slightly annoyed. "Well, you get them out, and I'll get you a cup of water." She had only to stand up and pivot to reach the water. Mulder stood up to look for his suit coat in the overhead. The jacket was at the very back of the compartment, neatly folded. Pulling it out, he looked at his partner. "How did you get this way back there?" Without missing a beat, he asked, "How did you get this off me? Didn't I fall asleep wearing it?" "To answer your second question, Don Juan--that guy who was sitting with me--helped me get you out of it. To answer your first question, he put it there." She heaved a mighty sigh. "And I had to make polite conversation with him for over an hour." "I guess it was lucky for you I woke up then." She looked down, and she looked embarrassed. "Um, yes. Yes, it was." Her eyes met his, and she looked so miserable he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away whatever was bothering her. But that was out of the question. "Mulder, I'm sorry." "For what?" "The mother. The baby. I sent them back here." "You?" He was flabbergasted. That shriek had nearly given him a coronary. He had a splitting headache, his legs felt like rubber, and he considered himself a good candidate for zombie of the year. Yet it brought a smile to his heart. Scully had sent the mother and the screaming baby back here. To wake him. She had not wanted Don Juan. She wanted Mulder. Did she love him after all? Or did she just need the help of a friend? The friend he was. The friend he'd always be. And nothing else. The thought hit him square between the eyes, and everything swayed suddenly; he sat down in the seat quickly. "Mulder? Are you okay?" She sat next to him, and he nodded, feeling not entirely there. "Sorry. It must be the cold and the altitude." He closed his eyes. She started to dig through the pockets of the jacket from where it was resting on his lap, her hands brushing against his legs and groin. He felt his eyes burning when he thought about how he was the only one for whom that action held any significance. "Hey." Her voice was soft, and he forced his eyes open. He had to see her face. To see her kindness, or compassion, or even pity. He just had to see that she cared about him, if not as a lover, then as a friend. He had to know that it wasn't over, that she would continue on with him, even though he loved her. She was worried about him--he could see it in her eyes--but she was also smiling, and he got the distinct impression that she was trying very hard not to laugh at him. Her gaze left his, and he followed it down to her lap. She had his entire supply spread out on her legs. Bottles, boxes and packages of aspirin, cold pills, cough syrup, throat lozenges, fever reducer, and anti-nausea capsules. "Think you have enough medicine here, Mulder?" Ordinarily, he would have tossed off her teasing with a shrug and a bit of witty repartee. Ordinarily, he would have found her amusement only mildly irksome. But ordinarily he wouldn't have just declared his love to her. He wouldn't have taken her jab so much to heart--a shattered, bruised, mangled heart. He stared stonily at her; he resented her joke at his expense. He resented her for not loving him. "I, um... Here." She held out three aspirin in her open palm. Gathering up the pills, he popped all three into his mouth then took the water from her and swallowed them. They hurt going down, and it felt good. Physical pain was easier to tolerate and didn't last nearly as long. "Thank you," he mumbled. "Mulder?" He looked up. There were tears in her eyes. And pity. "I'm sorry." He blinked. Oh, Jesus. It was official. She'd severed that one slim thread to which he'd been clinging. The one that held tight to the fact that she'd never actually come right out and told him. He nodded numbly. "It's okay," he said, and he was shocked by the sympathy he felt for her. "Come here," he said softly, holding his arms open. He wasn't surprised when she came unhesitatingly. "Oh, Mulder..." she cried into his chest. She hugged him fiercely. He clung to her just as possessively. "It's all right, Scully. It'll be all right." "I don't want to hurt you." He kissed the top of her head. "Too late." Blearily, she looked up at him. "I do love you, Mulder. Just not in the way you want me to." He blinked furiously to hold the tears in check; he had to swallow before he could speak. "I know." A smile eked out. "That's the only thing that keeps me going." He gathered her into his embrace and held her until they fell asleep. ***** End of Part 1 She Loves Me Not (2/2) by Jo-Ann Lassiter Twin Forks Lodge Outside of Denver, Colorado Wednesday 9:36 p.m. The ASAC at the local office was an old friend of Scully's, and she had gone to dinner with him. Mulder was invited, too, but he had declined. The day had been tiring and had worn him down. His head ached; he thought he might have a fever. And he didn't want to cramp her style. That old adage about if you love her, you'll let her go didn't just hit close to home. It damn near knocked it off its foundation. The field office had surprised them by putting them up at a cozy bed and breakfast rather than a cold, impersonal motel. As he lay there, Mulder supposed he should be grateful for his soft bed, clean sheets, and plump pillows, but he longed for the indifference a motel would have provided him. The proprietors, Mr. and Mrs. Agerson, a charming older couple, had mistaken them for lovers. A twosome. Husband and wife. Mrs. Agerson didn't understand why they needed two rooms, and she didn't understand when Scully left for her date. Mulder understood, but he didn't want to. He thought he could do this, could cope with her seeing other men. After all, he only wanted her happiness, didn't he? He slammed his fist hard on the mattress. Was it wrong for him to want a little of that happiness for himself, too? Was he being selfish? A soft knock sounded on his door. Again. "I'll eat at breakfast, Mrs. Agerson. I'm just not hungry right now. All right?" She'd been kind enough to bring him some supper, and while it looked delicious, he'd had no appetite. He'd left it on the braided rug outside his door. Sighing as the knob turned and the door opened, he shifted onto his side, facing the wall. Mrs. Agerson was a loving, nurturing, considerate hostess, but she was beginning to get on his nerves. "Mulder?" He rolled onto his back. "How was dinner?" "Okay." Glancing at the clock, he gazed at her in confusion. "You're back early." His heart was turning somersaults. Then his paranoia kicked in. He performed a quick appraisal of her appearance: she looked a little distracted. "Is everything all right?" Walking over slowly, she sat on the edge of his bed. Her hand gravitated toward his forehead but she didn't touch him. "Everything's fine." She was staring at him as if he were a newly-discovered genus of bacteria. He was growing apprehensive under her unwavering scrutiny. "Scully, did I do something to ruin your date?" This was it. She was going to tell him that he'd done or said or *thought* something that had prevented her from enjoying her dinner. And any dinners yet to come. His last memory of them together would be her sitting beside him, looking stunningly beautiful in her green suit, and him lying in bed wearing nothing but his shorts. "Scully, whatever I--" "You didn't do anything, Mulder." He could have fainted with relief. But was she still going to leave him? Was just his presence reason enough? "What happened?" he whispered. "Nothing." She rested a hand on his bare chest, and he stiffened. Was this her way of breaking it to him gently? If so, then it wasn't working. Surely she could feel his heart pounding beneath her palm. One of her fingers began tracing along his collarbone. "Andrew was charming, and witty, and--really, just about everything a girl could ask for." Mulder was sure he didn't want to hear this. She'd come to tell him goodbye then. She and Andrew Perkins were running off together and--what? She wanted to give him a little something to remember her by? He mentally shook his head. No. Not Scully's style. Then what in hell was she doing? "Scully, you're killing me here," he rasped. Her hand stilled, and she removed it to her lap. "Sorry." He swallowed and nodded, already missing her warmth. "You asked about my date. I was telling you." He nodded. "Andrew had everything I've ever looked for in a man. But as the evening wore on, I realized something." She looked at him, and his breath caught at what he imagined he saw in her eyes. "As charming and as witty and as attentive as he was... he wasn't you." He stopped breathing. "What... are you saying?" He was too afraid to reach the conclusion on his own. "That I was wrong." She leaned over and kissed him very gently on the lips. "That I love you, Mulder. In the way you want me to." He started to cry. It was the damned cold; it was screwing with his emotions. Making him into a 'sensitive male.' God, how he hated that term. Just another word for 'wimp.' But Scully was reaching for him. Hugging him. Telling him that, "It's all right, it'll be all right." He latched onto her and didn't want to ever let go. "Say it, Scully. Please say it again." She released her hold on him and cradled his face in her hands. "I love you, too, Mulder." He smiled at her through watery eyes--and then he sneezed. Six times. Scully recoiled from him, getting to her feet and moving swiftly away. He watched her go, and would have worried about her whereabouts, but each sneeze was a nail hammering into his head. He groaned and fell back onto the pillows. The only thought he could manage was that Scully must be kicking herself for being foolish enough to fall in love with a loser like him. He felt her before she touched him. "Mulder, here." Several tissues were pressed into his hands. "Thanks," he gasped, quickly putting them to use. "When was the last time you took a cold capsule?" "Um... I didn't. I wanted to wait and take the green stuff so I could sleep." "Do you want to sleep now?" God, did his body ever want to. "No," he answered softly. "I think you do," she said, smiling, patting his head lovingly. "I don't want you to leave." She toed off her shoes and lay down beside him, on top of the covers. "I'm not leaving," she said gently. Looking over at her trying to get comfortable in her stiff suit, he suddenly felt supremely selfish. "I won't mind if you want to leave to get into your pajamas." She shrugged out of her jacket, then pulled off her pantyhose. She began unbuttoning her blouse. "I don't think I'll be needing pajamas." He stilled her hand as it reached for the last button. "As much as I want this, Scully, and please know that it's killing me to say this, but... I really feel like crap." She took his hand and brought it up to her mouth, then laughed lightly. "I wasn't offering, Mulder." He felt his face heat up. "Oh." She kissed his knuckles, one at a time. "It's not because I don't want to." He gazed into her eyes then and saw so much love that he was tempted to look behind him for the *real* recipient. She couldn't possibly love *him* that much. Could she? She reached for him then, and fingered his damp hair gently. "How's your head?" His eyes closed and he leaned into her touch. "It hurts." Her hands massaged his temples. "I'll bet." She kissed the middle of his forehead. "Do you want to take the green stuff now?" He shook his head. "I want you to hold me. I want you to hold me and make me feel better so I can love you properly." She wriggled beneath him until his head rested on her chest."I want to make you feel better, too, Mulder, because I love you and don't like seeing you suffer. You don't have to love me properly, just so long as you love me." "I do," he whispered. "I love you so much..." "It hurts," she finished softly. "I know." "I'm sorry." She hugged him tenderly. "I know that, too." She rubbed her hand across his back, and he shivered, not certain if he was cold or if it was just the touch of the woman who loved him. "I'll make you a deal, Mulder," she said, pulling the blanket over his back. "Green stuff tonight, wild sex tomorrow." "Deal," he whispered. Sliding out from under him, she retrieved the bottle from the table and filled the medicine cup with green liquid. "Bottoms up, G-man." She handed him the cup and he drank the vile elixir as quickly as he could. He took the offered glass of water gratefully, downing the entire thing. "God, that stuff is awful. If it didn't work so well, I'd never touch it." She climbed into bed beside him. "Looks like Mrs. Agerson was right to question those two rooms," she said, smiling. He yawned, already feeling the effects of the codeine; his arms flopped around her gracelessly. "I can't believe this is finally happening and I'm going to be dead to the world in two minutes." She pressed her cheek to his; her breath was warm on his ear. "You think of it as 'dead to the world.' I think of it as a sneak preview." He was fighting to stay awake. "Don't damage anything I might need." "Not a chance. What you need, I need." He smiled, then his eyes widened with sudden realization. "Scully." "Hmm?" "You love me." He hugged her as tightly as he could. "And you love me." She gave him a peck on the cheek. "That's a given. But... Oh, Jesus, Scully." He knew what it felt like when she didn't love him, and he didn't ever want to feel that again. He tried to pull her inside him so that she'd have to stay with him forever. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, and a burst of agony jolted through him. "No, no," she said quickly, rubbing his back. "I'm sorry for hurting you, for what I put you through. I'm here, and I'll always be here." "Promise?" God, he sounded pathetic, but he didn't care. All he wanted was for her to love him and to tell him that she'd never leave him. He'd be strong tomorrow. "I promise." That was all he could ask for. A promise that she would stay with him forever. He couldn't make her promise to love him forever because that was something he couldn't control--nor could she. But even if she stopped loving him, she wouldn't leave him. She promised. A promise he knew he'd never hold her to. ***** Scully knew the second he fell asleep. His arms didn't loosen, but his breathing lost that desperation, that anguish she knew he still felt. He thought she didn't understand. Didn't know how it felt when the one person you loved didn't feel the same. He was wrong. She knew. And knew with a certainty that had shaken her when she'd realized just what she was doing to him. It had often been speculated by the Powers That Be that she and Mulder were too close. That though the bond between partners was tight, theirs was fused. Unbroken. With not even a hair dividing where he left off and she began. She'd always scoffed at these conjectures. As she'd sat in the restaurant that evening, however, she knew that 'they' were right. She 'felt' him. It was something she'd never admit, to him and especially to herself, but he'd been there. Inside her. His heart was breaking, and the pain she'd felt had been nearly unbearable. She didn't know how he'd managed to keep something so terrible from her. How did he function when her every word, her every look plunged the dagger in ever deeper? She looked at him then, and she smiled. But she'd felt more than his torment. Beneath all the hurt, and the grief, and the hopelessness, there was the love. There was the love. The End The eternal quest of the individual human being is to shatter his loneliness. - Norman Cousins In keeping with the theme, I would love any feedback! Jo-Ann at 70302.3654 @compuserve.com