FURTHER ON 2/2
By Meg Holzer

He knew he was walking too quickly for her, and
he knew that she'd been sick in the ladies'
room while he leaned against the dirty airport
wall and thought the worst. But the need to
escape was greater even than his concern. He
could feel the air closing in on him, and all
he wanted was the smooth seat of the car and
feel of the wheel beneath his hands...the
necessary close warmth of the car. With the
heater humming, and Scully a captive audience,
perhaps he could...

<She won't talk to me. She has no reason to
want to.>

He sighed.

<But she has to.>

They didn't speak again until they had found
his car - hers was parked safely at her
building, he remembered. He had been the one to
drive her to the airport for the trip.

"Mom has enough to do without picking me up,"
she'd explained, and he had insisted on driving
both of them. When he dropped them off Scully
had been flushed and nervous. "I haven't seen
my sister-in-law in...well, a while."

Now Mrs. Scully was staying a few more days to
care for little Matthew and help Bill and Tara.
He gritted his teeth as he filled the trunk
and, settling in, turned the key in the
ignition. He hadn't missed the look on Scully's
face when she had held the infant...the way
she'd stroked the downy cheek and the way her
eyes had filled - but not overflowed - when his
tiny fist closed around her finger and tugged
it toward the impossibly small puckered lips.
She had looked =good=, he thought with a pang.
Natural. The baby had settled gently into her
arms, snuggling against the curves of her body,
seeking warmth. But then he had fussed, and his
mother had lifted him away, cuddling him,
feeding him, nourishing him with her own body.

<She won't ever have that. I can deny it and
deny it and deny it, and so can she, but we'll
both always know whose fault it is that she
can't have what she will someday - if not now -
want so desperately.>

Despite his hopes, the ride to her apartment
was silent. For her part, she stared out the
window, her face impassive and alarmingly
colorless. Thoughtlessly she toyed with the
strap of her purse, her brow furrowed.

She hadn't commented when he parked the car and
lifted her suitcase out of the trunk. It wasn't
the first time he'd driven her home from the
airport and stopped for a brief cup of coffee
inside her apartment. Not even close.

<This is different. You know it, and more
important, so does she.>

Wordlessly she let him inside, then locked the
door and took the suitcase from him,
disappearing for a moment.

He waited while she brought the luggage to her
bedroom.

"Scully?" no answer.

"Scully, I'm just...I'm going to put up some
tea." He wasn't sure what instinct had told him
to say "tea" instead of their usual coffee.

She emerged from the bedroom looking battle-
weary.

<She looked like that in the airport, too. Why
didn't I say something when I had the
chance?...You know why. She wouldn't answer.
She doesn't want your comfort. You've done
enough.>

"Mulder, I think...I think I'd rather be
alone."

Those familiar words.

"Are you sure? Because I remember you had that
killer chamomile after that case, remember,
when we were rerouted and then held over in
Austin for two hours..." He realized he was
babbling and trailed off.

<Help me out here, Scully. Don't make me leave
with the ends frazzled and the hurt so raw. Let
me have it. Just let me in.>

"Mulder, please."

He looked into her eyes. They were shimmering.
He made a move toward her, rather awkward, and
watched sadly as she took a step back and
lowered her head.

"I need to be alone now."

<=How= can you need to be alone, Scully? Now,
when we need each other so much...don't we?>

"Scully, talk to me."

She raised sad eyes to meet his. "I'm
exhausted, Mulder. I need...I need to rest, to
get back to things, to...figure things out."

<Let me help. Please, Scully, I swear to
anything I won't hurt you again, if you could
just stop hurting now.>

"Okay, I...I understand, but why don't I just
put the water-"

"You don't understand, do you, Mulder." Her
voice was flat, tired.

<God, no. I don't understand. Help me.>

"I don't want your tea, and God help me, I
don't even know if I want your sympathy right
now."

He'd never before used the expression "like a
ton of bricks" or even considered that such a
cliche could ever be correct. But her words hit
his chest with a blow that all but made him
double over. He could feel the blood draining
from his face.

<This is it. You said it, Scully. What I've
been fearing. What I've been waiting for. It's
here and now for the life of me I don't know
what to do with it.>

But she'd seen the look on his face and she
took a step toward him.

"Mulder, I...I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did," he managed to gasp out.

"Not the way it...sounded. Mulder, I need to be
alone now. I need to be by myself so I can walk
through this..." her fingers stabbed in the
air. "through my apartment and think about how
I'll never need a bigger place. Do you know I
even =looked=, Mulder? God damn it, I actually
thought for a minute there that I would have
her, that she...that they would let me have
her. I thought I would bring her home, Mulder,
and now I need to sit down by myself and try to
figure out the rest of this journey." Her voice
was on the verge of breaking. He heard the
tears, unshed, behind her breath.

"Scully..."

"And I know...I know that she was in pain. I
know that, Mulder, because I saw it and I saw
her and I saw that she knew that I couldn't do
anything about it. That small thing. I couldn't
bring her the tiniest measure of...relief..."

"You =did=, Scully," he countered softly. "You
gave her =you=. You said so yourself...=she=
found =you=."

"So I could save her," she repeated woodenly.
"But I didn't, did I?" She shook her head as if
in reply.

"She's not in pain anymore, Scully..."

"Damn it, Mulder, I call myself a scientist and
I couldn't figure out the damn drugs to...to
help her. I call myself a doctor and I couldn't
even ease her pain. I call myself..." her voice
broke in earnest, and she drew in a ragged
breath before continuing. "I call myself a
mother, Mulder and I didn't even know my own
baby existed until a week ago."

<I don't know what to say. Heaven forgive me, I
am actually speechless. I just don't know
anymore, Scully...You said you wanted her out
of her pain...what kind of a life is that, you
asked...>

"It's okay," he said softly, silently cursing
himself for the words, which sounded so empty
in the tension-filled air. "You...

"It's =not= okay, Mulder," she responded. "It's
most emphatically not okay. I know you want to
make it so, but it's not. And it never will
be."

"Scully..."

"No, Mulder. Don't tell me that the answers are
out there, that we'll find who did this.
Because we won't, and even if we did, is there
any price suitable to a child's life? Is there
a way to make them pay for stealing this
most...most sacred thing from me, creating a
life and then just barely allowing me to watch
my baby girl die?

"She's gone, Mulder," she continued. They were
still standing about five feet apart, and she
appeared to be studying the leather of her
boot. Silently, frustration nearly at a boiling
point, he watched the fall of hair as her head
crept lower.

"I had one chance, Mulder. One. And it was
taken from me."

He let her words wash over him, leaving in
their wake the terrible sense of guilt and
dread that he had felt since he pocketed that
vial what seemed like an eon ago. <I held your
lifeblood, Scully, and I meant to tell you. I
swear it. When we sat on that couch, I was
ready to talk about it, ready to ask for your
forgiveness, to beg for it if I had to. You can
be angry, even hate me, but please don't make
me leave you. Not now.>

She lifted her head and finally met his gaze,
her fingers fiddling with the buttons of her
sweater. "Mulder, I don't know how to say this,
but..." her voice trailed off, and she drew in
breath. He watched as she tried visibly to
relax her body, but to no avail. He could see
the tension that rippled in her muscles, her
neck and shoulders drawn up like a cat ready to
pounce. He knew she hadn't slept the night
before, was no stranger himself to those long
sleepless hours of tossing and turning and the
never-ending waterfall of painful memory.

"How could you?"

**So take in my eyes and say what you think you
see**

Her words hung in the air for a moment. In that
moment she regretted the harshness of her tone,
and then, before she could stop herself, gain
control over the crashing waves of anger, she
snapped.

"How the hell could you keep this from me? How?
Mulder, you saw what they did to me. You knew,
you =knew= that they had stripped this from me,
that I no hope of...of immortality, of
anything. Mulder, I trusted you, for God's
sake. I =told= you when I found out, Mulder,
and it hurt then. It hurt then, but it hurts
more now...you didn't tell me, and you
knew...oh, God, Mulder, it hurts so much..."

She bent over almost double, the pain in her
chest constricting her throat, feeling the
tears build, searing, behind her eyes. She
watched him move toward her.

<Get away, Mulder. Back off. Tomorrow I'll be
sorry but right now I can't take your comfort.
Leave me.>

He put a hand on her back, big and warm and
steady. That did it. She flew into a standing
position again, throwing off his hand.

"Get away from me! You can't take the hint, can
you? I don't want you. Not now, not after this.
You =knew= they had taken them from me, Mulder,
you =knew= there was a possibility of something
like this, and I can't...I just can't look at
you right now," she admitted finally.

She looked at him, his face blurry before her.
He reached out for her again, and blind rage
fueled her actions.

"Get =away=!" she cried, swatting his hand
away. "Leave me!" And she swung at him, crying
her rage, her fist connecting solidly with his
face. Through her tears she saw his look of
shock, heard his gasp of pain.

<Hurts, does it? Thought you could trust me?
That it would never come to this? Oh, I know
it, Mulder.>

"Scully, stop it!" She was still swinging at
him, and now he reached out again, trying to
grab her arms.

"Just leave!" she cried again, and her hand
connected with flesh again, his chest this
time. Solid and strong. Her fist felt the
silkiness of his tie.

<Oh, God, what am I doing?>

"Get out of here!" and she struck him again.

He grabbed her arms, stilling her. Her strength
diminished in her grief and rage, she fought
him weakly, struggling in his grasp. "Let me
go!" Still crying angrily, she tried
desperately to yank her arms free.

"Stop it, Scully. It's over. You said it. Just
stop now," his voice was maddeningly moderate.

"Shut up!" she cried, her words flowing out of
their own accord. "God damn you, Mulder, I t-
trusted you, and you betrayed me...you're no
better than them!"

<Shut up, Dana, what are you saying? Stop it!>

"Get out of here!"

"No," he answered, his voice calm as she fought
his arms.

"Please...please leave me be," she whispered,
the rage suddenly dissipated. Exhausted, she
stopped struggling. "Leave me."

She went limp against him, and he loosened his
grip cautiously, supporting her. "There," he
murmured, holding her tightly. "You said it. I
know it was killing you. It's out."

"Leave me," she murmured again, her voice
muffled in his shirt.

"I won't," he said tenderly, one hand moving
into her hair. "I won't leave you now."

**Follow your instincts and never stray far
from them**

No better than them.

No better than them.

Even as she slumped against him, exhausted by
her emotion and her outburst, the words echoed
in his head.

<She didn't mean it. She's worn out and hurting
and lashing out.>

<She did mean it. Maybe she's right.>

Swallowing the internal dialogue, he lowered
his head to look at the woman in his arms. Her
breath was coming in gasps, her small body
shuddering beneath his hands as she tried to
control her sobs. They were silent, wracking,
and painful to hear.

"Scully, it's..." his voice trailed off. It
wasn't okay. Not really.

<Not ever. And it's my fault.>

<Not my fault. It's them. Those bastards.>

<You heard what she said. You're no better than
them. What you kept hidden from her you might
as well have stolen yourself.>

"You're okay," he murmured finally, not sure
what else to say, not sure if he was right.

And she drew back, her face flushed and eyes
damp, still breathing heavily and unevenly.

"I'm not okay, Mulder," she said softly.
"But...are you...did I hurt you?"

"Nah," he answered, his hand still resting on
her slightly quavering shoulder. "You've got an
arm, Scully, but I've taken worse." He smiled
gently at her, rubbing his jaw line for effect.

<You can take it out on me anytime. Just
forgive me and please, don't ask me to leave.>

She looked up at him, her eyes veiled again.
The outburst had left her looking drained, but
she seemed to be closing off again.

<Don't shut me out. Not now.>

"How about that tea?" she asked, then uttered a
sort of nervous laugh, rubbing at her tear-
streaked face.

"Coming right up," he responded, trying to
match her mood. "Why don't you change, get
comfortable...I'll fix it."

<God, how I wish I could fix it all.>

She arched an eyebrow. "I hope you don't expect
me to come back in one of your dress shirts,
Mulder."

"Suitcase is in the car," he retorted.
Squeezing her shoulder, once, he turned into
the kitchen, listening to her soft footsteps as
she padded back to the bedroom.


**Give me another time; I'll show you another
side
All that you ever will need to know.**

"Almond?" she asked, a bit surprised.

"I was trying to find the type of tea that
tasted the =least= like tea," he answered, and
she rolled her eyes. "You know, you're quite
the domestic goddess, Scully. I counted at
least fourteen different kinds of herbal tea
alone in that cabinet of yours - not to mention
those sneaky caffeinated kinds, you little
rebel."

She had changed into sweats and now she sat,
legs tucked under her, on one corner of her
couch. Mulder, sans jacket, was slumped down on
the other side.

She clutched the steaming blue mug, inhaling
the sweet, slightly nutty scent of the tea.

"Scully," he began.

She lifted a hand. "Mulder, I'm sorry I lashed
out at you," she said quietly. "But I don't -"

"Want to talk about it. I know. But I think we
should."

<I don't think so. Let it go, Mulder. Let's
forget it the way we've forgotten the handful
of other times I've lost my composure in front
of you. I freaked out just now - maybe it's not
a scientific term, but it sure as hell is
applicable. I didn't mean to hurt you.>

<Yes you did, Dana. You know you did.>

"Please, Mulder, I think...I think I have
enough to handle right now."

<Great. Ask for pity.>

But none was forthcoming.

"Scully, I know how much you have to deal with,
but I think we need to address this now."

"What?" she asked dully, looking at him.

"Scully, I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm sorry
that I didn't tell you about...about it
earlier, and I'm sorry that you thought it
meant I had betrayed you. But I swear to you,
Scully, I had nothing but your best interests
at heart. I...thought I was protecting you."

"I know," she whispered, feeling tears starting
again.

<I'm turning into a weeping fool. Get some
control.>

"It's okay if you...if you're angry with me. I
want you to tell me."

She looked into her tea, studying the smoky
amber liquid.

"I mean instead of just showing me. Like maybe
another right hook?"

She looked up sharply. He had a sad half-smile
on his face. The look in his eyes, the tender
concern she'd seen before, brought the tears to
shimmer on her lashes.

"Mulder, I'm...I'm sorry I hit you," she said
softly, sheepishly. "I don't know, I just...I
hated that you'd kept something hidden from me
like that. Hated the thought that you knew all
this before me, that...that you knew
there...could be others." She drew a breath.

"No more secrets, Mulder?"

"No more secrets."

"=Are= there others?"

She watched his face change, the subdued panic,
the grief. <Oh, God.> She felt her own heart
speed up.

<This too shall pass.
Thistooshallpassthistooshallpassthistooshallpas
sthistooshallpass>


**Say, do you believe in circular circumstance?
Could you believe if I showed you what's
keeping you?
All you could be and all that's expected of
You who's been given so much that you'll never
know.**


He looked straight into the clear, shimmering
depths of her eyes. The eyes that had stared
back at him with utter despair and betrayal
earlier in the evening, that had shone with
faith and determination and intelligence
countless other times. They studied him now
with conflicting flickers of hope and horror
and, most of all, trust.

Trust.

No more secrets.

He drew another breath.

"I don't know, Scully."

He heard her intake of breath. Somehow he felt
her pulse, crossing the distance that separated
him on the couch, filling his head with her
heartbeat.

"What do you mean," she pronounced the words
carefully, "you `don't know'?"

"Evidence..." he swallowed. "Evidence seems to
point to...I mean, I found some records
that..."

<Talk to her, damn it. You promised her trust.
You took it from her. Now give it to her.>

"It's not an impossibility, Scully."

He studied the tears that clung to her lashes.
She nodded, slowly.

"Why did they do this to me?" she asked simply.

Intently he watched the lines and curves of her
face, unsure of the answer she was looking for.
Did she want to know why they had done =this=?
Or why they had done this to =her=?

"I don't know, Scully. I'm sorry."

<God, I'm so sorry.>

"I don't have the answers to these questions
that...that you deserve," he continued. "But we
will find them, Scully. I have...I have faith
that we will. Justice will come."

"You said there was no justice," she murmured,
fingers fussing with the corner of the afghan.

"Maybe not now, but if we keep searching for
the Truth..." he trailed off lamely.

<She's grieving for the child she never knew
she had, and I'm spewing my search-and-rescue-
for-the-Truth-nothing-else-matters junk.>

He was disgusted with himself.

"I don't know, Mulder," she said. "I never
doubted that our...that our search would
continue. But I guess I had hoped for some sort
of...immortality. I know, it sounds terribly
egocentric, but I...Damn it, Mulder. I wanted
to pass on my genes."

Even in those clinical terms, her pain shone
through the words, infusing them with her fear
and disappointment.

"I mean, even the ones I'm not crazy about.
Even...the short ones, and the stubborn ones,
and the tone-deaf ones." She paused, a hint of
a smile coloring her lips. "Mulder, they took
something from me that they had no right to
take. When I...when I found out I couldn't have
children, that it was because of what they'd
done to me, it was...bad. But to think that
they hadn't only left me empty, but
had...stolen the very means of creation only to
use them for...for their evil, heartless
purposes, it was...worse. And I know you were
only trying to...to look out for me, Mulder,
but when I knew that you had known, that you
had...had seen, it was...much worse. The very
worst, to think that I was...betrayed."

"Scully..."

She lifted a hand. "Don't, Mulder. I know you
haven't betrayed me, not really, not the way I
thought. But it hurt just the same.

"I wanted to save her, Mulder. I wanted that so
badly. She was...my chance, some last chance at
having...at having someone."

"Scully," he began again.

"No, I'm sorry. That was self-pitying, and I
didn't mean it."

"You're not alone, Scully," he said softly.

"I am, Mulder. In a way I always have been, and
I've grown to accept that. I just didn't know
that I...that I always would be."

"You have more than you think you do, Scully,"
he said softly.

She lifted an eyebrow sadly in response.

"You have your faith," he said softly. "Shaken
maybe, but not crushed. It may have been my
search at the beginning, but it's ours now. You
have a family who loves you and a future of...a
future that's only just been opened up to you
again."

He drew a breath. "And you have me."


**Don't turn away again; we haven't much time
to spend.**

His words hung in the air for a moment. Then
she set her tea cup down on the coffee table -
on a coaster - and turned to him, hands resting
on her knees.

"Do I?"

"Always," he responded huskily.

Her eyes filled again, and his face, those
familiar lines, the eyes soft with wonder, swam
before her. <I have waited so long, Mulder. So
long.> The emotion rose on her, crashing over
her in a wave she had denied for too long.
"Mulder, I..." Her face twisted. She couldn't
breathe. Something crumpled inside her chest,
constricting her air.

"Scully." His voice was urgent. "Do you see my
hand?"

Gasping a breath, she nodded. It was
outstretched toward her, slightly brown,
slightly worn, but warm and strong and alive.

"Take it, Scully. Hold on tight."

Slowly she reached her own hand forward. It
looked tiny in comparison, white and slim and
shaking. She felt his warmth like a jolt of
electricity when her fingertips brushed his
broad palm. Carefully she folded her hand
around his.

"Hold on," he murmured. She did. As if her life
depended on it.

Perhaps it did.

She held onto his hand, drinking in his
strength and vitality and care, swallowing
painful gulps of air until finally her chest
loosened and the tears came.

Cupping her face in her other hand, she sobbed
quietly into her palm, letting the tears flow
this time, washing away the grief.

**Take my heart and the things that I ask of
you.
Take my soul; there's a child still inside of
you.
Take my hand, and bring all you need to go
Further on and
Further on and
Further on to the sea**

Finally, the tears came. Not the angry flood
that had accompanied her rage earlier. No,
those had been torn in painful heaves from her
small frame, wracking her. These tears fell
almost gratefully, splashing over her cheeks,
letting her grieve.

Letting it go.

Not letting go of the hand that clutched his in
touching trust, he moved closer to her and drew
her head to his shoulder, stroking light
circles on her back with his free hand. Pressed
so closely together, he could actually feel her
heartbeat against his body, within his body,
the coursing of her blood. It was somehow
deeply intimate, and he was grateful.

<I came so close to losing you, Scully. Then,
and today as well. Thank you. Thank you for
letting me stay. Thank you for letting me in.>

Letting her cry it out, he murmured light
comfort into her ear, rocking her slightly. It
had all been said. It was over, and the grief
coursing through her was the last cleansing.

<Thank you. Whoever it was I begged for some
peace for her, thank you so much.>

"Did you mean that?" she asked suddenly, her
sobs nearly finished, her head still buried in
his shirt.

"Every word," he responded, not knowing what
exactly she meant, but not caring. He took it
generally. She was asking for his trust. He was
more than willing, finally, to grant her wish.

"You have more than you think you have, Scully.
I know it may not...feel that way, to either of
us, right now, or maybe for a long time, but
you...both of us...we have everything we need."

<We have each other.>

He felt her heart beating against his chest,
reveled in the steady, healthy thump. Felt his
own beating in tandem.

<Take my heart, Scully. Take whatever you need.
Take what I can give you. What I ask of you.>

Slowly she lifted her head, looked at him with
tired eyes whose light was just beginning to
return.

"I know," she said softly. "I just wanted to
hear it again."

He leaned closer to her, not even an inch, and
time seemed to freeze. ("Time can't just
disappear! It's a universal invariant!")

Her breath was warm on his face in that long
instant, her gaze, fixed and steady, spoke the
trust they both clung to so desperately.

Without it, they were nothing.

With it, they had everything.

Everything they needed.

His pulse thumped in his ears, the blood rushed
to his face, pricking it with heat.

Everything they needed.

Her face moved almost imperceptibly toward his,
the space separating them spirit-light and
vanishing foggily.

Her lips quivered just barely.

His eyes half closed, he breathed the smoky air
of longing, of nearly five years of all-
consuming devotion.

Take my heart, Scully.

It's always been yours.

The space between them was almost gone.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

**I started my journey; you told me you knew
me, so
Take my heart, and the things that you ask of
me.
Take my soul, there's a child still inside of
me.
Take my hand, you need not a thing to go
Further on and
Further on and
Further on to the sea.**

THE NEXT DAY

"You sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure," she responded firmly. The couch
where they'd professed their trust the night
before was mussed. Mulder had spent the night,
unwilling to leave her, unwilling to leave
their bond so freshly re-sworn. He had tiptoed
into her bedroom and awakened her gently that
morning, reminding her with a look of their
vows unbroken.

She needed something from him now.

In her hand was clenched a small blue glass
bottle.

The blue of her eyes.

The blue of the sea.

Inside was a small scrap of plastic. Emily's
hospital bracelet.

<How many of these did she amass in her short,
pain-filled life? Emily, I only hope I eased
some of your pain, little one.>

And something else, something gold that glinted
through the transparent cerulean shield.

<"It means God is with you. Watching over you."
My mother told me that. Now I tell you, my
sweet child whom I never got to know.>

A tiny gold cross.

Not Scully's.

"This is...was Melissa's," she had told Mulder,
her breath hitching painfully at the thought of
her sister. "It's only right that...it wasn't
just Emily who found me, Mulder. Missy helped,
too. Now G...now Missy can watch over her the
way I know she watched over...me, when I needed
her."

Carefully she sealed the bottle.

"I don't like her coffin buried in the dirt,"
she'd told him. "She should go back to where
she came from. Where we came from."

"Where's that?"

"The sea."

And so they left that morning, to say good-bye.

Sunrise over the water.

Scully watched the sky swirl with vibrant
color, watched the coastline of the sleepy city
opening its eyes.

<I'm sorry I couldn't show you a sunrise,
Emily. I'm sorry you only saw me in those
awful, sterile, pain-filled rooms.>

They had come to say good-bye.

They stood, shivering in the early morning
chill, at the edge of the dock.

"Good-bye, Emily," she murmured.

<God be with you.>

She threw the bottle as far as she could.

Watched it bob on the surface, swept under and
over and under again by the wind.

Vanishing slowly, blending blue on blue.

She turned, pain creasing her face, to look at
him.

They'd come so far. And here they stood.

She reached out and took his hand.

FINIS