"You hungry?" Mulder asked, pulling his eyes from the
road to glance at her.  The streetlamps cast bands of
light over his face as the car moved past the empty
storefronts and factory buildings with their broken
windows.

"Yeah," she answered.  "I guess I am."  It had been hours
since she'd grabbed a yogurt out of a vending machine at
work.

She wondered if his hands hurt as he gripped the steering
wheel and guided the car through the dark streets.  The
battered neighborhoods gave way to more upscale blocks.
She thought about Maurice Pumphrey and pictured the old
man's sad eyes as he ushered his visitors out the door.
"Take care o' yourselves," he'd said.

Mulder slotted the car into a space in front of their
favorite bar and grill, a place where the lighting was dim
and the food was good.  They found a booth in the back,
far from the noisy chatter of the bar.

They faced each other over sandwiches and beer, saying
little.  She concentrated on taking neat bites out of
her turkey on rye, trying not to let Mulder notice her
watching him.

He devoured his pastrami sandwich as if he hadn't eaten
in days.  He probably hadn't.  His eyes strayed to the
TV over the bar, perhaps hoping he could catch the score
of whatever game played out.

She felt an itch under her skin, a sense of expectation
not unlike the air before a thunderstorm.  She wondered
if he felt it too.

"Scully, show those chips some mercy, will you?" He smiled
at her and placed his hand over hers.  She looked down to
discover that she'd systematically pulverized each potato
chip on her plate.

They finished their meal and paid the check. The evening
air was moist and chilly, causing her to shiver a bit as
she unlocked the car doors.  Mulder shooed her over to the
passenger side, sliding his long body into the driver's
seat.

He easily navigated the few blocks between the bar and
her apartment.  Easing her car into the space next to his,
she wondered if he intended to make a quick exit.  Mulder
stood between the two cars, his head down, hands in pockets.

"It's early; why don't you come up for a while?" she asked,
holding in a breath.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure," she answered as she exhaled slowly.

He nodded, and then followed her into the apartment.  His
movements were stiff and awkward as he sat on the sofa. The
man who usually sprawled with his feet up on the coffee
table, now sat forward with his hands folded in his lap.

"I'm going to make some coffee," she said rubbing her hands
together.  "Do you want some?"

"Better watch it with the coffee, Scully.  You'll be up all
night."

He tried to smile at her, but she knew his heart wasn't in
it.

"I'm a little chilled.   Are you cold?"

He looked at her, and tried smiling again, but this time she
thought he just looked miserable.  "Look at us," he said
softly.  "Small talk over coffee?  We were past making small
talk the second day we met."

She couldn't answer him; she knew it was true.  And yet, he
seemed a stranger to her, this man who knew her more
intimately than she knew herself.  Mulder caught
her hands between his palms.

"You're right--they're like icicles."

Raising her hands to his lips, he warmed them with his
breath.   She tried to force herself to pull away, knowing
in her heart that the stakes were too high for them to make
a mistake.  And this could be a terrible mistake.

He pressed kisses to her palm, drawing his lips to the
tender skin of her inner wrist.  His touch burned, yet she
didn't pull away.

Scully watched as Mulder closed his eyes and prayerfully
kissed her right hand first, and then her left.

When he looked up, she saw how afraid he was.

"Make it all go away, Scully," he pleaded.  "Make it so it
never happened."

"I can't," she whispered.  "We both have to face that."

His arms snaked around her, holding her so tight she
couldn't quite fill her lungs.  Maybe she really didn't need
air when Mulder had his face pressed against her neck.  His
breath felt hot on her skin, his kisses wet with tears.

I thought I was going to lose you, he whispered.  His hands
slid under her top, feverish against the bare skin of her
back.

"You could never lose me."  The compulsion to touch him was
overpowering, stronger than common sense, stronger than
self-preservation.  As if by their own volition, her fingers
worked the buttons on Mulder's shirt.

She watched his face as he struggled to control his
expression and failed.  Fear, need, pain, desire.  All
played over his features as his hands found her breasts.

But there was no tenderness in his actions.  His hands were
desperate as he searched her body for his relief, and she
wanted just as desperately to forget the past, and ignore
the future-if only for the next few minutes.

Usually Mulder was a considerate lover, but tonight, there
were no gentle caresses or soft touches.  His eyes glazed
over as he tore at her blouse, and as Scully heard the
buttons bounce to the floor, she realized that he wasn't
even seeing her.

She didn't care.  She had needs of her own that included
Mulder doing just what he was doing.  Drowning in him, at
this moment would give her release and maybe a little peace.
He pushed the blouse off her shoulders, skimming roughened
fingers along the lace edge of her bra.

Mulder kissed her, his mouth hard and greedy.  She moaned
deep in her throat, nipping at his bottom lip.  Her hands 
slid under his shirt, stroking his fever-warm skin, clutching 
wildly at his shoulders, feverishly moving over his arms, his 
back, his chest.

They staggered to the sofa, pulling clothes off as they
moved, united in the need for skin to skin contact.  His
body covered her, sweat-damp chest crushing her breasts. 
She welcomed his weight upon her, reminding her that she 
was still alive.

"Always love you, love you," Mulder muttered into her hair
as he pushed into her.  She stifled a bitter laugh as the 
memory of last night's drunken words came back to her. She 
needn't have worried. Mulder apparently forgave easily enough 
when he was on top of her.

She forced that thought from her mind, concentrating instead
on the sensation of fullness, the friction of his skin
against hers, the rasp of his breath in her ear.

Scully closed her eyes to block the dim lamplight, and in
the darkness, drops of sweat and tears inched down her face.
Mulder growled, and pounded into her hard and fast.  Her
body responded primitively, instinctively; her hips lifted
to meet his again and again until small sparks of light
appeared behind her eyelids.

She was wet and hot as the sparks grew brighter, but she
forced her eyes to stay shut.  'Now, now it all goes away,'
she panted as her body and mind parted.

Her thighs trembled, and she arched back, biting her tongue
to stifle a cry.  In the distance, she heard a soft wail as
Mulder shuddered hard against her.

He lay on top of her, heavy and slick with sweat.  All was
silent except for his gasping and her sobs.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Years ago, Mulder had believed that the disappearance of his 
sister was the defining moment of his life.  One night had split 
his life in half, so that evermore there would be *before* 
and *after.*
 
Lying on Scully's sofa, bright morning light bathing the
room, he reflected on how pitifully shortsighted that view was.
The scent of sex still hung in the air, blending with the normal
Scully apartment smells.

Over the years, he'd come to understand that life was filled with
pivotal moments--events that changed everything with the subtlety
of a nuclear blast.  Shooting Phil had just been one more mushroom
cloud, sending shock waves across the desert of their lives.  They
had survived the initial blast.  He wondered if they would survive 
the fallout.

Scully must have covered him with a sheet during the night, and
he was naked and a bit sticky under it.  He pictured her shifting 
him over and extricating herself from under him once he'd fallen 
asleep.  What a cliche--selfish pig falling asleep after fucking.

And that's what it was--a fuck.  They hadn't made love.  Love 
didn't enter into the equation last night.  It had been 
primitive, raw.  With a jolt, he remembered hearing her sobs
through the haze of his orgasm.  God.  How did things get this
screwed up?

And where the hell was she?  He hauled himself off the sofa,
groaning with stiff muscles.  The VCR's clock mocked him,
making sure he knew it was past 10:30 and Scully was gone.

Had she left this morning, hoping he'd clear out while she
was gone?  He grabbed his jeans out of the pile of clothes
on the floor, sliding them on without benefit of his boxers.
Scully's clothes were no longer tangled with his this 
morning.  

He wandered into the kitchen, searching for something to 
block out the hideous taste in his mouth.  Scully hadn't 
made coffee.  That seemed meaningful, somehow.  For Scully,
a day without caffeine was like a day without air.

And she was out of orange juice, damn it.  

Knocking things aside in her refrigerator, his fingers hit
upon a brown bottle.  Mulder smirked; it was so like Scully 
to have Amstel Light as her beer of choice.  He liked real
beer, but what the hell, a nice light beer mid-morning 
sounded just right.

He rummaged through the drawer for the bottle opener, popped
the top, and stared, mesmerized by the white wisp that
curled out.

He downed it and reached for another, noting that Scully had
stocked up.  This weekend was supposed to start out with bad
movies and unbuttered popcorn, progress to sloppy
make-out sessions, and end with long, slow love-making
all night and into the morning.

"Damn it," Mulder whispered fiercely. "Where is she?"

He finished his second round and, as he tossed the bottle
away, got a good look at his hands.  The stitches were
melting away, and smooth scars were forming to take their
place, giving him a little hope. His hands were healing, and 
if his hands could heal, maybe the rest of him could, too. 

Light beer doesn't pack much of a punch, but it was morning
and he'd had two in a row.  With his stomach empty, the
alcohol made him feel mild and peaceful.  Pretty soon, he'd
have the courage to go out looking for her.

He'd apologize and tell her he loved her.  He would promise
never do it again.  Whatever "it" was; whatever she wanted
him to say.   He'd lied to her before and she believed him.  
He believed it himself; all those times he told her he wouldn't 
hurt her.   As he opened the refrigerator door, he thought
that maybe she'd believe him again.

God, he hoped so.

The sound of Scully's key's hitting the counter startled him.
He hadn't heard her come in, what with the fine buzz going on
in his head.  He slammed the refrigerator door shut and stood
up.  The empty beer bottles had been thrown away, but there 
were two bottle tops on the counter next to her keys. 

"Breakfast of champions, Mulder?" she asked, her voice 
razor sharp.  

"Beer's made with hops and grains, you know.  It's practically
Cheerios."  He aimed for a glib tone, but couldn't quite keep 
the desperation out of his voice.  "Where were you, Scully?"

She handed him a folded sheet of blue paper, "Holy Trinity 
Catholic Church" printed along the top of the closely
typed page.  

"It's Sunday morning, Mulder.  I forgot to leave you a note,
but I thought you'd figure it out."  His eyes remained focussed
on the church bulletin, unwilling to meet her gaze.

"Looks like the youth group's having a car wash," he said,
hoping to distract her from the shiny bottlecaps.  "And 
Bible study classes start next Thursday."    

She took the bulletin out of his hand, tossing it onto the 
counter next to her car keys.  "Come on and sit down, Mulder,"
she said, taking his hand.  "I want to talk to you."

He allowed her to lead him to the sofa, happy for any physical
contact at all.  Memories of last night's activities flooded
back as they sat down.  She didn't release his hand, and he 
wondered if she needed to feel his touch as much as he needed
to feel hers.

"I don't suppose you'd like to make out instead of talk," he
said.  

"I don't think that's going to solve anything.  Mulder, I'm
worried.  You've had more to drink in the last three days than
I've seen you drink in two months."

"I had exactly two beers last night and two this morning, Scully.
I fully admit to getting drunk Friday night, but I hardly think
that's evidence of a drinking problem."  

"I never said you were developing a drinking problem, Mulder, but
it's a definite change in behavior and I think it's a sign."

"A sign?  A sign that I'm becoming unglued?  So, maybe I'm having
a hard time dealing with this, but you're not exactly the poster
girl for serenity these days either."

She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to disagree with him, but he
continued, "When was the last time you slept through the night?
You have circles under your eyes and about as much color as a 
glass of milk.  Go ahead, tell me you're doing fine."

A look of shock passed over her features, before she composed her 
face into calm perfection.  Did she think he didn't notice her, 
didn't pay attention to every breath she took? 

"All right then, maybe we both need help."

"What kind of help?"  He eyed her warily.  "You mean the
mandatory therapy sessions?  You think they'll help?  Well,
I already know what I'm going to say to the mandatory
therapist."

"You've practiced scamming the therapist?"

"It's not like I really need this headshrinking shit,
Scully.  It won't even work on me since I already know all
the tricks of the trade."  He lowered his voice, "How about
something like, 'I think it's perfectly normal for a law
officer to be upset over killing an unarmed man.'"

"And you think the therapist will buy that?"  She stood up.

"I am upset.  It's normal!  She'll buy it!"

"There's nothing 'normal' about all this."  Her cheeks
reddened.  "I know you're hurting, but even *you* can't
think it's normal to lose sleep and get drunk like this?"
She waved her hand at him.

"I am not..."

"And add lying to the FBI therapist to that!"  Her voice
rose angrily.  "Do you think it's normal to shut yourself
off, hide in a bar, blame your partner for screwing up, then
use her for a comfort fuck?"  Her mouth slammed shut.

"So, is that what this is about?" he took two steps toward
her.  "Well, partner, it seems to me that you were giving as
good as you were getting.  We were *both* pretty comfy there
for a few minutes."  He stood over her.  "One bad fuck and
now you think I need therapy?"

"Yes!"  Her hands flew covering her ears.  "I know you do!
I know I do! "

Her words staggered him.  He took a breath and stabbed his
finger at her.  He took another breath and tried again, but
no sound came.

"We won't survive like this, Mulder.  Together or apart,"
she said to the floor.  "We both need help or we won't make
it."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Agent Mulder is here, Assistant Director."

"Thank you.  Tell him I'll be with him in a moment."

Skinner paused to go through his story again.  It was difficult 
enough conjuring the details in his head, but it was always worse 
when he spoke them aloud.

Mulder entered, clean-shaven, well dressed and barely recognizable.  
Skinner had seen Mulder crumble after the shooting, but thought 
that his agent would bounce back after the OPR review cleared him.  
Instead, Mulder deteriorated.  Skinner watched him sink, quietly 
isolating himself from others. 

He glanced away, and told himself that this pale, somber man was 
the same curious, stubborn believer he'd known for years.  

"You wanted to see me, sir?"  Mulder asked softly.

"Yes.  Please sit down; this may take a few minutes.  You and Agent 
Scully have an appointment today with the Bureau counselor..."

"Sir, I'm not going into this with you..." Mulder got up and headed 
for the door.

"Agent Mulder!  I've been where you are now, and I don't want 
*you* to fall for it!"  Skinner stood, shoving his chair aside.  
"Don't believe that bullshit."  

Mulder stopped, but didn't face him.  "What bullshit?"

"That men like us, who carry guns, and live by the words: Fidelity, 
Bravery, Integrity, don't make mistakes.  And that we aren't 
supposed to need help when we do."

Mulder sighed and shook his head.   "With all due respect to you 
and the  FBI motto, Sir, I don't care to discuss this."
 
"Mulder,  you're going to have to talk to someone."

"Et tu, Skinner?"

"No Mulder, I'm not siding with the enemy.  There is no enemy 
here."  
Skinner walked up to him.  "But I would be betraying you if I didn't 
try to help you."

Mulder spoke sadly, "I was supposed to help, too.  That's what I'm 
trained to do, but I blew it.  My partner couldn't help me.  I 
seriously doubt that you can."

"It happened to me, too, Mulder.  I helped kill a man who wanted 
to die."

Mulder finally looked at him.  Skinner continued.  "Somehow, it 
feels 
worse, when you abet a death wish.  No matter who it is, the lack of 
malice on the part of the victim at that moment..." 
 
"...makes him innocent."  Mulder completed.

"Except in my case," The A.D. turned and sat on the edge of his 
desk, 
facing his agent, "I knew the victim wasn't innocent.  But it still 
took me a long time to get through it."

Mulder's tired eyes became curious, "What happened?"

Skinner looked up and took a breath, "You thought the gun pointed at 
Scully was loaded.  Well, I thought the gun pointed at me was 
real."  
He paused, "But there was no gun." 

"Oh..." Mulder began to understand.

"I shot a man who just pointed his finger at me."

The two men stared at each other, then Mulder sat heavily into the 
seat in front of Skinner's desk.

"You had no choice, sir, Modell was a murderer."

"Yeah, right, and every time I told to myself, 'it's fine, no 
problem, you did the right thing.'  I heard your voice, Mulder, 
warning me about him.  I should have listened to you." 

"It wasn't your fault," Mulder said.  "Modell made you do it."

"Just like Phil Sanderson made you do it."  Skinner stood.  "You 
have to talk about what happened, Mulder.  You have to tell his 
story, like I had to, after I fired the round that killed Robert 
Patrick Modell."

"Sir, this is different."  Mulder closed his eyes.

"Is it?  For weeks after, I hardly slept, and I drank too much.  
How are you sleeping at night?"  There was no sarcasm in his 
voice, and he waited for a reply.

Mulder shook his head.

"Your drinking, aren't you?  You look like hell." 

"Why don't I just have my insurance pay you for the counseling?" 
Mulder said tersely. 

Skinner ignored him.  "How's Agent Scully handling it?  Do you 
even talk to her any more?"  

Mulder's eyes widened, and Skinner knew he hit on something.
  
"Mulder, killing Modell wasn't my fault, but it took me many 
months to understand that.  And after all this time, I still 
feel responsible; but at least I can cope with it, now.  Until 
I learned how, it was killing me, like it's killing you.  And 
like it's killing Scully."

Mulder stiffened, and turned away.  Skinner knew that playing 
the Scully card was a last ditch effort.  But at this point he 
would bare any lie, tell any tale, and invoke the love of 
Mulder's life, in order to save it.

"Trust me on this," Skinner said.

"Okay," Mulder said as he stood.

Skinner nodded.  "Okay."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Sorry I'm late."  Mulder said from the doorway. "Traffic
was tied up."

"Don't worry about it.  Dr. Capelli must be running late," 
she said, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.  Mulder
took a seat, several feet away from her.  Scully didn't 
want to think about why so much space existed between
them in this empty waiting room.

She'd come alone, making the excuse that she needed to stop 
at her mother's afterwards.  He could always tell when she 
was lying, but probably was no more eager than she to take 
that silent ride home together.  

The air crackled with tension, and they both jumped when 
the inner door to the waiting room opened.

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting."  A tall, comfortably
upholstered woman entered the room, hand outstretched.  "I'm
Guilia Capelli."

Years of living were evident in the laughlines and creases
in the therapist's face.  Her short hair was dark and wiry, 
shot through with gray.  

"Dana Scully."  Scully's hand was enveloped in firm embrace.

"I'm Fox Mulder," he said, extending his hand. The muscle in
his jaw pulsed with a steady tattoo.  "But you knew that 
already."  

"Yes, I did.  The FBI provided me with some background
information."  Dr. Capelli ushered them into her office.  The 
room had been decorated with a rich red overstuffed sofa 
facing two comfortable gold chairs.

"Please, have a seat," the therapist said as she took one of
the chairs.  Scully was sure the doctor noticed their discomfort 
as they eyed the remaining chair before sitting on the couch, 
leaving a foot or so of space between them.   

"We might as well get this show on the road," Dr. Capelli
said.  Her speech had a lilt, not quite an accent, but a
hint of another language.  "I've read  reports on the 
incident that brings you here."

"Did you find them exciting?" Mulder asked, his voice 
studiously neutral.  Scully kept her gaze on her carefully 
folded hands and tried to ignore the pounding in her head.

"Not at all.  I found them very sad.  Loss of life is always
sad.  Sometimes, though, it is inevitable, and when it is,
we need to accept our limited options."

Scully's head snapped up, and Dr. Capelli smiled at her.  
"This is not always an easy thing to do, is it?  One can
come to question those choices, reaching, perhaps, for 
options that were never there."

"Forgive me, doctor," she said tightly, "But you've never had 
to face those options."

"Believe me, Agent Scully, I have my scars.  There have been 
times, when I have failed to notice things I'd been trained to 
notice, and people have died."  Dr. Capelli's voice was firm 
but soft.  

"Your jobs are extremely difficult and you found yourselves 
in a no-win situation," the therapist continued.  "It's normal 
to have difficulty dealing with that.  But it's also normal
to need help."

The FBI agents were silent.  With bitter irony, she remembered 
Mulder's strategy for dealing with therapy.  Maybe he'd met 
his match with Dr. Capelli.

"I'm going to start by asking you, one at a time, to briefly 
describe what you were feeling at the time of the shooting."  
The doctor opened a notepad.

Mulder rolled his eyes and stood.  "This isn't going to work." 

"So, you felt a sense of disbelief?"  She stared into Mulder's 
eyes.

"No!  That's not...I mean yes, I..."  He looked at Scully, and 
then back at Dr. Capelli.  "Yes," he sighed.  "I couldn't 
believe that I'd just killed an unarmed man."  He looked down.  
"I wanted to believe that the gun was real."

She watched Mulder sit way over on his side of the couch. 

"Agent Scully?"  

She absently rubbed her left arm with her right hand.  "Relief."  
She winced, that didn't sound right.  "To...uh...to be alive.  
I thought I was going to die," she amended.

"Agent Mulder.  Did you think she was going to die?"

"Yes, I did." Mulder sat up straight.  "At first."

"And now?"

Mulder narrowed his eyes, "And now, what?"

"And now do you feel relief?"

"Dr. Capelli, my partner was never in any real danger.  The 
gun Phil Sanderson aimed at her was an old, unloaded World 
War II Smith and Wesson revolver.  My fear for her life 
was...unwarranted."

Scully sucked her breath in through her teeth.  Her head 
pounded in earnest, as she stared at her hands, trying not 
to cry.  

The doctor nodded.  "The line between right and wrong sometimes 
becomes blurred, doesn't it?  The recipes we've been taught to 
follow don't always work.  How does it feel knowing that you're 
not infallible?" 

"Shit," Mulder stood again and began pacing.  "I know I'm not 
infallible."

"Then why do you feel guilty?"

"Because I could have saved him!"

"How?"

Mulder stopped, his back to Scully, and she was sure he didn't 
want her to see his face.

"If I had confronted Phil alone, I know I could have reached 
him."  His voice was thin and pained.  "I've stood in his shoes, 
and I would have made him understand.  I would have talked him 
into handing me his gun.   If my partner hadn't gotten close 
enough to become a target..." 

"But she was there, and at the moment you are agonizing over, 
you cannot remove her from the equation. So, in that 
confrontation, what could you have changed?"

"I...I..." Mulder paced madly, wildly looking side to side.  
"I would have changed places with her, so...so Sanderson 
would have shot me instead."

"Then Scully would have killed Phil Sanderson."

Mulder returned to the couch, dropping down wearily.  He
rubbed his forehead as if in pain. 

"She's strong...so much stronger than I am.  Like a female 
archangel Michael with holy sword and shield, driving the 
evil into hell; she could have saved me from this...could 
have saved us both from this..." 

"Do you feel like a female archangel, Agent Scully?"  

Her hands were so tightly fisted that her fingernails dug 
little crescents into her palms. Scully shook her head,  
"Far from it."

"Are you surprised that your partner sees you as an 
invincible force?"

"I'm never quite sure what my partner thinks," Scully answered.
Her voice sounded hollow in her ears.  "But, this week? I 
definitely would not have guessed he saw me as invincible."

"How so?"

Mulder shifted his position on the sofa, his movement sending
a little shockwave vibrating through her.  She fought the urge
to look at Mulder.

"My general impression was that Mulder found me a hindrance. 
That he felt I was incompetent the night of the shooting."

"No, I never thought that."

"You asked me how I could have let myself become a target, 
Mulder."  She allowed her gaze to shift to Mulder.  "You were 
fairly direct in your opinion."

Eyes washed with pain, Mulder seemed to be searching for words.
"I was hungover at the time, as I recall.  Scully, if you 
could see yourself through my eyes, you'd never doubt your
abilities or my opinion of them."

Dr. Capelli cleared her throat.  "Ah, but we rarely see ourselves
the way our loved ones see us."  Scully's headache pounded as
she turned to the doctor, wondering how much the doctor had 
guessed about her relationship with Mulder.

"I'd like to go back, Agent Mulder, to what you said earlier," Dr.
Capelli continued.  "You said that your partner could have saved
you--saved you both.  How would things be different if she'd been
the shooter?"
  
"I doubt Scully would be falling apart right now," Mulder 
muttered.  "She handles things."

"Agent Scully, you are shaking your head. You disagree?"

She hadn't realized her negative reaction was so obvious.  Tears
threated in her voice. "My track record for 'handling things' 
leaves a lot to be desired. Mulder, if I could, I'd take this 
burden on me.  But I guarantee you, I wouldn't be handling it 
*any* better than you are."

Mulder sat forward, his hands loosely clasped between his 
knees.  "I'm sorry," he said, nearly inaudible.  "I wouldn't 
wish this on my worst enemy. I certainly wouldn't wish it on you."

"I'm going to draw this session to a close." Dr. Capelli's
voice was soft and compassionate.  "You've done some
good work today, but our time is nearly up.  I'd like to meet
with you again later in the week--I have an opening for this
same time on Thursday."

Mulder nodded mutely.  Scully turned to the doctor, "We'll be 
here."

"I like to give my patients an assignment for the period between
appointments.  My assignment for you is not to discuss
the shooting at all until our appointment.  If being together
in the office makes that difficult, perhaps you can work 
separately this week."

Dr. Capelli rose and escorted them to the door.  "You will
get through this.  Have faith."

Scully hoped that was true, but the ache in her heart made
that faith hard to grasp.  Dr. Capelli gently shut the inner
door, leaving the agents alone in the waiting room.

"Scully..."

She raised her hand in a gesture of goodbye and, with a
short nod, fled before her shaky composure fell along with
her tears.


XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX 

"Are the two of you involved?"

Any chance at remaining detached during this therapy
session was lost as Mulder sat forward on the couch.
He leveled a stare at Dr. Capelli. H had resolved to 
maintain detached during this therapy session, but 
Dr. Capelli's question undermined his plan.

"Have you been listening to WBLM?" he asked.

He almost smiled at the look of confusion from both 
Scully and the therapist.  It was a good thing Scully
hadn't heard that radio broadcast a few days after 
the shooting.

He'd been sneaking looks at Scully since she entered the
room; three days of missing her had left him jittery.
At first, he'd felt relief at not having to face the 
pain in her eyes, but by Thursday, the urge to call her
was overwhelming.  

"I fail to see why that's important," he said.

"I know it sounds as if I'm delving beyond the scope
of our work here, but I assure you, it is pertinent."

Dr. Capelli looked carefully at Scully before turning
her gaze on Mulder.  "I've picked up a certain feeling 
of...intimacy between you, and we've established that 
neither of you has a significant other.  So, forgive me
if I've jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Her steady gaze told Mulder that she knew her observation 
had struck home.  He nodded slowly, glancing at Scully to 
gauge her reaction.  She shrugged slightly, as if too
weary to deny the truth.

"You mentioned that you have no family, Agent Mulder," 
Dr. Capelli said.   "Apart from Agent Scully, of course,
who do you talk to when something is troubling you?"

"I...don't," he said, stealing a glance at Scully.  "At
least about something like this.  The people who might 
have understood this are gone.  The few friends who are
left have no frame of reference."

"And you, Agent Scully.  Who do you talk to when you're
upset?"

"My mother, I suppose," Scully said after a moment. 

"And have you told her about the shooting?"

"No.  She worries so much--about my work being dangerous.  
I couldn't bring myself to upset her."   

"We all need someone who can objectively listen to us when 
we're troubled," Dr. Capelli said, her hands steepled 
together.  "It seems as if each of you normally fulfills 
that role for the other.  But what happens when the person to 
whom we would unburden ourselves, is also hurting?"

"Some people don't unburden themselves."  He hadn't meant
for his voice to have such a hard edge.  He glanced again
at Scully. Her face was a study in impassivity. "At least 
not easily."

"Well, even if it doesn't come easily, I'd like to try a 
little exercise."  Dr. Capelli cocked her head to the side.  
"Agent Mulder, I suspect that you have less difficulty in 
'unburdening.'  I'd like you to talk to Agent Scully, not 
as the work partner who had a gun drawn on her, but as your 
dear friend, the person you can talk to. I want you to refer 
to 'your partner' when you tell her about that night."

"I'm really not up for your gimmicks today, Doctor.  We
did that during the last session, so, if it's all the same 
to you, I'll pass."  

He stood up from the couch, propelled to the door by his 
desire to escape.  He turned to Scully, trying to catch her 
eye, hoping she'd follow.  

The misery in her eyes stopped him in his tracks.  He glanced 
from her to the door, and then back again.  "Okay," he said, 
surrender in his voice.  "I'll play."

He dropped back onto the sofa in defeat. 

"What do you want me to do?" he said.

"I want you to take Agent Scully's hand, and tell her
what happened that night.  Talk to her as if you were telling 
her the story for the first time."

Mulder hesitated, clamping his lower lip between his teeth.  
Scully sat to his left, quiet and still, her sad eyes on him 
the whole time.

He met her eyes and slid closer.  He took her icy hand between 
both of his, hoping to warm it.

"We arrived..." Mulder swallowed and started again.  "My partner 
and I arrived at the motel, and found Phil pacing in the parking 
lot, outside of his room.  He was wild, desperate, ranting that 
nobody wanted to help him.  I wanted to help him."  

He rubbed her icy fingers, and looked away.  "I've known that 
kind of desperation and thought I could get through to him."  
He looked back at her.  "But he seemed fixated on getting you 
to..."

"Your partner," Capelli said softly.

"Huh? Oh, right.  He seemed fixated on getting my partner to 
believe his story.  She wanted to help him, too...I know she 
did.  But she got too close, and he leveled the gun at you...her.

"My heart started pounding, and all I could see was the
fear in her eyes, and the gun pointed at her head.  That damn 
gun filled my sight, and yet I never noticed it was old.  I was 
sure he was going to kill her, and I was furious that someone else 
was going  to use my partner against me.  Is it fucking tattooed 
on my forehead: 'Scully is the way to control me'?"  

Tears were rolling down Scully's face, and her chin trembled 
slightly, but she held herself straight and strong.  
"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "So, so sorry."

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and squeezed her
fingers.  "And then I shot him.  I pulled the goddamn trigger 
and he dropped like a sack of laundry.  Do you know what he said
to me, as he was dying?  He said 'thank you'."

Mulder let go her hand, and looked away.  

"Didn't that tell you something, Agent Mulder?"

"Yeah."  He looked at the doctor.  "He used me to hold the gun 
for him, because he couldn't do it himself, and he used my 
partner to get me to do it.  He was such a coward, such a 
fucking coward.  And I hate him for it."

"Agent Mulder..."

"I'm done."  Mulder stared at the ceiling, and blinked several 
times.  "I'm done."

Dr. Capelli apparently believed him, for she turned to Scully 
and said, "Agent Scully, it's your turn."

Mulder felt Scully shift in her seat, but she didn't speak.  He 
turned toward her, gave her his hand, and said softly, "She's 
right, it's your turn."

Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she gave him a small smile.  
Her hand was still cold, but not as icy as before.  

She cleared her throat and said, "My partner received a call 
from a distraught individual..." Mulder squeezed her hand, and 
looked her in the eye.  She began again.

"Phil called us.  He threatened to kill himself, and we 
believed him.  When we arrived at the motel, and I saw how out 
of control he was, I thought I could calm him down.  My partner 
was right; it seemed important to Phil that I believe his story 
about his past lives.  I thought that if I could convince him 
that I wanted to help him, and please believe me, Mulder, I 
wanted to help him..."

"I know. I never doubted it."

"I thought I could disarm him, but I had to be close.  I didn't 
think..."  She looked at Dr. Capelli, then at Mulder.  "I didn't 
believe he would turn the gun on me.  But he did."  She took a 
breath.  "He did, and my partner shot him.  After it was all over, 
I couldn't help but wonder..."  She stopped.  "Never mind."

"Go on," the doctor urged.

Scully shook her head, "We both thought he was armed.  I never, 
for a moment, thought the gun wasn't loaded..."

"You couldn't help but wonder, what?  Agent Scully?"

"The revolver's chambers were empty, and knowing that now..." 
She paused, and looked away.  "Knowing that now, I couldn't 
help but wonder what would have happened if my partner 
hesitated pulling the trigger."

Mulder sucked his breath.  "You're blaming me?"

"No!  No!  Don't you get it, Mulder?"  She yanked her hand 
away, and looked straight at him.  "What would have happened 
to *you* if you'd hesitated?"  

"Scully..."

"That's enough for today."  Dr. Capelli's voice was firm.  

"Scully?"

"Enough."  The doctor raised her hand, and her voice.  
"That's enough for today.  We'll pick up that thought 
when we meet again."

They looked at each other, Scully's eyes imploring, his filled 
with questions.

"I have one more assignment for you."

They both slumped.  Scully shook her head; Mulder ran his hand 
through his hair, and sighed heavily.

"Something fun.  Do something together, outside of the office.  
Interact as friends."  She paused.  "You're best friends," she 
amended.  "Go bowling, or to a concert.  Someplace to have fun 
and not discuss this case, or any other."

Mulder shifted his eyes to the other side of the couch.  Scully 
looked up, and adjusted her hair behind her ear.

"You are friends," the doctor said as she stood.  "And it 
looks to me, like you are all the both of you have."  She 
opened the door for them.  "Go out and rediscover that."

They both stood, Scully looked up at him, and brushed his 
cheek with her fingertips.  He ran his hand gently down the 
curve of her spine to the small of her back, and led her out 
of the room.  The doctor closed the door behind them, and 
they silently walked down the corridor.   

After ringing for the elevator, he turned to her.  "You know 
what I do for fun?"

"Yes, and those movies aren't my idea of a good time."  He 
could see she was trying, but her heart wasn't in it.

"I'm talking about doing something fun, together Scully," he said.  
"Doctor's orders."

"Mulder, I know that Dr. Capelli told us to do something together, 
but I'm not sure I can."

"You remember batting a horsehair ball around, don't you?"  He was 
sounding pathetic, but plodded on.  "Let's go to a ballgame."

She shook her head and looked down.

"I'll buy you some peanuts and Cracker Jack."  He leaned over to 
catch her eye, but her gaze was locked to her shoes.

"Okay, forget it.  It was a crazy idea."  The elevator door opened 
and he stepped in.  "You don't even like baseball."

She followed him into the empty elevator car, and sighed softly.  
"All right.  I'll go."   Her eyes met his for an instant, and then 
she looked away. "I like baseball."

He touched her chin, and tilted her face up.   

"Scully, we have to," he said gently.  "We have to do this."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 
"Look what I got, Scully.  Club box seats and a pass to the Eutaw 
Street parking lot."

"No way!" she exclaimed.

Scully had heard that parking at Oriole Park at Camden Yards was 
a hassle unless you had a pass for one of the reserved lots.  The 
tickets were good, but the parking pass was golden.

"How did you manage to get these on such short notice?"  she 
asked as they walked the twenty yards from his car to the gate.

"There are lots of things this F.B.I. badge can do, if you know 
how to use it."

"Please tell me you're kidding."

He smiled and nodded, but didn't answer.  After handing their 
tickets in at the gate, Mulder took a deep breath.

"Smell that, Scully?"  He closed his eyes blissfully.

She sniffed the air.  "Yeah, it's popcorn."

"Nope, that's the scent of America's National Pastime."  
He blinked.  "Even though it does smell like popcorn."

She watched him run over to buy a program for tonight's game.  
He was like a big kid, grinning from the moment he walked into 
the stadium.   She wanted to share his delight, and not ruin 
the evening for him.  He needed this.  No, they both needed 
this.  And he was her best friend.  

"I know you're not a big baseball fan," he called over to her.  
"But you have to admit, the crack of the bat, the roar of the 
crowd...it's magical." 

He was right; she wasn't a fan, but his happiness was contagious.  
He bounced from the concession stand to the souvenir shop.  

She smiled broadly as she accepted his gift of a large, orange 
and black foam finger with the inscription "#1."

"Cleveland Indians, Scully, and I hope we whip their ass."  He 
turned around to talk to her, but kept walking backwards, "Those 
Cleveland fans are animals!  Last time I saw a game at Javits 
Field, I thought they were going to lynch me!"

"How did they know you were an Orioles fan?" 

He laughed sheepishly as he stepped onto the escalator.  "It 
was the top of the seventh, and Cal 'Iron Man' Ripkin fired a 
line drive past third.  Two guys slid home, and I kind of gave 
myself away."

He got off the escalator and headed for the club box level door, 
and held it open for her, and several other revelers.

"How did you give yourself away?"  She shouted over the crowd.  
He stopped and smiled; his eyes twinkled.

"O!"  He put his hands in a circle over his head.

"R!"  Imitating the letter "R" he put his right foot out and 
made a smaller circle with his arms

"I!" He raised his arms over his head and clapped his hands. 

"I get it, I get it!"  Scully laughed.  She realized that it had 
been a long time since she laughed.  It almost felt normal.

Mulder turned and beamed at her.  She looked into his happy, open 
face, and smiled again.

"Our seats are over here," he said, touching her arm, then running 
his hand down to her wrist.  "Let's have the waitress get us some 
overpriced hot dogs and beer."

"I thought you were going to buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack."  
Her cheeks felt flushed, as she stared into his bright green eyes. 

"I'll buy you anything you want, but there's something you have to 
do for me."  His voice was serious, but the corners of his eyes 
crinkled in mischief.

"And what would that be?" she asked warily.

He leaned down and spoke into her ear.  His breath blew through 
her hair as he said, "You know about the seventh inning stretch, 
right?"

"I'm guessing it happens somewhere around the seventh inning?"

"Yes, it does."  He nodded.  "They always play John Denver's, 
'Thank God I'm a Country Boy.'  As a loyal fan, I demonstrate 
support for the team in my own, unique fashion.  And I'm asking 
you now to join me, because I hate to dance alone."

She laughed out loud, tilting her head back, and Mulder sat 
chuckling beside her.  A warm breeze blew through the stands, 
carrying the aromas of onions, mustard and Budweiser. Scully 
smiled up at the flashing big screen, and then down at the 
diamond below.   Organ music played, as a wave approached them 
from the right.  And at least for the next nine innings, life 
really was nothing but a funny, funny riddle.
 
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Mulder felt that their therapy days were numbered.
'Baseball isn't just a game,' he thought.  'It's magic.'

Their 'date' had been more than fun; it felt like their
lives were coming back together again. The Orioles lost to 
the Indians, but the season wasn't over.  Mulder realized 
that his and Scully's season wasn't over yet, either.  
They filled the evening with playful banter, and affectionate
kisses on the cheek.  At the end, Mulder curled up in his
own bed, alone and happy.

Dr. Capelli was going to be proud of them, and he smiled as
he entered her waiting room.  Scully wasn't there, so he sat
on the sofa and opened a New Yorker magazine although he was
eyeing People.  There was still a part of him that wanted
Scully to think he was a distinguished Oxford graduate.

"Agent Mulder."  Dr. Capelli opened the door to her office
and smiled.  "You're early!  Agent Scully may be a few
minutes late.  She said something about a cup of coffee and 
a white silk blouse."  She smiled warmly, "We can chat for 
a few minutes if you like."

"Is that allowed?"

"It's my office."  She pointed to her chest.  "So I make the
rules.  Come on in."

Mulder immediately went to the couch and sat in the center,
leaving Scully the choice of either taking the gold chair,
or sitting close to him.  Dr. Capelli may have noticed that
as she asked, "Did you have a good time together?"

"I had a wonderful time.  I hope Agent Scully did, too."  He
smiled, leaned back and crossed his legs.  "Is that what
we're going to talk about today?  How bad the Orioles got
whipped by Cleveland?"

"I'm afraid not."  Her tone was polite, but something made
him a little anxious.

"Am I late?" Scully asked, entering the room. Her face was
a little pink, as if she had been rushing.  She looked
healthy and vital, and he couldn't keep a smile from
his face when she sat next to him on the couch.
"I had to mop up a bit."

"No, you're right on time," Dr. Capelli said.  "I was just
about to tell Agent Mulder that while you've made some
excellent progress, you still have some work to do."

"What more could we have to talk about?" Mulder asked.
"Why drag this on?"

"There are still some unresolved issues, Agent Mulder.
At the last appointment, Agent Scully made a comment
about the night of the shooting.  She said that she
wondered what would have happened if you had hesitated."

"What does that matter now?" Mulder asked.  "You stopped
us from talking about it last week."

"I did," Capelli said.  "You were both emotionally drained
at the end of that session.  But now, you're fresh and
the idea needs to be explored."

"Dr. Capelli, I know I brought that up," Scully said,
adjusting her blouse.  "But I don't think it's relevant 
any more.  As FBI agents it could be dangerous if we start
second guessing our actions.  In this case, the result of
that action was indelible."  She looked at Mulder.  "I was
wrong to bring it up."

"Excuse me, Agent Scully."  Dr. Capelli said softly.  "You
weren't here when I told Agent Mulder that this was my
office.  I would not presume to interfere with your
investigations.  Please don't tell me what is or is not
relevant."

Chastised, Scully tried to speak, but settled for an
embarrassed flush and a brief nod.

Capelli looked from one to the other and said, "I suspect
you both believe that the worst is behind you.  You realize
that your relationship is strong, and now it's safe to
ignore the past events."

Mulder nodded without realizing.

"You are wrong."

"Dr. Capelli."  Mulder's tone was sincere. "We know we need
to work through the details of the shooting, and that we
both," Mulder pointed to Scully, then to himself, "...we 
both need to come to grips with the fact that we had a hand 
in the death of a sad, harmless individual."  He lowered his
voice.  "I think it's perfectly normal for a law officer to
be upset over killing an unarmed man."

Scully gasped when Mulder used his carefully worded scam
line.  Dr. Capelli turned to her.

Mulder looked at Scully.  His steady stare didn't flinch.

"Agent Scully?"

Almost imperceptibly, Mulder shook his head.

"Dr. Capelli" Scully turned to the doctor.  "I was wrong
before, and I apologize.  It's obvious that we still need
your help."  Scully looked directly at Mulder, "My partner
is trying to bullshit you."

"Scully!" Mulder stood.

"Did you think I'd go along with you on that lie?  For a man
who claims that the truth is the most important thing in his
life, you were pretty quick to bury it just now."  She
pointed at him.  "I need to know that what we have is real,
and not just a cover-up we've carefully constructed to hide
our feelings.  I don't want to face what happened either,
but I need to know.  And I need to know what would have
happened if you hesitated in pulling the trigger!"  She
leapt to her feet and faced him.  "And you need to know!"

"Why do you want to rake all of that up again?" Mulder
asked, his voice rough.  His hands dug into her upper arms.  
"Let it rest."

"But that's just it, Mulder.  It will never be at rest and
neither will we.  Please.  Do it for me."  She lowered her
voice, forcing him to lean closer to her.  "Do it for us."

Her eyes held all the pain and fear he'd been so convinced
was behind them.  He felt his resolve begin to crumble.
His first reaction had been stalk out, irritated that his
bluff had been called.  But one look into those blue eyes
defeated him.

"All right.  I can't fight you both.  What do you want me
to do?"

He couldn't read Dr. Capelli's expression.  It might have
been satisfaction, or maybe relief.  He realized that he
was still gripping Scully's arms.  Afraid that he'd left
bruises, he released her and stepped back.

"Well, we have a three-person drama here, Agent
Mulder, and we have three actors.  Can you move that
chair back a bit?"

"What?  Didn't get enough stage time in your high school
drama club?"

"Why don't you set us up, Agent Mulder.  I'll play the
part of Phil."

"To really get into character, you'd need to avoid
bathing for a few months," Mulder said.  He made no
attempt to keep the irritation out of his voice.  "All
right, over by the office door--that's the door to
Phil's motel room."

"You said Phil was pacing in front of his door,"
Dr. Capelli said as she moved into place.

"Yeah.  He had the gun in his right hand and a bottle
of scotch in his left.  Scully, come over by me.  The
sofa is the car that we just got out of."

Dr. Capelli began to pace, cradling an invisible bottle of
scotch.  The air in the room grew spring-evening warm, and
the sofa and chairs faded into the background.

It wasn't difficult for Mulder to recall the motel with its
partially burned out name and the ugly orange doors.  In a
way, he'd never left.

Mulder blinked and suddenly, Dr. Capelli was holding a
half-empty bottle of Glenlivit in one hand, and a Smith and
Wesson revolver in the other.  The door to room #8 was open
behind her, and all the lights were on inside.  Scully stood
by the open car door.

Part of him knew that Scully and Dr. Capelli were speaking,
acting out the scene in slightly stilted dialogue.  But the
voices in his memory were clearer, sharper, more real.

"She thinks I'm nuts."  Sanderson nodded his head at Scully.

"No, Phil."  Mulder said aloud.  "She doesn't think you're
nuts. She wants to help you."

Scully stretched her arms out to her side showing that her
hands were empty, and walked around to Phil's right.

"I do, Phil."  She briefly glanced at his gun, but continued
circling.  "I'm here for you, too."

"You don't want to help!  Nobody wants to fucking help!  You
didn't listen when I asked you to help!"  Phil took a
menacing step toward her.

"Listen to her," he pleaded.  "I know she wants to help you,
and so do I.  Please, Phil, please don't do this."

Sanderson turned to him.  "I'm trying to save lives.  And
I'm the only one who fucking cares.  I'm going to kill
again, and I can't stop."  He sobbed and pressed the
revolver to his temple.  "I've lived so many lives, and
alone.  Always alone."

This time will be different, Mulder chanted to himself.
This time, even if only in his mind, Mulder promised that he
would make that connection to Phil, and breach that divide.

Mulder said gently.  "I know what it's like to feel
desperate and alone.  For most of my life I've been alone,
too.  I thought I'd never." He stopped to catch his breath.
"I thought I'd never find happiness.  But I did.  You can,
too, Phil.  Let me help, give me the gun."  He held out his
hand.

"Phil, we can solve this." Scully walked up to Sanderson.
"Let's talk inside."  She indicated the open door.

"Scully, get back."

"I don't know if I can do it if we're inside." Phil pushed
the gun firmly against his head.

He looked at Mulder.  "Do you really want to help me?"

Panic shot through Mulder as the realization hit.  He
started running across the small parking lot just as Phil
swung the revolver around and pointed it at Scully's head.

"You know I've killed in other lives, and that I'll kill
again."  He clicked the hammer back.  "You know what you
have to do."

"Phil." Mulder's voice was shaky.  "You don't have to do
this."

Mulder brought his gun to bear and took aim. Phil smiled
sadly and said, "Oh yes I do."

If only it could be different this time.  If only Phil
could sense his empathy.  In the split second of his
hesitation, the world exploded.

The shot was deafening.  Mulder staggered back two steps,
and immediately looked at his firearm.  He had pointed his
gun to the sky and not fired.  Scully's body slumped to the
pavement at Phil's feet; half of her head blown away by a
large caliber bullet fired at close range.

This isn't right.  If he didn't shoot Phil, everything would
be fine.  He closed his eyes, and shook his head. Everything 
would be fine.  It would be fine.  Mulder opened his eyes.

"No!  No, no, no," he cried out as he dropped to his knees
next to Scully's body.  Her remaining eye was open, staring
dully into the waning sunlight.  Phil's gun went off again,
and vaguely Mulder heard a body hit the ground behind him.

He covered his face with his hands, his body quaking with
silent sobs.  Hands were on him, rubbing his shoulders,
enclosing him in a safe world he couldn't possibly deserve.

He allowed Scully to hold him, realizing that she was
kneeling beside him.  Together they rocked, clinging
like children in the dark.  She was making soft sounds,
words of comfort that made no sense and didn't need to.

"What did you see, Agent Mulder?"  Dr. Capelli's soft voice
asked.

"I saw," he caught his breath and swallowed.  "I saw what I
believed would have happened if I didn't shoot first."

He turned to Scully.  "I believed, without a doubt, that he
would have killed you.  And, in my heart, I knew that he
wanted to die that night."  He looked up at Dr. Capelli.  "I
also know that I did what I had to do to cover my partner's
back."

He pulled Scully close and said softly, "Oh God Scully,
I know I killed a man who wanted to die, but it hurts."
He kissed her neck wetly.  "And I'm so sorry.

I've hurt you.  I've hurt us.   I'm sorry for everything."

"So, there was no other choice, was there, Agent Mulder?"
Dr. Capelli asked gently.  "You did the only thing you
could do.  Not the right thing, or the best choice, but
the only choice you could have made."

He pulled the ragged ends of his self-control together
and raised his head from the crook of Scully's shoulder.
Slowly, they separated, blinking at each other as if
they'd been thrust from the darkness into the light.

"I'm very encouraged," the Doctor said.  "You've
accomplished a great deal today, but I think you've both
reached your limit."

"That would be an understatement," Mulder said, brushing
tears from his face.  She was right, though.  He could
sense the cresting of a mountain.  The rest would be
downhill.

"I want you to spend time together this week.  Be peaceful
and reflective.  Connect with one another again, and
recognize that you are both alive."

"I think we can manage that," Scully said, smiling.

There is one more thing." Dr.Capelli looked at each of them.
"I'm going to give you the phone number of the leader of a
support group for law enforcement officers who've had
similar experiences."

"I don't know..." Mulder hesitated.

"You're not joiners, right?  You don't do the 'group
thing'.  But I want you to consider this.  No one, not
me or anyone else, can understand what you've gone through
like these men and women.  They've walked your path and
felt what you've felt."

She looked into their doubtful eyes and said, "Please think
about it."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
 

"Mulder, Dr. Capelli told us to do something pleasant.  This
is more like what we do at work."  Scully put her hands on
her hips and looked out over the shadowy hills.

He came up behind her and said, "Do you feel it, Scully?
There are energies all around here."  He placed his warm
hand on the nape of her neck, and looked around.

She didn't know what forces he was talking about, but
Mulder's energy weaved all through her.  She leaned into his
touch, as he caressed her skin with his fingertips.

They'd arrived a few hours earlier, when the late afternoon
sun had lit up the bright green of the newly sprouted
leaves. The new growth contrasted nicely with the dark green
of the long expanse of grasses and crisscrossed rail fences.

Relaxing on a blanket, they'd eaten a picnic supper: fried
chicken and potato salad liberally accompanied by white wine
in plastic cups.  Leftovers packed away, they now stood
surveying the moonlit battlefield.

"There are ghosts here, Scully.  Sightings are reported all
the time."  He gestured to the dark shadow of a rifled
cannon. "Considering that in 1862, 23,000 men died here in 
one day, it would make sense that a few restless souls 
still wander."

This trip to stay at the Piper House in the Antietam
battlefield was Mulder's idea.  As unnerving as it sounded
to her at first, she had to admit that is was pretty and
very peaceful.

"What a beautiful place to die," Mulder said softly.

"I hope not."  She reached up, tilted his chin down, and
kissed him tenderly.

He pulled her toward the blanket, and lay down, stretching
his long body out.  "Come on."  He patted the blanket.  "The
ghosts probably won't come out if they know we're looking
for them."

"Oh, is that like 'a watched pot never boils?'" she asked,
laughing as she dropped down next to Mulder.

"Something like that," he said, brushing a kiss along her
jaw.  "They're self-conscious."

His lips were soft as they pressed open-mouthed kisses on
her neck.  It tickled, and her laughter rang softly in the
night air.  His hand slipped under the edge of her
sweater, resting on her bare stomach.

She tugged his shirt up, her fingers hungry to touch his
skin.  The muscles of his back rippled, firm and strong under 
her hands.  She felt his warmth against her abdomen,
where the bared parts of their bodies met.   The sensation
was amazing, heat where they touched, cool where the night
air crept in.

"You know what would really distract the ghosts?" he asked.

"What?" she whispered fiercely.

"This."  He slipped his hand between their bodies and
quickly unbuttoned her slacks.

"That's what I love about you, Mulder," she moaned as he
drew her zipper down and began to drag her slacks over
her hips.  "You're all business."

His kisses were intoxicating as he continued to work on
removing her clothing.  Her hands weren't idle, moving
between them to free him from his denim prison.

"I'm not sure this is what Dr. Capelli was suggesting,"
she gasped as he positioned himself above her.  "She
said something about connecting with one another and 
being reflective."

"S'okay, Scully," he grunted, entering her.  "We're
following doctor's orders."  He paused, looked down 
on her, and smiled.  "We're connected, and the moon is
reflecting off my ass right now."

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Epilogue
~~~~~~~

"Ready?"  

"As ready as I'm likely to get."

He and Scully stood on the sidewalk, holding hands and feeling
the warm evening breeze wash over them.  The bricks of Eleanor 
Roosevelt High School glowed like honey in the waning sunlight.

He wanted to be flippant--to suggest they play hooky and make
out in the car.  But they were way past that now, and they
needed to take the next step.

Two weeks ago, they'd had their last session with Dr. Capelli.   
She'd taken them as far as she could on their journey out of
hell.  The therapist had deemed them ready to return to work.
But she'd urged them again to seek the support of fellow
officers.

I don't know why I'm so tense about this," he said looking away 
from the building.  "It's not like we haven't hashed and re-hashed 
this into the ground with Dr. Capelli."

"This is different," Scully said steadily.  "We're wide open in 
front of these people.  They're all law officers, and have been 
where we are now."  She turned to him.  "Scamming won't work."

"And this is going to help us?"  he asked, trying not to sound 
pathetic.

Scully shrugged.  "I don't know.  I hope so.  It might be a 
relief, you know, not to have to explain things to these 
guys.  They already know."

Mulder squeezed her hand gently before dropping it.  He walked up 
to the large front door and held it open.

"After you."

He followed her through the door and down the hall, past pep squad
photo displays and a glass case full of trophies.  Eleanor Roosevelt
High smelled like every other high school he'd ever been in--of 
floor wax and boiled vegetables.   

They found room 103, pausing uncertainly at the open door.  A dozen
or so casually dressed men and women sat in a circle.  

"I'd never shot anyone before. I didn't feel like John Wayne or
Dirty Harry.  This wasn't a movie, where the cop shakes it off with
a few beers at the corner bar..."

The young man stopped speaking as he noticed Mulder and Scully in the
doorway, eyeing them with wariness.  He didn't look much older than 
twenty-five, with his casual clothes and short-cropped dark hair.

"Come in."  Mulder recognized the voice of the man he'd phoned the
day before.   "We spoke yesterday, didn't we?" he asked, smiling
in recognition, perhaps from the news coverage after the shooting. 
The burly middle-aged officer walked to the door.

"Come on in.  You're among friends now."

~~~~~~~

End  SBC

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This has been an amazing journey, on several counts for us.   It's 
been a first collaboration for both TCS1121 and me, as well as a 
first WIP.   This story has been a true labor of love and a real 
joy for me to work with TCS--a woman who made me laugh every day.  
I'd like to thank all the people who took this ride with us, for 
helping us keep our enthusiasm and for making the experience so 
much fun--it's been a ball.  

Michelle--Please visit SBC and my other stories at: 
http://artwc.org/MichelleKiefer/


XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX 

It's always a little sad when the story's over, but what a ride 
it's been!  Thank you, readers, for your encouragement.  Thank you, 
Kel, for keeping us honest.  And, thank you, Michelle for writing 
this story with me.  

TCS--If you've missed any parts, within the week SBC will be posted 
in its entirety at my site:  www.angelfire.com/scifi2/xfilesfanfic/