SPOILERS:  Small ones throughout the series.  Mostly Requiem through the first act of DeadAlive.  Alternate Universe after that.
TIMELINE: One month following Mulder's funeral.  October/2000.
DISCLAIMER: See Disclaimer Page.
SUMMARY:  "In a world where the greatest secret regarding myself has been revealed to me, I just have one question.  You know about the 'stages' one goes through when dealing with death?  Well…how long does one have to deal with the anger and despair portions of the equation?"

This is dedicated to Spooky's Girl.  She is the one who gave me the courage to go after my dream of writing, and she is the one who helped me to believe that I really can do this.

For NCL-My Eternal inspiration.
 

~~~
An Expected Return
~~~

[ ] Denotes telepathy.

~~~
PROLOGUE:

    My Dearest Mulder,

    Though I know you will never set eyes on this, I must still purge my soul and ask:  Will you please forgive me for what I am about to tell you?
    Though I know you would never believe it, I must let you know:  We were wrong.
    Though I know you would have thought it improbable-when he finally arrived the last time-he did so because he had to.  I feel that I must tell you this now, Mulder; because my hope is that you may understand why I have done what I have, and not hold it against me.
    His return to my doorstep, you must realize, was not something he did because he had been forced to do so by someone else.  Therefore, that line of thinking can be stopped right now.
    No, his return was not against his will.  Not by a long shot.  And no, he had not been doing anyone else's bidding on that early morning, nor for a long time prior.  Not even undercover.
    Yes, that's right, Mulder.
    Under.
    Cover.
    Jesus, Mulder, if only we had known.
    If you had only come to know, as I have...
    As it turned out, shortly-very shortly-after you were taken from me, he had a couple of his own secrets to reveal.
    When he returned that final time, he came because he just knew he had to.  He knew, because while he had been overseas, he "heard" me calling for him, Mulder.  Even though, and I swear this to you, I never uttered his name.
Verbally, or otherwise.
    Not even after I found you.

    Dead.

    You see, Mulder, prior to his leaving he helped me to understand my Truth.  A part of the Truth you left me for, but which was not the part you were seeking.  This "Truth", as it turned out, was within me.
    I have a "special ability", Mulder.  An ability which I kept from you, for as long as I knew you.
    For this I believe I failed you, and I am sorry.
    I have had this ability I write of-my entire life.  Yet, much to Missy's chagrin, during our childhood I would not allow myself to believe.  And, I did my utter best to ignore it-as per usual.  However, I have-at times-begun to wonder about its existence.  Such as the couple of times that I saw Emily's ghost, just after she was taken from us.
    Yet, all I truly wanted was for it to go away.  So I-most certainly-could not tell you about it.
    I was positive you would have riddled me with questions, as fast as that alligator ate Queequeg, and I was unwilling to handle your intense scrutiny.  No matter how much I cared about you, or our partnership, I would not be able to tolerate your inquiries.  Therefore, I remained mum.
    For the entire eight years we worked together.
    For this, I know I failed you.

    Oh, Mulder.  It was not until I received a very special gift from you, when I found my ability to be enhanced, that I realized I could ignore it no longer.  Especially after I saw you, as well, in my hotel room in Montana on the night you were found.
    I am so very sorry that it took your abduction to make me a Believer, Mulder.
    For this, I deserve your contempt, too.  God only knows what may have been different, had I been willing to...to...trust...you with my own secret.
    I am so sorry that I did not relinquish it before…before I was forced to take on a quest of my own, much like yours for Samantha.
    My search for you.
    I ask for your forgiveness now, Mulder, because after you left-and after a few tense meetings-this man actually helped me to finally accept the things I could not change.  He alone gave me the confidence I needed, which allowed me to continue my search.
    I must also confess to you something else.
    I came to accept that he would know what I was "feeling", for he could feel it too.  Much like you had, only…differently.

    What I am trying to say is he, also, has this "ability".  With it, he can feel my presence and my emotions.  He always had been able to, which I knew.  But, I had simply chosen to ignore it.
    It was a shock; let me tell you, it came as a shock to me when I allowed myself to feel his own, as well.  And I am the only person who can.
    Can you believe that, Mulder?
    Only I could comprehend the gross amount of anger and despair he felt.  Not even his partner was that close to him.  Not the way you and I had been in our partnership.  And his pain of that night-the night of your discovery-was my fault.
    Much like your pain had been, so many times previously.
    Only now, after everything that has happened, only now, have I come to appreciate the agony that must have been your life.
    To live with and feel so much fucking guilt.
    Now-only now-do I understand exactly what you meant while we were on the Tooms case, when you feared that I would be 'getting into trouble just sitting in this car'.
    The pain which I have caused him was, most definitely, due to my own making.  Even if you would disagree with me, as much as I used to disagree with you, about your own guilt.
    Yet, I must still own up to it.
    However, even after all of the heartache that I have caused, because of my failure to you, the ungodly pain that I felt I deserved to suffer-due to that failure-he still came back, and he did what no one else could.
    He made me whole, Mulder.
    For this, My Dearest, I hope you can forgive me.

~~~

2906 Dumbarton St., Apt.  #5
Georgetown, D.C.
October 13, 2000
2:00 a.m.

[Dana!  Damn it, Dana!  Answer me!]

I pause, listening to his fear-filled voice, as I make my way to the bedroom toward my journal.  The singular item I own that is able to give me any type of comfort.  At this point, even my gold cross is useless to me.

[I knew this was going to happen, and I must fight against it with all of my being!]  I think; as I turn on the bedroom lamp and pick up the book that sets on the nightstand, as well as my favorite black ballpoint pen.

[Why are you fighting me on this?  Please!  I need to see you, God damn it!]  He pleads, his panicked tone reverberating within my head.

[I fight you, because I don't have any answers for you!  I don't know how to appease the turmoil which I feel raging within you, even from miles away.  I'm lost myself, so how the fuck am I supposed to help you?]  I question, beseeching him to leave me alone.  [I already tried to shield you out the way I taught myself years ago, but it's of no use.  My denial is not as strong as it used to be.  Now, all I have is my depression.  Though, at this range, even that's not working to my advantage.  I feel it would be best if you just went somewhere else.]

[I'm on my way, Dana!]

[No!]

[I'm ten minutes away!  You better let me in, Katya!  I will see you!]

[God damn it!  Stay away from me!  I'm no good to you any longer!  I am no good to anybody!  Mulder is dead!  I failed!]  I silently scream, though he is already acutely aware of Mulder's state of being.  [Thanks to my own stupidity.]

[Katya?]

With a feeling of defeat, I peer over at the alarm clock.

"2:02.  Great, another night shot to shit.  I might as well just stop trying to sleep altogether."

[Damn it Dana!  Stop that!]

Taking a seat on the bed, I begin to write; steadfastly ignoring the husky voice in my head.
 

   "For this, this lack of answers, I am convinced before he even knocks, I have failed him, too.  As I had failed you, Mulder.  So I must fight him in the only way I know how.  By pleading with him to stay the fuck away from me."

I start laughing, realizing he now has me talking to myself out loud-again-just so that I can at least try to hide my thoughts from him, as I put them to paper.

[You know it does not work that way, Dana!]  He shrieks through my mind.

I smirk as I respond, knowing he is correct.  [Damn it!  What do you want from me?  I have already accepted that I have felt your nearness before; such as when we met.  Or when you would come by to give Mulder a tip on a case.  Yet, your presence was never coupled with the depth of pain which accompanies you now.  Just, please, stay away!]

With a deep sigh, I again put my pen to the page before me, and transpose my thoughts.
 

  [I am losing it, Mulder.  I cannot even 'think' to myself anymore.  Okay, to be fair, usually I can.  We do respect each other's privacy.  However, when he is this upset...when either one of us are this upset, I cannot shield him out!  I am certainly not happy about that fact, either.  I thought I was doing so well this past month; ignoring him.  Yet, I found my resolve slip considerably, once I realized he had finally reached town this evening.  Now?  Now he is pissed.]

[Damn right I'm pissed!  Five minutes!]

[No!  Leave me alone!  I have accepted that I have felt your existence consistently, especially after Mulder's abduction.  The way you would just show up, seemingly out of nowhere, and provide an answer for me.  An answer to a burning question I had silently troubled over regarding the search.  It was becoming spooky; to say the least.  Yet, your presence has never contained as much despair, as on this night.  I can't deal with it tonight!  Find a hotel!]

[Four minutes, Dana.  I am on Olive and Twenty-ninth!]

[Fuck!  Do not do this!  The thought never crossed my mind to question how you already knew I was with child at the same time that I found out on my own.  Though I was scared shitless by it!  Yet, this is even worse!  The despair I feel from you is too intense! Go away!]  I forcefully demand, once again leaning over my journal to write.
 

    [There, Mulder.  That should convince him.  He does not like to evoke fear in me.  Lord only knows, I have experienced enough to last me to my grave.  Now, where was I?
    Oh yes, his presence.  It was because of his damn clandestine visits in the first place that I began to question myself.  Though I had never voiced it to anyone, not even to you, this sense of his attendance-if only mentally-made me begin to wander deeper into my psyche, and I simply had to know.  Just how the hell did he grasp the precise time it would become necessary to give me an answer?  How was it he knew when I needed an explanation regarding a particular subject?]

[You know very well how I could do that, Dana.  By the way, I'm at N Street.  Just thought I would let you know.]

Pausing, I inhale deeply to keep from giving in to the temptation of doing as he asks.  However, unlocking the door seems to take too much effort, as well as looking at the clock.
 

   [I could not get over the feeling he was inside of my head, Mulder.  Nor, after awhile, the realization that I was inside his.]

[Three minutes, Katya!  Please, unlock the door!]

[No!]
 

  [Of course, I had yet to acknowledge the whole "Truth", when you left for Oregon.  So, I gave no thought as to his visits prior to that point in time.  Even when he, and his fucking bitch of a partner, were in the same room with us.  I, at those times, had been easily able to shake off the feeling of his total proximity, as nothing more than nervous anticipation and stress.]

[You know it was more than that, Katya!]

I give in to the pervading enticement, and glance over to look at the clock on the nightstand.

2:08
 

   [My sweet, compassionate, intelligent, Mulder.  I cannot believe you have been removed from my presence-permanently.  I don't know how I can go on without you here to share in my experiences.  Who am I going to call when I find out some strange thing regarding a corpse?  Certainly not my mother!  Who am I going to confide in when I become fearful in the early morning hours-when the nightmares of my abduction return?  Who could possibly love me for who I am, not merely what I look like, especially after all I have been through?  Christ!  Why did you have to go to fucking Oregon without me?!]

[Dana Scully!  You have got to stop this right now!]

I continue, as though I have heard nothing.

"As if I could actually do that!"  I mirthlessly chuckle.

    [However, you did go, and then you were taken, and the first hours of the search proved fruitless; what with me being in the damn hospital, and Walter an emotional wreck.  Then the search turned into days of following incorrect leads, both in Arizona and New Mexico.  Only to turn into weeks of no leads.  Anywhere.]

[One minute, Dana!  I'm on Dumbarton Street!]

[Go find a fucking maze, damn it!]  I reply seethingly, not even bothering to care anymore if I hurt him, or not.
 

  [Three weeks into the search for you, I had a splitting headache, as was par for the course at that point, and I was arguing constantly with my peers.  I was, if truth be told, ready to shoot just about anyone who crossed me, and I knew I would not miss.  As did they.  I even felt like putting a bullet into Walter, if you can believe that, Mulder.  I was at my wits end.] I recount, while wanting to find out the time.

However, refusing to do so, I go on with my recollections.

  [At that point, when I was convinced that there was no hope in finding you, he appeared again, and this time he showed me something.]

I pause, waiting for the sound of his arrival.  Not hearing anything at all, I proceed-and the guilt begins to eat at me.
 

   [He revealed something so alien; I kicked him out of my home.  Then, I refused to leave it myself.  For a week!  I refused calls from my doctor, calls from Walter and Agent Doggett, even calls from my mother!  Isn't that unreal Mulder?  My mother!  I literally fell off the face of the Earth for a time, just so that I could grasp a hold of what I had been told.  What he had revealed to me.  Because my skeptic side, my scientific side, kept telling me it was not true.  Statistics alone proved it could never be true.]

[But you know it is true, Dana.  Now have the door unlocked!]

[No.]  I reply, my internal voice a crazed chuckle.
 

   [You would laugh your ass off if you saw me right now, Mulder.  Of that I am sure.  I mean, here I sit, writing about the events of several months past, and to my dead partner no less.  Events which have drastically changed my life.  I find that I must confess to you the shame I feel.  Because of my naïveté at never before, 'opening my mind up to extreme possibilities'.  Maybe if I had...]

[Maybe if I had, you would still be here, Mulder.  You would be here, and I wouldn't feel hard pressed to pick up my Baretta, and eat a bullet for a late-night snack.]

[Stop it, Dana!]
 

  [However, it is true.  There is no denying it now, Mulder.  What he revealed to me that day is as true as the blue irises of my eyes.  Thus, now I know the reason, oh yes, all too clearly, I know.  I know, and I have not told a soul.  Except for you; here.  In this damn confessional.  I know why I had been forced back in that forest in Oregon, and you were taken from it.  I know why I have this child within me, and though I am happy about it being there, I am fucking terrified.]

[You have no reason to be.  Not anymore!]

I pause for a brief moment, and wipe away the tears forming in my eyes.  "That's right.  He knows about that, too."  I humorlessly remind myself.
 

   [Therefore, after realizing I could not hide from the truth that is buried within me, I have come to know; to accept that I know, when he will simply appear.  Once again, as silently as he always had in the past.  As he has been over the course of the last few months following his revelation.  Because this time…this time Mulder, I am all too aware when he is around.  He tells me so, yet not with verbal words, but with his thoughts.  And, God give me strength, his feelings.]

I stop momentarily, wondering why he has not yet arrived.  Shrugging, I continue with my revelations.
 

   [As hard as it may be for me to admit this, Mulder.  It is true.  I can literally feel him, just as much as I can feel the baby growing inside of me, if not more.  And I can definitely hear him.]

[It has been too long.  You are too silent.]  I ponder, again raising my head; this time to look passed the open bedroom door.  Craning my head, I listen intently, expecting to hear him reply.  When he does not, I realize I have become more than a little worried, and this alone startles me.  "Why aren't you here yet?"  I wonder aloud, needing to hear a voice, even if it is only my own, after enduring too much silence.

Receiving no response, I return to the book on my lap, and go on.  My hand clutching at my pen tightly, as I try to stop my sudden shaking.
 

  [Writing in this journal to you, Mulder, is the only way I can deal with what is happening.  I can no longer just 'think' to myself.  No…wait...as crazy as it sounds, that would make my life even more unbearable.
    Thinking is what alerted him as to what happened in the first place!  To your having been found.  Finally.  Because, like a fucking moron, I went and let my damn guard down that night in Montana.
    You see, by sinking to my knees, and falling apart at the seams after having seen your lifeless body, I mistakenly allowed him access to me by screaming out one fucking word.
    And now, here he is running to my aid.  Even if he is seriously late.]

Stopping my documentation of history, I stand from the bed and make my way to the bathroom, all the while concentrating on listening for him.  Hearing nothing, I pick up the cup that sets on the counter, and fill it with water.  After drinking half the glass, I pour the rest into the sink and return to my bed, wanting to continue where I left off.

[Maybe, just maybe, you have decided to heed my warnings and leave me alone.  I pray you have gone to find some cheap hotel to stay in for the night.]  "Or for the rest of my sorry existence."  I mutter, as I put my pen to paper-again.  [The farther you stay away from me, the better it will be for the both of us in the long run.]
 

  [Usually, Mulder, if I choose not to shield him out, I can hear every last nuance of his voice ringing in my ears.  The 'sound' of it, as clear to me as it would be were he standing directly in front of me, and not somewhere else in the city.  Or on the planet!  Yet, it was due to this…this ability we share; I found myself turning to him.  Thinking to him, as it were.
    In fact, wherever he or I were, we would silently converse with each other.  Whether I was working on a so-fucking-not-worth-my-time-case with your replacement, Agent Doggett, (Case in point?  We looked for Batman of all things!  Christ, you would have loved that!),  or if it was simply to find comfort from someone, other than Walter.
    Speaking of Walter, you would not recognize him now, Mulder.  Dealing with him has become a chore.  Walter with his apologetic eyes.  Walter with his, "I am so sorry, Dana." gaze.  Fuck, but it is pathetic!
    And because of these things going on around me, because of Walter's sudden lack of confidence in himself, I would-instead-turn to him.  And, Mulder, because of this consistent closeness we share, I suddenly found myself actually relishing his company.  Finally, I had someone available who was able to really understand where I was coming from.  Someone I didn't have to explain every fucking thought or idea to.  Thus, because of our link, for want of a better word, I found myself holding lengthy conversations with him.  I also, Mulder, found the answers that I had spent so many years seeking.
    Without you, I got the answers.  Or, to be blunt, my answer. I found out why I-myself-had been abducted.  I also, through our conversations, found out the truth about him.]

"Where are you?  Did you really decide to heed my desire, and go?"  I inquire to the quiet apartment.  Shaking my head, I mumble.  "I guess I finally got something I wanted."

Yeah, right, you keep telling yourself that, Day.  My conscience argues, as I again turn to my dictation.
 

 [Our discussions were, at first, very short.  Just a 'Hi.  How are you doing?' type of a thing.  However, after a few of these were exchanged, both ways, I found myself turning to him more and more.  This ability, this...link...which I have come to accept we do share, actually became another way for me to work.
    Instead of continuing to deny its existence any longer, I began to use it to help me to survive.  As I used him.  For, I must admit, he became my backboard.  The only person whom I could truly throw theories at.  The one man who would not think of me condescendingly, but who would, rather, listen objectively.  He actually gave me some of his own opinions.  Even some regarding your disappearance.  Much like you and I had done, so many times before...before Oregon...we clicked.
    Mulder, I know how much this would hurt you to hear, but I must confess, he became someone I could trust.  Yes. Trust.  As it paradoxically turns out, now….I trust no one else.
    Not Walter.  Not Agent Doggett.  Most certainly not his Ratbitch partner, either.  It was her fault you left me in the first place, Mulder.  Of that I am convinced.  And as hard as it may be to believe this, I have also reached the point where I cannot trust my own mother to comfort me.  Not without having to deal with the constant looks of disappointment she throws my way.]

Stopping, I swipe at an errant tear, not allowing myself to give in to the despair that I know we are both feeling, and I shake my tired hand.

[I'm sorry that I told you to go, but it's for the best.  I hope you can understand.  This is my way of protecting you.  You must realize that!  I'm trying to keep you safe!  I allowed Mulder to...How can I possibly get you to realize that being around me is dangerous?]

Receiving no response, I am finally confident that I can continue my rendition of the past, without having to actually face a part of it.  Though the fact he gave up so easily lays heavily on my mind and spirit.  Returning to the book in my hand, I feel the desperate need to purge myself of these thoughts.  Of these feelings of having betrayed Mulder, which have begun to haunt me to the brink of insanity.
 

   [Our link became something which I used-desperately.  I came to realize, after learning of my impossible pregnancy, I needed the close contact with a friend.  Which is, after a short time, what I recognized we had become.  Friends.  I believe this to be why I did something else I have only done once...before...
    I gave him a key, Mulder.  I gave it to him willingly, so as, upon his arrival from any of his many mysterious treks, he would have a comfortable place to come back to, and yet still keep his cover intact.  A place he could come home to.  If I even dare Fate by calling it such.
    This act alone-of course-shocked him, as I was sure it would.  It stunned the hell out of me, too.  However, I rationalized with him that we were friends, and what with you missing, I felt he should have it.  Surprising me more than I care to admit, he cried once he had the tiny piece of metal in his palm, and that broke my heart-viciously.]

[Where are you?!]  I find myself demanding to know.  My concern as to his whereabouts; to his having decided not to come home, beginning to overshadow my fear of what he will find should he arrive.

After waiting for a full minute for an answer, I can tolerate his silence no longer.  Yet, instead of working up the nerve to go out and search for him, as part of me believes I should; I choose to ignore his continued silence by biting my lip, and proceed with writing out my tale to a dead man.
 

  [Shortly after I gave him a key to my apartment, and he had moved what little he owned into it, he received word that he was needed overseas.  It was only after I prodded him to go on this latest trip, a trip he did not feel necessary to take mind you, that I found myself missing him, and not just mentally.
    Shockingly, I missed his physical presence, too.  So terribly, in fact, I found myself thinking to him, as much as we were able to find the time for.  What with the search for you taking up most of my time between cases with Agent Doggett.
    Because of these new feelings-which confused me to no end-I had decided to break my rule of not 'talking' while working, and kept our link open.  We found ourselves curious to see exactly how far apart from each other we could talk, and our finding surprised us.
    We can communicate from anywhere, Mulder.  Anywhere!
    This allowed his worry for me to ease, and it also helped me to feel better about his being gone; another man whom I had come to care for, taken from me.  Due to circumstances beyond our control.  And even as we talked to each other almost constantly, this thought alone-of once again being abandoned-paralyzed me.  I felt I was losing control over my life.  The absence of him made me only too aware of what was happening around me, and within me.  I felt shame for becoming so weak.  His being physically apart from the search simply aided in cementing in my mind, just how much you were lost to me.
    I am so sorry, Mulder.  I apologize for not being able to maintain my aloofness, in the wake of your disappearance.  No matter how much my replacement partner would disagree with the assessment, I was quickly losing the battle of preserving my stoic attitude.  At least while in the privacy of my own home.  In the company of my new friend.  There is just something about him, like you, which allows me to become comfortable, and be my true self.  That is, until last month.  Now, I have shut out everyone.]

Unable to tolerate the growing tension any longer, I turn my gaze to the right and glance at the clock which shows me, in its stark green light, the time to now be two-twelve in the morning.  [Of course, it's not that I mind the time.  I don't sleep much anymore, anyway.  It seems I have learned something else from Mulder.  Insomnia is a bitch.]

"Now, exactly where the hell did he go?"  I ask myself, wondering at his continued ignorance of my inquiries.  Returning to my Confessions to Mulder in hopes of slowing my speeding pulse rate, I immerse myself in my writing; the need to cleanse my soul overwhelming.
 

   [As I was saying; it turns out we could talk to each other from just about anywhere in the world.  Seriously, Mulder.  Wherever his travels took him, whether it was to New Mexico to check up on Gibson Praise for me, or across the Atlantic, we could 'talk' to each other, and it was fantastic!  I never had to worry about feeling so damn alone anymore.  I was no longer alone in my search for you, because he was always there, mentally-if not physically.  Do not get me wrong; Agent Doggett is a nice enough man.  However, he does not know the history that you and I have.  Had.  Agent Doggett never understood why I was so damn determined to find you.  Especially against all the odds I was facing.  Walter could, on some levels, but never as much as he did.  Does.]

I pause momentarily to shake the ache from my hand, and realize I have just revealed a lot more to the man who seeks me out, than I intended.  For I know he knows what I am doing.  The fact that I have allowed him to know, albeit semi-unconsciously, stuns me.

"Fuck!"  I state vehemently, before I continue, deciding maybe it is just as well.  "Maybe he needs to know exactly what the hell I've been through in his absence."

Feeling the pressing need to get out all of the memories that I have, before chickening out, I go on.  Silently wishing I had used a tape recorder instead of the damn journal.
 

    [Then It happened.  Walter told me about the sightings in Montana.  About the news the Gunmen gave him.  Him, Mulder.  As though I would not be able to handle it.  God I was pissed at them for that!  This was my search!
    Anyway…Walter had left a message for me to meet him in his office.  During the meeting it was decided that we would go to Montana, together.  I very much wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was the break we had been looking for.  Walter was so positive we would succeed this time; he even had Agent Doggett partially convinced.  Yet, in my own exuberance, I failed to tell anyone else I was going.  I did not even "think" to tell him.  I simply got on that damn plane, and left.
    I was so excited to have my first solid lead in ages, I failed to simply reach out and let him know what I had learned.  To let him know about the news which Walter had relayed.  Instead, he ended up finding out the hard way.  Without warning, he got to "feel" what I was feeling, at the exact same moment I did.  The moment when I came to the realization that Jeremiah Smith was gone.  At the exact same point in time, in which I lost control over myself, and became unguarded.
    When I screamed 'No!' at the top of my fucking lungs, the poor man realized you had finally been found.  Dead.]

[Jesus Christ, Dana!  Why didn't you tell me what was going on?  You should have told me you were leaving.  I would have come back!  Right.  Back.]

His sudden, yet quiet, utterance in my brain scares the hell out of me, and I nearly fall off the edge of the bed.

[God damn it, Sashka!  After your departure my world fell apart!]  I gasp, as I drop the journal beside me and reach over to turn out the light.

Clutching at both my swollen abdomen to comfort a slight kick from my growing child, and my speeding heart, I immerse myself into the darkness.  No longer having the desire to continue reliving the pain of that night, nor the last month.  The last month I have had to spend...alone.  Without Mulder.  Without anyone.

[Why did you leave me?  I needed you!!]

[Damn it, Dana!  Please, don't do this!]  He implores, instantly.

[Where are you?  I thought you left.]

[No way in Hell.]

[Damn it!  Go away!  After Mulder's…After what happened I had to ignore everyone, and everything, I ever held dear.  Even you.  You must understand why.  So please, leave!]

[You're wrong.  I don't understand.]

[I quit speaking to Agent Doggett the morning after we found Mulder.  Did you know that?  I stopped speaking to Walter the morning after we buried Mulder.  Did you know that?]  I ask, sighing as I realize that wherever he is; he's not budging from the spot.

[Katya.  Please.  Open the door.]

Ignoring his pleas I continue with my recitation of self-torture.

[I quit my job today, Sashka.  Did your Ratbitch of a partner tell you that?  I'm willing to bet she's just all a tingle at the thought.  You must know by now that I turned in my badge and my gun.  I actually consider my resignation a gift.  To Mulder.  Wouldn't you?  The gift of giving up his precious fucking X-Files, because I failed him.  He needs someone a lot more infallible to continue his quest, than me.  I have come to see, Sashka, just how unfuckingreliable I really am!  I also have no doubt in my mind he would agree with me.  As would that slut you work with!]

[Open the door, Dana.]  He says, his 'voice' as soft as silk in my mind.  [Please.  I can't help you if you don't let me in.]

Suddenly, I hear an ever-so-quiet knock on my front door as I lay on the cold and empty bed.

[Sashka.  Please.]  I beg of him, wiping the tears from my face.  [Go.]

[Katya.]  He wearily entreats.  [Open the door.]

[Who would have ever thought that you would have all of the answers we had searched for, for so long?  Only for me to find them too late, and without Mulder!  What the fuck good are the answers, if he's not here to help me understand them, Sashka?  To appreciate that you were able to explain them to me?  Jesus, he would have loved to hate you for that!  To realize that you, out of any other of the five billion on this planet, could get me to believe?  But no, he's not here to hate you.  Or me.  Instead, he lies cold and lifeless-fucking dead-in a sickeningly pretty cemetery in North Carolina!]

[Katya, Honey.  Please, please open the door.  Do not do this to yourself!  Mulder's death was not your fault!]

I inhale deeply, fighting against my tears, as I glare up through the darkness at the ceiling.  Toward a God I'm positive I no longer believe in.

[Why has it taken you so long to arrive, Sashka?  To finally come home?  To further continue to help me comprehend, if it is at all possible, why this shit happened to me?  To Mulder.  To you?  Why did it take you so long to come back?  I figured you, out of anyone, would have been waiting for me on the night after I finally found Mulder.  Or, at the very least, you could have showed up the night following Mulder's funeral.  But no, you have to fucking show up today!]

[Open the fucking door now, Dana!  Or, God as my witness, I will break it down!  I'm tired of hearing this self-flagellating bullshit!  Especially from you!]  He laments, the silkiness of his tone replaced with a razor's edge.

I can feel him losing his patience with me, but I really don't care.  "Oh well.  Just one more person to add to the list."  I whisper.

[Open the door now, Dana.  Or I swear….]

I roll over onto my right side and, picking up my journal, sit up and swing my feet to the floor.

[Do not damage that door, Sashka!  It cost a mint to fix after Mulder came crashing through it during the Van Blundht case!]

[My heart bleeds for the Bureau accountants.]  He replies, sarcastically.  [Open it, or I'll give them something else to whine about.]

[You are the only person alive who would have the guts to want to talk to me at this late hour.  On this day of all days.  You do realize it is the thirteenth of October, don't you?  Did you also know, had I not killed Mulder, today would be his thirty-ninth birthday?]

[The date hadn't crossed my mind, Katya.  I came as fast as I could after I….So here I am.  I apologize for my shitty timing.  And damn it, you did not kill Mulder!]

[Oh yes, it takes guts for you to show up now, and you simply have to know what I am feeling.  To know what I am thinking about trying, again.  You do know, don't you?  And yes, I did kill him.  If I hadn't lost Jeremiah he….If I had only thought, thought for God's sake, to bring him with me, Mulder would still be here.]  I announce, dryly chuckling, while growing tired of arguing with him.  [This is pointless, but…I must at least give you credit for your courage.  You, even after everything you have seen and been through, have still got guts.  Hell, no one else has enough courage to face me, certainly not on today of all days.]  I point out, rolling my head along my aching shoulders.  Wishing I could rid myself of the constant soreness in my back, as well as the persistent pain in my temples.

[Take some Tylenol, and then open the door!]

[Tylenol won't work.  I could use a drink right about now, though.  Where the fuck is that genie?  Where did she go, now that I really need her?  I wonder if there is an extra chair at the bistro she spoke to Mulder about.]  I pause, and then laugh again at his lack of a response.  Though he is aware of whom I speak about.

"Yes.  Well.  If the truth be known, I just don't give a fuck anymore."  I report to the empty room, while I slide my bare and slightly swollen feet into a pair of house slippers.  A gift from my ever-doting mother.  "The woman still seems to want to hang on to the thought that I am the same 'baby girl' I always had been.  Back when Ahab was alive, as well as Missy.  As well as her 'Fox'".  [Fuck, I am pathetic.]

[Dana.  The door.  Now.]

I take a deep breath and, still fully clothed in one of Mulder's black button up shirts and a pair of his Knicks sweatpants, (which I shamelessly took from his home after his abduction), I force myself to walk out of the silent sanctuary of the dark bedroom.

Making my way through the pitch-black apartment, I flick on the floor lamp by the bookcase, and throw my journal on the coffee table.  Skirting around the boxes I have recently packed up, I find myself forging a decision.

[Which would be what?  Exactly?]

[This shit is going to stop, Sashka.  Now!  It is time to move on.  Too much has already been lost.  Too many people have suffered-ourselves notwithstanding-and all for naught.  Mulder is dead, and there is not one fucking thing we can do to ever bring him back.  Not with some magic pill.  Not with some miracle vaccine.  And, most certainly, not with all of the damn tears I have shed over losing him.  I wonder if he has any idea, wherever he is, just how much he would be missed?  Of course, I have a pretty good feeling he could care less what I think.  After all, I'm the one who neglected to save him.]

"Open.  The.  Door.  Katya."

"Undoubtedly, I'm not deserving of his memory.  Not after dealing with my reaction to the likes of the, 'You've got three wishes.' fucking genie."  I say, while turning on the lamp near the couch in front of the fireplace.

He knocks again.  Forcefully.

[Holy God!  Why don't you just pick the fucking thing?]  I silently yell, as I continue my trek; sliding my slippers upon the polished floor.

"Do not tempt me."  He growls.

[I am not dead, Sashka.  No matter how much I may have wished for that, I am not.  So you can stop panicking.  Thank you very much, Clyde Bruckman!  Mulder got a genie, got his aliens, and then got dead!  Me?  I get some answers and the supposed pleasure of everlasting life!  Oh yippee fucking skippee!  Trust me, Sashka; I tried to off myself, but to no avail.  Not, of course, that you didn't know that already...]

He jiggles the handle, while he simultaneously pounds on the door.  Definitely not caring about the time.  Or the neighbors.

"The neighbors can all go to Hell!  Open the door!"

[The irony that we are both still alive, while Mulder is currently undergoing a metamorphosis into Morleyesque ashes, truly is enough to almost send me screaming headfirst-and stark raving mad-through the living room's plate-glass window.  You do realize that, don't you Sashka?  And I would too, if blood wounds were not so damn messy.  Then again, it probably wouldn't work, anyway.  The tranquilizers didn't.]

[OPEN!]

Knock.

{THE!]

Jiggle.

{DOOR!]

Pound.

[For Christ's sake, just pick the lock!  Wait?  How come you're not using your key?  Fuck, Sashka.  This has to be you!  No one else has a fucking 'link' to me.  Not even a Morph can do what we do.  Can They?  Damn, what I wouldn't give to have my gun back.  Oh yes, my trusty Beretta.  I could have used that to...  However, again…there was that blood issue.  You know what I mean, Sashka?]

[God damn it, Dana!  OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!]

"Just a minute!"  I state tersely, finally reaching it and not bothering with the peephole.

[Fuck it; if this is not you then maybe this will be a short and sweet attack from one of Spender's prestigious Bounty Hunters.  Wait...he is dead.  Lucky bastard.]  I chuckle.  [Of course, then again, They may have not gotten the fax about that little tidbit of information.  So, I can only hope.  Right, Sashka?]

Upon spinning the deadbolt and releasing the chain, I pull the door open briskly, and stare at him blankly, as he stands in the hallway, unamused.  The man I had expected to show up sooner, rather than later, peers at me with blazing eyes.

"Oh yes, you are definitely pissed now aren't you?"  I gaily tease, the intense desire to irritate him, more than I can see he already is, flowing freely through my veins like adrenaline.  Though I realize I am being unreasonable by doing so.

His expression turns into one of shock. Whether at my words or from my appearance is beyond me.

[I must really look like shit, Sashka, if your eyes are about to pop out of your head.]  I snidely remark.

He glares at me.  [Do not push me, Katya.  Not now.]

[Ha, ha.  Why not?  I was simply making an observation.]  "It is about time you decided to show up.  Since you are so damn willing to be in my presence, will you please hurry it up and get in here?  I would like to close the door on the rest of the outside world."  I assert.  Definitely rudely, a little too loudly, and more than a bit too harshly.  I immediately find myself regretting my tone of voice, however, when I actually catch him wince.  "Holy God.  I really don't know if I can handle this.  The sight of another broken man."  I scarcely whisper.

"I'm fine, but damn it, Scu…"  He begins, before catching himself.  Then he whispers, "Shit.", knowing he has erred.

I look at him wide-eyed.  Silently daring him to finish his first sentence.  Instead, while nervously rubbing his hand across his face and around his neck, he looks at me pointedly.

"You know why I am here."

"Not really."  I reply softly, still recoiling from his near slip regarding the use of my name.  The name which Mulder chose, oh so long ago, in which to call me.  The name that had-over time-turned from an annoyance into a lifeline.  The name which is now nothing more to me, than a sad reminder of a life I want no part of.  Especially since it did not seem to matter….in the end.

[Katya, Honey …]

Clearing my throat, and ignoring his pet name, I continue.  "I knew you would be coming home eventually.  It figures it would be today, of all the God damn days of the year.  Though, I had expected you to be here a lot sooner.  Like a fucking month ago!  Or last fucking week!  Where the hell have you been?"  I demand to know.  My voice rising, as my ire escalates.

He leans against the knotted-pine armoire and, takes in the boxes strewn around the room.  His anger clearly replaced by perplexity, he rubs his hand along the bridge of his nose.  [Going somewhere?]  He asks, as he raises his gaze to meet mine.

[I was contemplating it, yes.]

"I'm sorry, Katya.  It took longer than I thought it would to get back from across The Pond.  As soon as….As soon as I learned I...I got hung up in some red tape."  He whispers.

The sudden change in his demeanor, and the striking compassion I see in his face, are more than enough to disturb me.  It is then I realize that I am unable to tolerate any more.  Not today.  Therefore, I feel I must retreat before I do something rash.

[Such as?]

[Such as charge at that damn window!  How much blood could there possibly be in little ol' me?]  I quip, as I toss my hair over my shoulder, before moving away from him toward the kitchen.

"That is enough, Dana!  I will not put up with your suicidal thoughts any longer!"  He promises, sternly.

I stop my departure, and turn to glare momentarily at him; awestruck that he would talk to me as though I were a petulant child.

[Well, aren't you acting like one?]  He silently inquires, his brow lifting in an all too familiar gesture.

Ignoring his statements, as well as his question regarding the boxes, I am overcome with the extreme urge to know why he had knocked on the door.

[I knocked because…]

"Did you lose your key?"  I interrupt, not allowing him to explain, while I throw another barb at him.  "I mean, I know it would give you a great pleasure to...how did you put it?  'Give them something else to whine about' back at the Bureau.  But why not use your key?  It would have saved you the trouble of waking up the fucking neighbors."

"I felt….no….I merely...."  He pauses, again.  Almost as though he is afraid to talk to me; he momentarily looks away.  As if he is nervous about how I may react to whatever he is going to say.  I'm definitely not used to seeing fear in his eyes, although for some sick reason I can understand why it's there.

[I have nothing to fear from you.]  He assures me gently, with a slight smile.

[Damn straight you do!  You should be afraid.  Very.  Afraid.]  I retort, astonished by his calm behavior.

[I'm not afraid of you, Katya.]  He responds firmly.  "I simply didn't know if I would be welcome.  Not since the….When I found out what happened; I felt your pain, Dana.  You know I did.  Because of this, I have...I really have no idea how to express my feelings to you about…about how sorry I am for your loss."  He stammers, refusing to look at me as he speaks.  "So, I thought it best if I knocked.  However, you were correct, earlier.  I am in turmoil.  Yet, it's not entirely for the reasons in which you believe.  But I'm sorry, all the same."

I shudder at his reference to Mulder's death.  Yet, choosing to ignore it for the time being, I merely ask, "Would you like some coffee?  It would only take a couple of minutes to make."

[Dana, please.  Don't change the subject.  We need to talk about what happened.]

The idea of coffee makes me instantly aware of my need to put some distance between us, which I find confusing.  [I have been yearning for you, so why do I want to get away from you?]  I wonder.  At the same time, I find myself fervently hoping that his stance hardens, back to what it was before he entered.  If not for my sake, than for his.

[Katya.  Please, do not shut yourself off.  Not from me.  I am sorry I was not here.]

I can see that my blatant ignorance of his struggled form of an apology, as well as my attitude regarding his behavior, has thrown him.  I watch passively, yet curiously, while his hand runs through his slightly longer hair, as though he, too, is confused by the mixture of emotions he surely must be receiving from me.  As I am certainly shaken by his own.  And again, he will not look at me.

[I cannot.]

[Yeah, right.  You are sorry.  Well, you better cowboy up!  You are going to need to in order to deal with what is going on.  In order to deal with me.]

[Do not do this.]  He pleads, shaking his head and sighing.

I stare at him, quizzically.  Baffled by his conduct.

After what feels like an eternity, but could only have been one minute, two at the most, he remarks, "Yes, coffee sounds good.  However, I do not want to put you out.  I can just as easily make it myself.", while moving from the armoire toward me, and still gazing at the floor.

[Why are you staring at the fucking floor?]  I ask, realizing my jaw would have surely hit the rug at his asinine remark of putting me out, if I were not clenching my teeth at the absurdity of the whole of the situation I find ourselves to be encountering.  [This is fucking nuts!  Damn it Mulder, why did you have to die and leave me to deal with him alone?!  With everyone, alone?]

[You are not alone.]

Ignoring his reply, I softly state, "I will make the coffee.  It will just take a moment."

Turning my back on him, I walk passed the dining room table and inhale deeply.  Feeling on the verge of hysteria, I force myself to slowly make my way across the plush throw rug on the floor, toward the Bunn setting on the corner of the countertop in the kitchen, for fear I may trip if I hasten my retreat.  "I hope decaf is okay with you."  I state plainly, while calmly exhaling and reaching into the cabinet above the coffeemaker for the decaffeinated hazelnut coffee I like so much.  [Mulder liked this coffee.]

[You have got to stop this, Dana.]  "Decaf is fine."  He calmly replies, his soft tone only adding to my discomfort as I chance a glance his way.

Now that our level of anxiety has subsided somewhat-by my walking away-I find I can momentarily shield myself from him, while I open the cupboard above the counter.  Yet my thoughts still lean toward him.

The irony is almost enough to kill me.  Like that could really happen.  Shit.  What the hell is going on?  Why isn't he his normal, cocky self?  Where the fuck did his arrogance go?  Where did his anger go?  However the tears are close once again, and I think, [Why the fuck do I care anymore, anyway?  He left when I needed him to stay the most!], realizing, too late, he can hear me.

[I did not leave you, Katya.  I did not want to go, remember?  You talked me into it.  If I had known…If I had had even the slightest inkling you would find him while I was away, I would have never left.]

[Shit.]  "Uh huh."  I respond coldly, as I retrieve the bag of grounds and a filter. I begin to slowly prepare the coffee, needing to curb my returning sensation of anger.  Placing the items into the basket, I move toward the sink and fill the machine's pitcher with cold water.  After pouring it into the coffeemaker I turn, only to find him to be standing directly behind me, next to the dining table.  The pitcher drops from my hand in my surprise.

"Jesus!  Don't you ever make a fucking noise when you move?"  I inquire, pressing my back into the counter.  More than a little startled.

He bends over and picks up the plastic container.  Then he glances passed me, his look regretful, as he puts it next to the Bunn.  "I did not mean to frighten you."  He whispers, close enough to touch me, but refraining from doing so.  "I realize it is late.  Maybe I should have used my key and slept on the couch.  Maybe I should have waited until morning for this, but…"

"It is all right."  I reply, moving away from my position.  From him.  "I have not been sleeping much lately, so it would not have mattered how you got in.  Nor the time of day."  I note his cringe as he returns his gaze to the floor, again refusing to look me in the eye.

"I am very sorry, Dana."  He whispers, so quietly I barely hear him.

My mouth drops open.  Staring at the top of his bent head I state exasperatedly, "Quit saying that!  You are sorry for what?  For not being here, then?  Or for showing up, now?  You certainly have balls to be here on this morning, of all fucking mornings, Sashka.  Or, are you just sorry for life in general?"

Genuinely bewildered by his continued apologies, I turn away from him once more and reach above me for two mugs.  Not such an easy task when heavily pregnant, I realize, while I stand on the tips of my slippered feet and continue with my impromptu interrogation.

"I will admit though, you certainly do have them.  Balls, I mean.  Brass ones.  Very large.  They must be the size of Virginia, at least!  How do you manage to fit into those jeans of yours?"  I question, my voice turning shrill, as I simultaneously reach the conclusion that, any moment now, I am going to lose my farce of control and, [Fuck!  I cannot reach the damn coffee cups!]

"Here, let me help you."  He offers, ignoring my rudeness.

[Damn it, I knew I should not have put them up there.  I should have placed them on the lower shelf.]

He chuckles at my inane thought as he, again, moves closer to me.

Jarred by the unexpected sound, I explode in a rush of outrage at his chivalry, and mirth.

"Back off!  I do not need your help!  Not now!  I sure as fuck could have used it last month, but not now!"  Taking in his stricken expression I find myself wondering, [For the love of God, why have I allowed you to be in my presence?  On today of all days?]  "Just….back off."

"Dana.  Please."  He quietly pleads with me, as he reaches out and takes two black octagon shaped mugs from their places in the cabinet.  "I don't want you to lose your balance and fall.  Nor did I mean to intrude."

Hastily moving away from him, I stare, confused by his actions.

[Why are you being so damn nice to me?  Why are you here?  Why did you still come, even after the way I yelled at you and told you to stay away?]

"Getting over here was only half the battle.  I was well aware of what I may be facing when I knocked on the door, Scully."  He says quietly, before realizing his mistake.  [Shit!]  He thinks, reverting his gaze to the floor.

Unable to put up with his compassionate attitude, or his continued forgetfulness, I give in to my pent up frustration and let him have it.

"Do not call me Scully!  Ever!  My fucking name is Dana!  D-A-N-A.  Dana!  I am not 'Scully'!  Scully was strong!  Scully was fearless!  Scully could hold her own!  Scully was Mulder's name for someone who no longer exists!  Neither does he!  Just in case you did not get the memo:  He!  Is!  Dead!  Thus, no one is allowed to call me by that name.  Do you got that?  Not even you!  'Scully' is gone!  Scully has left the fucking building!  As of yesterday, 'Agent Scully' does not even pertain to me!"  I scream, running my hands through my hair, itching to start pulling it out of my skull, as I again retreat from him.  [Fuck!  I am finally going insane!]

[No you are not, Katya.  You are depressed.  There is a difference.  Although, I know it may not seem like it.] He replies, looking at me once again, tenderly.  [Come here.  Please.]  He silently begs, reaching out for me.

"God damn it!  Don't!  And stop THINKING to me!"  I demand, shrinking away from him.  Though my body aches for him, I cannot allow him to touch me. Not now.

"I apologize.  I momentarily forgot about your request; regarding your name.  However, I can't help the other issue.  It has become too much of a habit between us."  He replies quietly, placing the cups on the counter, before he passes me and returns to the living room to sit on the arm of the recliner.  After a few moments he turns his head, takes the elbow of his prosthetic into his right hand , and stares at me.

[Fuck this!]  I declare, walking swiftly toward him.  Ignoring everything he has just said, I lash out at him, uncontrollably.  "Don't you fucking dare walk away from me!"  I yell insanely, moving into his personal space which I had so desperately evaded only moments before.

"I was not walking away from you."  He insists, gazing at me steadily.  "I was simply trying to place some distance between us.  Distance I assumed you wanted.  Although, I can see that it was a pointless maneuver on my part.  It is not as though I can put any distance between us.  Even if you so desire it to happen.  However, do continue where you left off.  I will not stop you.  I am truly interested in what you have to say, even with that Navy-brat-potty-mouth of yours.  I mean, who knows?  Maybe it will be therapeutic for you."  He finishes, his final words dripping with acid.

I can literally feel my eyes widen as I look at him.  It sickens me to find myself shocked by his tone and, for the life of me, I am unable to figure out what the hell he means by his words.

"Therapeutic?"  I query, not willing to back down now that I have started.  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?  Why the fuck are you here, anyway?  Why now?  Why not when I really needed you to be here?"  I hiss.  Instantly realizing-and unable to tolerate-my close proximity to him.  Therefore,  I take a step back, and find myself bumping into the arm of the couch.

[Fuck!  Exactly what I do not need.  To fall down, at his feet no less, and risk losing the baby!  I have got to calm down!  Where the hell did this anger come from, anyway?  All he did was call me 'Scully'.  He, along with many others, has been doing it for years!  No matter that I have denied them all the luxury as of late.]  I ponder, just narrowly remaining upright.  I am awed to find that he had reached out to take a hold of me.

However, he must have taken in the angry look on my face, and decided against it, as he begins pacing instead.

Catching my balance on my own, and standing to my full height, I proceed with my questioning.  Refusing to acknowledge the pain in his own eyes.  Afraid that if I do, I will surely be lost.  "I want you to…"

"Dana, stop.  I have said I am sorry, and I truly am.  About everything.  As for your anger?  It is one of the stages we have to go through.  It all leads to acceptance.  It is just a bitch getting to that point."

"That does not answer my question!"  I retort in a voice honed like steel, as I disregard his psychoanalytic babble.

"I knew that I should be here.  That I needed to be here for you.  That you needed me to be here."

"What?!"  I question, laughing hysterically.  "Why the fuck would I need you?  I do not need you!  You let him go!  You let that cunt you call a partner give him the information he needed about Bellefleur!  All the fucking while, knowing that he would leave for Oregon once he had it, and without me!  You allowed this to happen!  THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"  I roar, accusingly, before  I look away from him, understanding I am allowing old hurts to-once again-rear their ugly heads.  Yet, I truly do not give a fuck.

Turning back and walking toward where he now stands, slightly aside of the couch, I feel the intense need to hit him.  Today, of all days, I just cannot deal with his answers.

With the truth.

[You can punch me if you would like.  If it will make you feel better, Katya.  However, none of it had been my doing.  Going to Bellefleur had been Mulder's idea and, as God only knows, no one could keep Mulder from doing anything he set his mind to.]  He silently points out to me.  [Ever.]

"Bullshit!"

"Damn it!  Listen to me!  I am hurting too, Katya!  I cannot believe he is gone either.  I miss him, too!  I needed to see you.  To be with you."  He declares, aware there is no need to discuss the other issues I have laid before him.  We have been over everything a thousand times, if not more.

"Why are you here?"  I repeat like a scratched CD.  Once more in his space, I shake my fists while glaring into his eyes.  "Why aren't you out there?  Wouldn't you rather be out laughing it up with your Ratbitch partner?"

"I refuse to dignify that question with a response."  He disparages, his own anger continuing to mount.

[Good!  Get angry!  I know how to deal with your anger!  Not this, this 'Humble Man' image you are currently trying to portray.]  "Are you here to gloat?"  I whisper, actually hoping he will lose his temper.  I have the insanely intense urge to see him furious; in the way I have heard Mulder describe many times, yet fail to recall on my own.  Therefore, I continue to taunt him.  Immediately infused with barely controlled rage, I reach up and begin rubbing my hands along his stubbled jaw line, delicately.

My first physical feel of him since his arrival.

In doing so, I notice his body become rigid and I immediately wonder, [Why have you gone all stiff on me?  Is it because of my touch, Sashka?  Can you, also, no longer stand the feel of my presence?  What is it?  Are you finally hardening yourself to me, too?]  Instead of awaiting an answer, I persist my exploration of his face, while purring nefariously.

"Did you finally come home, only so you could see for yourself exactly what his death has done to me?  To admire the fact the Ice Queen has truly lived up to the name?"  I ask, outlining his brows with my fingertips.  "To see that she has, at last, become someone so bitter and cold...so fucking glacier...in only a few short months, that even a blow torch from a fucking Rebel could not thaw her out?"  I snidely inquire, taking in the fact he is pointedly remaining aloof.  [If I slide my hands down your chest, like this.  Or over your weather-worn leather jacket.  Like this.  Will you move then?]  I question with a smile, noting with maniacal glee that his forest-green eyes are afire.  "What is the matter?  Cat got your tongue?"  I tease.  "Or is it more like…Rat?"

[Do not do this, Katya.]  He warns, though he makes no attempt to keep me from touching him.  To stop my deranged form of inquisition.

"Are you ecstatic now?  Are you thrilled that I have become a person for whom no one wants to be around?  Someone no one has the fucking balls to talk to?"  I probe, as I lower my hands even more.  Gliding over wear-softened denim, I grip his scrotum through his jeans with one, and then squeeze his tight ass with the other, before decidedly dropping them to walk backward from him, his furious gaze never leaving mine.

"Stop this, Dana.  You do not know what you are saying.  Nor doing."  He merely replies, his deathly quiet tone belying his rage; his jaw set like stone.

Shaking my head, and ignoring his words, I continue baiting him with my own.  "Oh, wait.  That is right..."  I laugh, my voice oozing with sarcasm.  Grinning wickedly, when I note his eyes becoming slits, I understand he is gauging me.  Even if he will not allow the rest of himself the luxury of motion.  "We have already determined you have balls the size of Virginia haven't we, Sashka?  Well, I have got even more news for you."  I offer, my voice now unrecognizable, even to my own ears.  "The Ice Queen finally does liveth, and she fucking likes the cold!  Pregnant or not!  Now get the hell out of my house, and leave your fucking key!"  I insist, hurriedly fleeing from him, as he finally moves, and again reaches out for me.

However, I know I am too fast for even him, at this point, thus he misses.  I am aware that I am finally out of control and, relishing the release, I hastily retreat toward the bedroom, while expecting to hear the slamming of the door at any moment.  Expecting him to depart, as loudly as he had arrived.  Refusing, like the others, to put up with me any longer.

[And why would he?  No one else has.  Everyone, except my mother, looks upon me as a waste of a carbon-based life form.  'Only good thing she is good for now is an incubator.'  Isn't that what I heard that bitch Kersh calls a secretary say, right after I turned in my resignation?  'Someone stupid enough to find herself pregnant, and unmarried, deserves what she gets', she had said.  Yes, she is right.  I am not lovable.  I am an Ice Queen.  Worthless.  Fucking nuts!  That is what I am.  Even Walter has made no attempt to contact me, no matter that I told him not to.  All I can do is chase after the ghost of a dead man, though I am in love with the one still breathing.]

"Are you finished?"

Surprising me into near paralysis with his calm tone of voice, I turn my head back in the direction of the living room.  Finding him only a mere couple of feet behind me.  I gape at him, stunned.

Fuck!  What did I just admit to?

"I am not here to gloat, Dana.  I am not here to see the 'Ice Queen', as you so eloquently call yourself, fall apart.  I came here because I needed to see you.  I needed to be near you.  God damn it, Katya, I love you too!"  He admits, through his own clenched teeth, the light from the lamp making his smoldering eyes stand out like emerald chips.  "I came because I had to!  I felt your pain!  I heard your blood-curdling scream.  In my fucking head!  From Russia!  I am here because I want to help you through this!  To get through this, together."

"'I want to help you through this'."  I mimic, icily.  "That is the best lie I have ever heard pass your lips!  If you were so fucking anxious to help me, if you love me, then why did you leave me?  Why were you not here when I really needed you?  Why were you not here when I found Mulder?  Why were you not here while I was falling into a million fucking pieces at his funeral?  WHY ARE YOU NOW HERE ON HIS GOD DAMN BIRTHDAY, ALEX?!"  I cry out, no longer able to maintain any sense of self-control.

Completely giving in to my turmoil I collapse, bonelessly.  Amazed that I no longer care, because of my tortured soul, about the baby within.  He apparently does, however, as I feel his arms to be instantly around me, finally catching me into his embrace.

Mere inches from the hardwood floor.

[I killed him, Aleksei.  Oh God, I killed Mulder.]

~~~

3:10 a.m.

"Christ, Katya!  What the fuck happened to you?"  I ask, as I struggle to hold onto the woman in my arms with all of my strength.  "I can feel your pain coming off of you in waves.  Why are you so damn persistent in doing this to yourself?  Think of the baby!"

[Doesn't matter anymore.]

"Yes it does!  And what is with the fucking boxes?"  I whisper, as we sink to the floor and I cradle her head in my lap, tucking an errant strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

[I killed him, Sashka.  I let him go to Oregon without me and it got him killed.  Therefore, I have to leave.  I have to go.  Somewhere I can no longer hurt anyone else.]  She tells me, her body shaking from her pent up sobs.

"You did not kill him, Katya.  They did.  Don't you understand?  There was not a damn thing you could have done to prevent what happened.  Even if you had gone with him, they would have still taken him.  Look at what happened to Skinner?  He was there, and yet, he could do nothing about it.  It would have been the same had you been there, in Skinner's stead.  And I assure you, leaving town is not the answer to your problems."  I gently explain to her.  "Please, Myot, you must calm down.  Think of your baby."

[Why?  What am I supposed to do?  Am I to just move on, here, as though nothing has happened?  Am I supposed to simply get up and continue living?  Knowing that Mulder is dead?  Knowing how he died?  I do not know that I can do that, Sashka.  He was my partner.  I was supposed to watch his back!  But I failed, and thus...he is dead.  He is gone because I failed to do my job!]  She replies, wrapping her arms around my waist and squeezing, while burrowing her face against my stomach.  Holding her closely, I achingly watch the hand on the clock on the wall across from me tick away the minutes, as she continues to fight her tears.  After a few moments, she raises her head and speaks to me, earnestly.

"Aleksei?"

"Yes?"  I reply, looking at her gently, while softly stroking her cheek.

"In a world where the greatest secret regarding myself has been revealed to me, I just have one question.  You know about the 'stages' one goes through when dealing with death?  Well…how long does one have to deal with the anger and despair portions of the equation?  I. Need. To. Know. At this rate, I seriously do not know that I can continue to deal with his loss.  It hurts too much.  It infuriates me to the point of insanity when I think of everything he will miss; will never see.  He will never know the child he gifted me with!  How do I go on?  How do I continue to care enough to go on, as more than an incubator?"

Her questions shock me, and I am very afraid of how she may take my response.  Though I must be truthful.  "You have to, Katya.  It is difficult, but you have to.  I know, God do I know, how much it hurts to lose someone you love.  However, it is only by moving on that we are able to keep their memories alive.  If we were to stop living merely because a loved one has, then would that not imply they are truly dead?  Because, there would be no one around to honor their memory?"  I question, moving my hand to stroke her hair; troubled greatly by her uncharacteristic behavior.  "I will help you, Dana.  You do know that, don’t you?  You are not alone in this."  I promise her while also trying to assure her; fighting to keep my own tears from falling.  "I am here, now.  I am here, and I will not leave you.  We will get through this together.  And you are a hell of a lot more than just an incubator.  I swear to God, if I ever see that bitch..."

[You do not have to do that.  Nor do you have to be here, Sashka.  I am more than able to take care of myself.]  She states, moving to pull herself up and away from me.

I allow her to become upright, but then move my legs to wrap around her fragile body.  I then try to pull her back against my chest.

"No.  Please.  Let me go."  She implores as she, at first, makes to fight against me.

"Just relax.  Please, Katya.  Just rest now."

"Fine.  If it helps to move this little farce of comfort along, and makes you leave quicker."  She retorts as she relents, and leans against me.

I wince at her suddenly vicious words.

"Why are you here?  Why now?  Why…"  She starts to ask me-again-while picking at the denim of one of my jean-clad legs.

More than troubled by her swinging moods, I do my best to maintain my own rationale, afraid that if I lose my own grasp of my emotions, we will both end up losing.  "Shush, Katya.  Like I stated before, I came as fast as I could, I promise you I did.  However, getting out of St. Petersburg took a lot longer than I anticipated."  I grudgingly admit, wrapping my arms around her, as I begin massaging her belly.

"Why is that?  Exactly?  What the hell could have possibly kept you away for a fucking month?!"

Stunned at her words, I stop my caresses.  "Don't you know?"  I inquire.  Shaking her head in the negative, I go on.  "You really shielded yourself off that much?"

"I told you earlier, Sashka."  She softly reminds me, "I chose to ignore everyone.  Even you.  I had to.  Why?  You did not believe me?"

"Christ!"  I whisper.  Stunned to find that she truly has gone through this, Mulder's death and funeral, entirely alone.  [God damn you, Skinner!  How could you have allowed this to…]

[I can hear you, remember?  Don't blame him, it was all me.]  "Well?  Are you going to tell me?  Where have you been?"

[This should not have happened!]  "I was talking with the accountant at a bank in St. Petersburg.  We were transferring over my father's accounts, when I heard...felt...what happened.  I guess, to make a long story short, I passed out from your pain at about the same time you did, and I was rushed to a hospital, incoherent.  Once I awoke, I found that two days had passed and I tried immediately to 'contact' you, but I could not get through your shield.  Through your depression.  Though I could feel it in every nuance of my body, which did not help matters.  It took me a week to convince the doctors that I was fine, mentally.  They kept insisting that I had had some sort of breakdown."

She tilts her head up to look at me, and I smile softly at her.  I want so badly to show her that I am, always, on her side.  Then she throws me for a loop.

"Why the hell would they think that?"

Realizing that she truly had not bothered to find out how I was faring, after Mulder had been found, I find myself suddenly angry, and sensing it, she stiffens against me.  [I can't believe that you…]

She immediately begins trembling in my arms at my harsh words and, shaking my head, I instantly recognize that my anger has no basis.  "Shh, I am sorry."  I say, softly massaging her swollen abdomen, once more.  "Of course you would not think to see how I was faring.  Your own world had been falling apart around you."

[No.  You are right.  I should have contacted you.]

Wrapping my arms tighter around her plump body, I continue with my story, as I lean against the back of the couch.

[It is all right.  I am here now; that is all that matters.]  "The doctors thought I went mental because I had apparently started rambling on and on about the aliens and colonization.  About how one of our own, Mulder, had just been found in a field, dead, due to his ordeal with Them.  Needless to say, they seriously believed I had lost my mind.  Which, based on what I must have been saying, could have been considered a correct diagnosis.  If I had not known my ramblings are true."

She pulls away and again stares at me.  "Jesus.  How the hell did you get out?  How did you convince them you are sane?"

I start at the look of pure concern reflected in her eyes, considering what I had seen there so recently.  "A stroke of luck."  I reply, rubbing my hands along her arm.  I smirk when she peers in my eyes, her brow arching.

"Luck?  Sashka, give me a break, would you?  I am a doctor.  Even I know it would take more than luck to have a supposedly insane man released from a hospital.  Especially one in Godforsaken Russia."

I still my hands and gaze at her; fully aware my next sentence could cause her anger to rise, again.  Though I do not want that to happen, I surely will not lie to her.

"My partner came for me."

She becomes momentarily rigid at my words, and then moves swiftly out of the warm cocoon I have made for her with my body.  She pushes herself up onto her feet, and glares at me.  Walking briskly away from me toward the front door, she opens it forcefully, and turns to me.  Pissed.  As I knew she would be.

"Get out!"  She demands, pointing out the door into the hallway.

"No."  I quietly reply, shaking my head..

She stares at me, incredulously.  "What?!"

"I said 'no'."  I reiterate, rubbing my hands across my face.  I gaze at her, pleadingly, as I rise to my feet.

"Get out!  Now!"  She orders, continuing to stare at me, chillingly.  As if I am her worst enemy.

Though we both know differently.

[The hell I do!]

"Damn it, Katya, at least allow me to finish before you throw me out.  I understand I promised you I would never say her name in your presence, which I have not.  However, you asked me how I got out, and I am not going to start lying to you now.  Especially in light of all that we have been through.  What you have been through."  I explain, my voice steady, though my emotions are fighting to get the better of me.

"Fine!"  She states, slamming the door.  "Talk.  You have three minutes before I call the police to have you bodily removed!"

Shocked at how quickly her anger has returned, even though I did expect it, I must bite my tongue to keep from saying something that I know I will regret later.  However, my mind still feels the need to defend.  [You cannot do that!  I am a federal agent!  I would like to see them try to remove me!]

[You really do need to work on your own shielding technique there, Alex!  Christ!  You are like an open book!]  She chuckles, the feigned laughter of her voice causing my ears to hurt.  "Can we just get on with it, already?  I would like to go to bed."

"You know very well, 'Dana', my 'technique' is practically worthless when I get pissed, so do not stand there and be such a bitch.  Especially as yours is not any better.  Seems to me, you are only able to use yours when you are depressed!  Which, unfortunately, happens to be a lot lately.  Fuck!  You did not even reach out to see how I was doing!  Why I was not here with you!  You act all high and mighty, as though Mulder's death only affected you!  Well, wake up, Dana!  His death affected a lot of other people too!  You may think you can lock yourself away from the outside world, but you cannot hide from me.  I will not allow it!"

She grins, actually grins, as she retorts, "You call me a bitch like it is a bad thing, Aleksei."

[That does it!]  I think, as I finally lose my temper.

"I do not have to hang around here and take this shit, Katya!"  I yell, again pacing the six feet of floor that separates us.  "I came here because we are both in pain!  Because I can fucking feel your pain, and I want to help you.  I need to help you.  I want you to help me!
"However, what I do not need is this shit!  Not from you!  It is bad enough that I have spent the past month wanting nothing more than to be with you; to help you deal with your pain, and yet I have not been able to do so, because of the fucking so-called doctors in Russia.  It is bad enough that I have found myself having to deal with the fact you blocked me out.  Which I do not blame you for...yet, you failed to think of me as a source who could help relieve some of your turmoil!
"Not to mention that I have had to do my damndest to explain to my partner, as well as my superiors, just how the hell I ended up in a fucking hospital in St. Petersburg!  You know very well that I have not told a soul, except for you, just what the fuck it is I can do.  What we can do!  I know you are hurting.  Trust me, I fucking know!  However, I will not allow you to continue to do this to yourself!
"You said you did not want me here earlier, because you do not know how to relieve my turmoil.  Don't you understand?  My seeing you, my just being near you helps to do just that!  You must stop tuning out everyone who cares about you!  You are not to blame for what happened to Mulder!  No one thinks you are, either.  You must stop torturing yourself like this!  It is not helping you, your baby, or anyone else.  Think of how Mulder would react right now, if he were to see you doing this to yourself!"

"Don't you dare bring Mulder into this, God rest his soul! He was not at fault for what happened to him!  I am!  I failed him!  I failed, because I was not there!  I should have been there, Alex!  God damn it, why can't you understand?  I failed!  That is why I block you out!  Because I do not want to hurt you!  I failed him!  I allowed him to leave!  I allowed him to be taken, and I allowed the search to grow cold!  I got him killed, Alex, because I failed!  And I will be damned to Hell, before I hurt you as well!  I hurt everyone!  I hurt my mother, because I refuse to let her hover over me.  I hurt Walter, because I refuse to allow him near me, and I even hurt Agent Doggett, because I threw it in his face in Montana that if he had only been a Believer, we could have found Mulder a lot sooner!  In front of his girlfriend, no less!  Why are you not able to see that I cannot help you with your pain?  All I do is cause pain!"

"Jesus, Katya.  You do not really believe that, do you?"  I ask, her despair coursing through me as I stop pacing and give her my full attention.

She merely nods her head, and wipes at the tears now running down her flushed cheeks, non-stop.  She then stuns me by taking a seat at the dining table, looking defeated.

"You are so wrong!"  I attest firmly, my own tears falling.  Again pacing, I continue to watch her, while trying to soothingly get her to realize she is not the reason for Mulder's untimely death.  "What will it take for me to make you see that you did not kill him?  To see that you are not at fault!  You did everything you could to save Mulder, Dana!  You refused to give up!  Even when, and I know this because you told me so yourself, even when Skinner began to believe Mulder's being found would never happen!  You are the only one, aside from me; who knew he would be found. We are the only two who had the courage to continue to believe!  You are the only person who kept seeking the truth after I left.  You are the one who kept the search alive, Dana.  You."  I plead for her to understand, as I stop pacing and walk over to kneel before her chair, where she is shaking her head profusely, in denial of my words.  Placing my arms around her shaking body, I stand and bring her with me.  Which, to my surprise, she allows.

"Katya, you must believe me when I say this.  If it were not for you, who knows what would have happened?  Mulder may have never been found.  You allowed him to be brought home, Dana.  Home."  I affirm softly, stroking her back and holding her tightly against me.

"Sashka."  She scarcely whispers.  "If I had only found him sooner.  Gotten to him, sooner.  He may have lived.  I was too late to save him.  Are you really unable to understand?  I was too late!"  She cries, finally succumbing to her hopelessness, as she wraps her arms around me.  Unable to contain them any longer, she finally allows her tears their release, and crumples against my chest.

~~~

3:45 a.m.

After what feels like hours, I reluctantly let go my hold of him.  Looking up at his serene face, he smiles gently while wiping at my tears, and allows me to walk away from him.  Though I know he would rather continue to hold me.

[Of course I would.]

[I would rather you did, if I were to admit the truth.  However, I must not give in to the temptation, or you will really have a mess on your hands.]

[You know I would not mind, Katya.]  He replies, though he reluctantly allows me to step away.  "Are you feeling better now?  Or would you like to go for round three?"  He asks, smirking.

I cannot help but laugh at his smart ass comment.  "Only you would say something like that, at a time like this."

"Just trying to help ease your tension.  Did it work?" He asks, gently.

I fight off a fresh set of tears, and shake my head.  "No."

Moving toward the long forgotten coffee, I grab a hold of the pot and turn to drain the charred liquid into the sink.  Turning back around, I replace it onto the burner and turn the coffeemaker off.  "Would you like some tea or milk?  I am afraid that was the last of the decaf, until I can get to the store later today."

"Katya.  You do not have to wait on me.  For Christ's sake, I lived here before…"  He pauses, not willing to approach the subject, again.  "I am fine.  I am more concerned about you, than whether or not I have something to drink.  If, however, you are looking for something to do to ease your nerves, you could join me on the couch.  Though I would feel better if you simply went to bed and tried to get some sleep."

It is my turn to smirk at him.  "Not hardly.  I mean about the sleeping.  However, if you truly are not thirsty, I guess we could sit on the couch."

"All right."  He replies, as he walks across the floor of the kitchen and, taking my hand into his, leads me out to the living room.

"Why are you still here?"  I ask him, while pressing my tired self into his side when we sit.  I ask him-this time-because I am truly awed that he has stayed.  No one else has been able to make it this long in my presence, since Mulder's funeral, without leaving after losing their temper.  Or patience.  Certainly, no one has had the courage enough to stay, after having dealt with my wrath.  Even Mulder would have split the scene by now.  Therefore, I feel the pressing need to know why he has not fled.

"I was under the impression I was welcome."  He begins, slowing rubbing one hand up and down my arm, while taking my hand that sets in his lap into his other.  "Or, at least, you had stated as such, before…before I left.  However, under the circumstances, I would understand if you wanted to forego on that arrangement.  Though I can just as easily find a hotel to crash at, I would much rather stay here.  I want to be here for you, Dana.  I want to help you in any way I can.  Plus…"  He pauses, as he continues to soothingly rub his hand along my arm.  "I am hurting too.  I thought we could, maybe, help each other."

I chance a glance at him, as the tears threaten to start flowing, once again.  Noting the concern and care in his own emerald orbs, I am unable to contain them and simply give in to the temptation of his now-outstretched arms.  The temptation of giving over my control.  To him.

"Sashka.  It has been so terrible.  So devastating.  I don't know how I am going…"

"Everything will be fine, Katya.  Let it out.  Please, just let it out.  I promise, I am here to catch you.  I promise."

With the calmness of his words, I finally believe I am able to do just that, and proceed to cry myself out until I have no more tears left to shed.  All the while, recounting to him with my mind all of the horrors that I have had to deal with in his absence.

~~~

4:54 a.m.

Gently caressing Dana's lower back, while simultaneously holding onto her tightly, I finally allow myself to let go of my own grief, and I rock her to sleep with my own shaking, sobbing body.

Having just 'heard' all of the sordid details regarding the recovery of Fox Mulder, and his subsequent return to D.C., I am in awe of her.  Then, after her relation of the events of his funeral in North Carolina, I become extremely conscious of the fact that this woman has had to suffer throughout the entire ordeal, alone.  This realization, by itself, is enough to give rise to a desire in me to harm those who have hurt her.

And I am not simply referring to aliens.

No.  I find myself so fucking pissed off at one Walter Sergei Skinner that I could spit nails.

Slowly reaching behind me for one of her chenille throw pillows, I gently place it under her now-sleeping form, and rise.  With nary a murmur from her, I pull the afghan from the back of the couch and cover her with it.  Glad of the fact she is finally asleep I-for not the first time-wish that I had the ability to 'reach out' to others, instead of only to her.  It would make my life a hell of a lot easier.

Once satisfied that she is comfortable, and not caring about the early hour, I walk over to the telephone that rests on the desk near her computer, and hit the number two of her speed dial.  Giving in to the fact that I will have to do this the hard way.

<Skinner.>  I hear his sleepy voice reply, after three rings.

Mindful of Dana's insomnia, and grateful for her ability to-at last-get some sleep, I wipe the rest of my tears away and take the cordless phone with me.  Walking from the living room into the bedroom, I shut the door and allow my fury to be released.  Hoping beyond hope that she will not hear me as I do.  Verbally or otherwise.

"How dare you leave Dana alone to deal with Mulder's death!"  I coldly state into the phone, as I start pacing the length of the room.

<Who the hell is this?>  He asks, his voice now fully alert.

"Glad to see I have your fucking attention, Walter.  Now answer me.  What the fuck possessed you to leave Dana alone in her grief?  Have you no compassion?  Have you no concern over her mental state?  Or, are you merely too concerned with protecting your own ass?"

<Krycek?  Is that you?  You asshole!  Who the fuck do you think you are, calling me at…Jesus, it is five o'clock in the morning!>

"I don't give a damn what time it is!"  I screech, as I stop to stand before the bedroom window.  "I have just spent the last three hours divided between fighting with-and comforting-Dana!  Do you have any idea the state of being in which I found her?  Do you have any fucking clue that she has boxes-boxes- packed, and ready to be sent to storage in the fucking living room?!  She has been getting ready to blow town!  And you, you have the gall to bitch about the fucking time?!  Where the hell have you been, Walter?  Why have you allowed her to deal with this fucking shit alone?!"  I demand to know, as I move from the window and resume my pacing.

<God damn it, Alex, calm down!  I did not exactly have a choice in the matter!  She refused to allow anyone near her, especially as of late.  She would not even let her poor mother see her, as of this last week.  What do you mean boxes?>

"Boxes, Walter.  As in, packing up and getting the hell out of D.C.!  Those types of boxes.  Christ!  When was the last time you were here?  You were supposed to be looking out for her while I was gone!"

<Fuck!  Do not start this shit with me, Alex.  Not this early in the morning.  I told you, she refuses to see anyone!  She keeps her fucking door locked all the time!  She refuses to answer the phone, and only God knows the last time she checked her e-mail.  What do you want from me?  I cannot force her to do anything!  Most certainly not to let me in.  Where the hell have you been, anyway?  Do not start in on me, when you yourself have been MIA.  I have been trying my damndest to look out for her, but I can only do so much.>

"I was stuck overseas in a fucking hospital, but that is not my point. Though my absence was not to my liking, it still gives you no excuse as to why she was left alone.  You, of all people, know how close she was to Mulder.  I cannot believe that I found her in such a state of duress when I finally got here!"

<She only wanted you, Alex.  She would not let anyone else near her.  She only wanted you.>

"That is bullshit, Walter, and you know it!  She could have contacted me.  She had access.  She merely chose not to use it.  Therefore, I come home to find her a fucking mess!  And alone!  She is pregnant, for Christ's sake!  She looks like she has lost at least thirty pounds while I have been away!  God!  When was the last time you saw her?"  I ask, stopping to pound a fist into the mattress of the bed; fighting to keep my anger in check.

<Truthfully?>

"Yes!"

<Since Mulder's funeral.>

"WHAT?!  What the fuck do you mean, since his funeral?  Mulder has been buried for a month!  You mean to tell me you have left her-alone-this entire time?  Are you fucking nuts?!"

<Damn it, Alex!  I just finished telling you, she would not let anyone inside her apartment!  What the fuck was I supposed to do?  Stalk her from the street?  Break down the door?    What?>

"Yes!"

<Oh yes, that would look really good to the…>

"I swear to God, if you say 'the Bureau accountants', I will come over there right now, and beat your ass!  Fuck!  No wonder I work for the Agency!  If your precious bureaucratic accountants are so concerned about the cost of a door, versus the security of an agent, it is amazing you still have a job to go to each morning!  A month, Walter?  Fuck!"

<I was not going to force her to see me, Alex.  Not on top of everything else.  Did she tell you she resigned yesterday?>

"Yes."  I reply, taking a seat on the bed.  "She told me she quit the X-Files as a 'gift' for Mulder.  Which is a ridiculous way to see it, in my opinion."  I point out, while realizing that no matter how angry I may be, it is getting me nowhere.  I fall back and lie across the bedspread, my heart aching over the torment Dana has had to suffer in my absence.

<Shit.>  Walter whispers through the phone, his anger deflating as well.  <I am sorry, Alex.  I did everything I could.  You have got to trust me on this.  I did not know what else to do.  Especially after her mother called and informed me; even she could not get through Dana's depressive state.>

"I trust only one person, Walter.  You are aware of that.  However…"  I state, my desire to end this conversation rising, as fast as it did to call him in the first place.  "My concern lies in what to do-now.  Since she has quit the Bureau, where exactly does that leave the X-Files?  Who the hell is down in the basement running things?  Agent Doggett?  Please, tell me this is not a correct assumption, Walter.  We still have a war on our hands, and though I can truly feel her distress, I need to know how you plan to proceed.  We still have to protect her!  Agent Doggett is certainly not qualified to handle what we know to be coming."

<I agree with you, on that point.  However, I cannot force Scully to stay in a position she no longer desires to be in.  Especially now.  It would appear to me, she no longer has any interest in finding the answers.  In fighting against the entities that stole Mulder from her.  From us.>

"I disagree.  She will still want to fight.  It is not in her to give up so easily.  Just look at how much of herself she put into the search to find him.  No, she will want to pursue the answers; she merely needs help to get out of the fog she has allowed to develop around her.  I just…I simply cannot understand how you could allow her to progress this far into a depression.  There had to be something you could have done, Walter."  I repeat, suddenly feeling extremely tired, not just physically, but mentally as well.  "This shit has got to end.  We need to find the answers and rid ourselves of this entire mess.  I can see no other way for her to find peace.  For any of us to find peace."

<I agree.  However, just how do you plan we do that, Alex?  Truthfully, now that Mulder is gone, and Scully has resigned, I really do not see how.  Yes, Agent Doggett is a competent agent, but he is certainly no 'Spooky Mulder', and as such, he could really care less about the Conspiracy.  As far as he is concerned, his goal has been met:  Mulder has been found.  As for the rest, he simply thinks of the X-Files as nothing more than a bunch of files full of paranormal bullshit.  He has refused to accept what has happened to Mulder, as anything more than the unfortunate demise of an entranced UFO cult member who got caught up in his own paranoia.>

"Jesus, you have got to be kidding me!"

<If only I were.>

"Jesus!  No wonder she gave up!  Having to listen to that type of insult-from a partner no less-would be almost enough to drive anyone to resign.  But, damn it; this is Dana we are talking about.  She knows better than that!  She knows the truth!  She…"  I stop talking, immediately realizing the information I almost let slip, due to my agitation.

<She what, Alex?>  He asks, his voice containing more than a little bit of curiosity.

"Nevermind.  I have to go.  I will be in touch."

Hanging up the phone, I make my way back out to the living room.  Seeing that she is still sleeping, I decide to try and catch a little rest myself, and sit in the recliner.  Certain that I will be able to know the minute she awakens.

"Good night, Katya.  I love you."  I whisper, as I finally succumb to sleep.

[I love you, too, Sashka.]

~Fin~

(For now…)

Copyright ~ August 25, 2002 REVISED: December 18, 2003
Tammy D. Aiken-Phillips
 
 

Copyright 2004 - 2007
ThamasD