***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

==========

Merciful
by shannono
shannono@iname.com

Story, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST

Spoilers for "Orison"

Rating: PG-13 to R, for language

Author's notes: I commented at quite some length on Scullyfic
following the airing of "Orison," on several different subjects,
and in the process I indicated that those who wanted more
closure should write it. I am now putting my money where my
mouth is in an attempt to do just that. This is but one
interpretation of events, told from Scully's perspective.

Other notes at the end.

==========

Merciful
by shannono


She later recalled the walk out of her bedroom only in slow
motion, time lengthening before her until she could almost see
the molecules in the air bumping against each other. A voice
called out, the syllables stretched like taffy, and she heard
her name but did not comprehend.

The man standing in her living room turned his face toward her,
but it was not just his face she saw; her mind superimposed an
ever-changing display of features over his. Barry. Schnauz.
Cardinale. Krycek. Even Fowley. The faces of every person she'd
faced down, every person who'd hurt her.

Her arm moved without thought, angling up toward the center of
his body. Her finger tightened on the trigger. And in that last
split-second, as she fired, after it was too late to stop
herself, she saw one last face staring down into her from
Pfaster's body, one last person who'd hurt her, time and time
again.

The face was Mulder's.

========

FBI Headquarters
Tuesday, January 11, 2000
9:58 a.m.

Scully felt a fleeting sense of deja vu as she stepped into the
small office and looked around. The room was familiar, but far
from comfortable; some of her most difficult and cathartic
moments had occurred within these walls.

"Dana?"

The soft voice caught her attention, and she realized she'd
been standing rooted in place for entirely too long. "Sorry,"
she said, half-smiling in apology, and settled into one of the
leather-covered chairs.

From across the low table between them, Karen Kosseff smiled
back. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Dana?" she asked, and
Scully had a quick vision of a bell ringing; round one, she
thought.

She nodded. "Almost a year, I think," she said. "Just before
... before I was shot." She focused her eyes on her hands,
neatly folded in her lap. The nails were cut short, barely
extending beyond the nail bed; she'd trimmed them Saturday
night, ostensibly to even them out, since she'd broken four in
her struggles. Her mind shied away from the real reason; every
time she looked at the perfectly manicured ovals, she felt the
terror of Pfaster's words again.

Karen's voice interrupted her thoughts. "You've been to EAP
several times since then, haven't you?" she asked.

Scully looked up and nodded again. "Three times," she said.
"It's mandatory when an agent fires his or her weapon in the
line of duty."

Karen tilted her head slightly to one side. "Yes, it is," she
said, her voice even and not at all condescending. "You spoke
with different counselors each time, I believe." She paused as
Scully nodded once again, then continued, "But this time you
requested to speak to me. Is that correct?"

Scully let out a breath. "Yes," she said. "I felt that because
of our previous visits, because you knew the history ..." Her
voice trailed off, and her gaze dropped back to her hands.

"Why did you shoot Donnie Pfaster?"

Scully's head snapped up at the unexpected question, her eyes
wide. "I ... I don't ..." She stopped, then shook her head. "I'm
not entirely sure," she said softly. "I don't really remember it
all that well. It's like ... it's like it wasn't really
happening. Like it was a dream."

Karen remained silent, as if waiting for Scully to go on. When
she didn't, Karen glanced down at her notebook. "Your partner
was there, wasn't he?"

Scully took another deep breath. "Yes, he was," she answered.
"He was taking Pfaster into custody. I heard him yell my name."

"And you came out of your bedroom?"

Scully nodded jerkily. "I came out," she said. "I got my hands
untied somehow; I don't really remember. And I picked up my gun
and came out and walked up to him and I shot him."

Karen waited again before speaking. "Dana, when you were here
for the first time, five years ago, you told me you felt you had
'looked at pure evil,'" she said. "Do you still feel this way?"

Scully hesitated only a moment. "Yes," she whispered, her eyes
wide. "Yes, even more so now than I did then. It's ... the only
way I can even process anything so horrible. I can't believe
that any human is capable of such acts. Not of his own accord."

Karen studied Scully's face. "You also told me you couldn't
talk to your partner about your fears," she said. "Is this still
true?"

"No." Scully's answer was immediate. "We've talked about it. We
talked about it at my apartment, after I ... after it happened."

"What did you tell him?"

Scully swallowed. "I said that I wasn't sure who or what was
working through me," she said, her voice low and halting. "I
didn't know if it was good or evil."

"And what did he say?"

"He told me the Bible allows for vengeance," she said. "He said
he saw it as a clean shoot, that ... that Pfaster would have
killed again if given the chance."

"And you don't agree?"

"I don't know."

Karen shifted in her seat. "Why are you here today, Dana?"

Scully looked up, confused. "Why am I here?"

"Yes," Karen said. "Are you here because you have to be?
Because you're on suspension and you know this counseling is
required? Or are you here because you truly think you should be?"

Scully started to speak, paused, then tried again. "It's both,"
she admitted. "I know I have to do this if I want to keep my
job, and that's very important to me. But that's not the only
reason I'm here."

Karen studied her for a moment. "Why don't you tell me exactly
what happened, starting when you first found out Pfaster had
escaped."

Scully tensed, leaning forward a bit in the chair but not
looking up at Karen. "Actually, it started before that, early
that morning," she said. "I'd left my bedroom windows open, and
a gust of wind woke me up. I closed the windows, and straightened
up some papers that were blown around. My Bible was sitting there,
and I picked it up." She paused, a puzzled look crossing her face.
"I don't know why I picked it up. I don't remember what I was 
thinking. The wind hadn't moved it; it was too heavy."

"What did you do next?"

"I looked at my clock ... and the display read '666,'" Scully
said. "I thought I must have been dreaming. I picked it up, and
it went blank. Then the lights went out and came back on, and
the clock read 6:06."

Karen leaned forward a little. "How did you explain that,
Dana?" she asked.

"I ... I didn't, really," Scully replied, hesitant. "I thought
it must have been a trick of the light, or the power surge, or
something. I didn't really think about it again until later."

"What happened later?"

"We were at the prison," she said. "Mulder and I. Talking to
the marshal, looking at the case file. I ... I didn't want to be
there. I felt as if I were about to crawl out of my skin when I
looked at the picture in the file."

"And then ...?"

"I shoved the file at Mulder and walked out," she said. "He
followed me a few minutes later and told me I shouldn't be
there." She paused, then said, "No, that's not right. He said I
didn't *have* to be there. He said he knew Pfaster had bothered
me the first time and that I didn't have to be there, that he
wouldn't blame me if I wanted to walk away."

"But you didn't."

Scully shook her head. "I couldn't," she said. "I told him that
if I could help find Pfaster, keep him from hurting anyone else,
then I had no choice. I had to do it."

Karen nodded thoughtfully. "You said something in this
conversation brought back what happened to you that morning?"

"Yes," Scully replied. "Mulder mentioned that Pfaster had
walked out of prison at 6:06 that morning."

"The same time you woke up," Karen said.

Scully nodded in confirmation. "My mind was telling me it was
just a coincidence, but it was too convenient."

"Did anything else bother you at the prison?"

"There was this song," Scully answered. "I kept hearing it
everywhere we went. I told Mulder I was listening to that song
when I was 13 and my mother came in to tell me that my Sunday
school teacher had been shot and killed. Murdered. And I told
Mulder that moment was the first time I truly felt there was
evil in the world."

"Why do you think you heard the song?"

"I think ... maybe it was a message," Scully said. "A warning,
the same as the clock. Someone or something was trying to tell
me to be careful." 

"Did you tell your partner that?"

Scully nodded, then gave a sheepish grin. "I guess I've gotten
past *that* much fear, anyway."

Karen returned the smile. "It's progress, Dana," she said. She
looked at Scully for a long moment. "Dana, what do you think
your partner thinks of you?"

Scully's eyes widened, and her gaze slipped away from Karen's,
drifting to land back on her hands. "I don't know," she
whispered. "He told me he thinks I did the right thing, but ..."

"Do you believe him?"

"I ... I don't know," Scully said. "I don't know how he could
be so sure, when I'm not even sure."

Karen's voice softened. "Are you sorry Pfaster is dead?"

"No." Scully's reply was immediate and firm. "I'm not sorry
that he's dead. I'm sorry for the way he died ..." She stopped,
her mouth still open as if she wanted to say more, but her mind
froze and refused to go any further.

Karen seemed to realize they'd reached a wall and nodded. "All
right, Dana," she said in a soothing voice. "That's enough for
today. You'll be back tomorrow?"

Scully nodded as she rose. "Thank you, Karen," she said, and
turned and left.

======

Home of Margaret Scully
12:30 p.m.

Her mother's car was missing from the driveway when Scully
pulled up, and she remembered the weekly women's luncheon and
Bible study at St. John's, which Maggie rarely missed. Scully
also knew that her mother understood her need for solitude; she
was too used to living alone to be comfortable with suddenly
spending every minute with someone else. 

Maggie had not badgered her to talk or otherwise tried to draw
her out since Scully had appeared at her door Saturday night,
Mulder standing just behind her. Scully had thought Mulder would
take her back to his apartment, but she didn't question him when
he headed for her mother's instead. Perhaps he understood, even
better than she did, just how raw her emotional state was.
Perhaps he knew what might happen if they were alone in his
apartment when their emotions were running so high -- something
neither of them would be able to process on top of what they'd
been through.

Mulder did stay that first night, accepting Mrs. Scully's
invitation to sleep in the guest room, next door to Scully.
Scully woke up only once during the night, and when her eyes
opened, she saw Mulder standing in the doorway, watching her.

He didn't move, even when she pushed herself up on one arm so
she could see him more clearly; didn't even smile, as she
thought he might. His eyes were remote, clouded, no doubt
replaying both his actions and hers, trying to find the moment
when everything went wrong.

She hadn't tried to reach him; she couldn't. She'd simply gone
back to sleep, and when she woke up in the morning, he was gone.
She'd been disappointed at first, but when she made it down to
the kitchen, her mother had said he'd left with an apology and a
promise to call. He had, but their brief conversation consisted
of not much more than a confirmation of the time for their
meeting with Skinner the next morning. Scully knew the true
meaning ran deeper; they'd long ago perfected hiding concern
behind shop talk.

Mulder had already been in Skinner's office when she'd arrived
for the meeting the next morning. As she'd expected, she'd been
suspended with pay, pending investigation into the shooting, and
ordered to attend mandatory counseling sessions each day for the
duration. Her weapon had already been turned over to forensics
for testing, and she'd surrendered her badge to Skinner on the
spot.

She didn't know what might have been discussed between the two
men before she got there, but during the meeting itself, Mulder
had been true to his word, defending her actions while managing
in the process not to claim they were self-defense or even fully
justifiable. His preliminary report cited the shooting as
"tragic, but necessary to prevent the recurrence of the
perpetrator's historically proven propensity toward violent
manifestations of his deeply-rooted psychological dysfunction."
Sometimes his extensive vocabulary really did come in handy.

She appreciated his support, of course, but it hadn't been much
help so far. While she felt sure she would be absolved by the
Bureau, she knew it wouldn't be so easy to absolve herself.

They did speak, briefly, in the hallway after the meeting.
Scully walked out first and stopped, waiting for Mulder to catch
up. When he stopped next to her, she looked up into his face,
the calm expression belied by his troubled eyes.

"I'm going to head back ho -- to Mom's," she'd said, carefully
keeping her tone even. "I'll call from there to set up the
counseling appointments."

Mulder had nodded. "'Kay," he'd said, lifting one hand to brush
across her lower back. "See you later." 

To her surprise, he'd then simply turned and walked away. She'd
been a bit taken aback, and had even opened her mouth with the
intention of calling him back, but then she thought he simply
hadn't wanted to broadcast their conversation in the middle of
the building. She'd thought he'd call again that night instead. 

The phone hadn't rung once.

Scully sighed as she stepped into the quiet house and locked
the door behind her. She supposed Mulder hadn't called the night
before because he thought she needed some time. And she had,
really; but now she felt like she was ready to talk again.

She stared at the phone. If only she could make herself pick it
up and call.

Instead, she quickly put together a sandwich, poured a glass of
water, and sat down at the table to eat, her eyes following the
movements of a bright red cardinal on the lawn outside. The bird
darted from the feeder to the ground to a tree, never seeming to
light in one place for long before moving on. Scully empathized
with its restlessness; she had rarely felt as unsettled as she
did now.

She was set adrift, stripped of both her home and her job, and
with the exception of her daily counseling sessions, she had
nothing with which to occupy herself. Her apartment was still a
jumbled mess; her mother had broached the subject only once,
offering to hire someone to take care of it or to go over
herself, but Scully had shied away from that idea so far. Some
part of her knew she needed to do the work herself, or at least
some of it, but she simply couldn't face it yet; she also didn't
really want her mother to see the wholesale destruction.

She tried to think of the empty days as a vacation, but she
couldn't quite convince herself of that. She spent her time
reading, looking through old family photo albums, watching
television and old movies -- and trying not to think. 

She hadn't even gone to confession yet. She'd ended up spending
much of Sunday morning at the emergency room, after she woke up
in such severe pain she could barely move. Everything hurt, from
the knot on the back of her head where she'd been slammed
against the wall and the mirror, to the bruises around her
wrists from the bindings. She knew what had happened during the
night to leave her in such agony; once the endorphins drained
from her system, the underlying pain hit her with a vengeance. 

What spurred her to have her mother take her to the hospital,
though, was her blurred vision. She'd feared a subdural hematoma
from the head trauma, and she couldn't believe the paramedics
had cleared her the night before with only an admonishment to
rest and take Tylenol or Advil. She couldn't believe she'd let
them.

As it turned out, she did have a very mild concussion, and the
doctor gave her a prescription for a slightly stronger
painkiller, along with another urging to rest and the standard
warnings regarding head injuries. She took the medicine
willingly, knowing there was nothing to be gained in suffering
silently.

Now, sitting in her mother's kitchen, Scully ached both
physically and emotionally. She couldn't even cry, though she
knew she needed the release. She rarely cried at all, and when
she did, it was almost always in private. But though she'd felt
the burn of tears in her eyes and the ache in her throat from
the need to let them out, she hadn't been able to let go.

She needed to go to confession, she decided; the familiarity of
the ritual might help her find a way to face what still lay
ahead. She would call St. John's and ask for an appointment
following the next day's early mass. Because of the severity of
her actions, she felt she needed to sit face-to-face with the
priest, rather than hiding in the anonymity of the confessional
booth. She was more comfortable with Father O'Hearn than Father
McCue, perhaps because he was less connected to her family. She
had met with Father O'Hearn several times, and both the priest's
gently accepting manner and the softly lilting brogue in his
voice had been a great comfort to her.

She felt a little better with her plan formed in her mind, more
centered. She would go to confession, would seek the counsel of
God's representatives, and would leave from there for her ten
o'clock appointment with Karen for some secular counseling.
Maybe her thoughts would be more composed by then. 

And maybe then she could make herself call Mulder.

=====
=====

3:33 p.m.

Her mind a little more settled after her call to the church,
Scully was deeply engrossed in her mother's copy of "Midnight in
the Garden of Good and Evil" when the phone rang. She answered
it absently, using her last name.

"It's me."

Mulder's voice pulled Scully's attention away from her reading,
and she let the book fall shut. "Hi," she said, striving to keep
her voice light. "What's up?"

"Are you busy, Scully?" he asked, his tone tentative.

Scully frowned. "No, of course not," she answered, shifting to
sit up straighter on the sofa. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong," he answered. "I just needed to talk
to you. Is it all right if I come over there?"

"That's fine," Scully said. "When will you be here?"

"Uh, well, I'm kinda already there," he said, his tone
sheepish. "I'm turning onto Courtland now, so ... thirty
seconds?"

Despite her apprehension, Scully smiled. "I'll meet you at the
door."

She unlocked and opened the door as Mulder climbed the steps,
still in his work clothes, though his jacket was missing and his
sleeves were rolled up. He reached to unbutton the top button of
his shirt and loosen his tie as he stepped inside.

"Your mom's not here?" he asked, glancing around.

"No, she's at a meeting," Scully answered, automatically
closing and locking the door. "She'll probably be gone another
hour or so."

Mulder nodded. "Good," he said. "Because we need to talk."

Apprehension crept up Scully's spine. "About ...?"

His gaze pinned her. "About the shooting."

She didn't move for a moment, and then she nodded. "Yes, we
do," she said evenly, motioning toward the sofa. "Make yourself
comfortable."

He sat gingerly, as if afraid to touch too much of the light
floral print fabric, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on
his thighs, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. Scully
lowered herself into one of the overstuffed armchairs, pushing
off her shoes and curling her legs up beside her in the seat.
Mulder's eyes followed her movements, she noticed, his gaze
intent on her feet, but she didn't acknowledge his attention.

Instead, she fired the opening salvo. "Your report was a
masterful use of double-talk, Mulder," she said dryly. "You
managed to cover all the bases without ever addressing any of
them directly."

Mulder shrugged. "I wrote what I saw," he said. "And what I 
saw was a man who had already killed several women, who would,
if given the chance, kill again -- and who was minutes away 
from attempting to kill *you*."

Scully shook her head. "That didn't give me the right to play
judge and jury," she said. "That didn't justify what I did."

"No, it didn't," Mulder agreed easily. "And I know you'll spend
the rest of your life regretting it." He leaned further toward
her. "But I also know that we all make mistakes," he said, his
voice firm but soft. "You made a mistake, Scully, under extreme
duress, the kind no one should ever have to face. It wasn't
driven by good or evil, just by your will to survive. None of us
is perfect, Scully. You can't hold yourself up to that kind of
standard." He paused, then whispered, "You have to forgive
yourself."

Scully shivered, his words reflecting so closely her own
thoughts from earlier in the day. She shook her head. "I don't
know if I can, Mulder," she whispered. "Not yet, not so soon.
Maybe someday I ..." She stopped, then added, "But I'll never
forget."

"No one expects you to forget, Scully," Mulder replied, his
voice still low and soothing. "You wouldn't be able to forget.
It's a part of you now, just like every other time you've had 
to go against your faith and your science both and harm another
person." He paused and chuckled lowly. "Including me."

Scully froze and shivered again, this time in fear, as a
terrifying vision flashed across her mind: Mulder's face,
looking down at her, staring into and through her as she pulled
the trigger and he fell ...

"Scully? Scully, are you okay?"

She came back to awareness to find herself curled into a ball
in the chair, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms
wrapped around her legs. Mulder was kneeling on the floor next
to her, his face panicked, clearly holding back from reaching
for her.

"I ... what ..." She couldn't think clearly.

"You just ... disappeared for a minute, Scully," Mulder said,
his voice concerned. "You curled up and started rocking back and
forth, and you were muttering 'no, no,' over and over."

She shook her head, unwrapping her arms and slowly
straightening herself out in the chair. "I don't ... I don't
remember," she said hoarsely, realizing it was true. The last
few minutes were a blank; Mulder was talking, and then she was
waking up. She remembered all-encompassing terror, unspeakable
horror, but she didn't remember what caused it. And that only
frightened her more.

Her hands were shaking; her whole body was shaking. Her neck
and chest felt flushed and sweaty, and there was a dim roaring
in her ears. "I don't remember, Mulder," she repeated, her voice
rising. "Something ... I saw something but I don't remember what
..."

Mulder leaned closer, cautiously reaching out one hand to cover
her trembling one where it rested on her knee. "It's okay,
Scully," he soothed. "I think it was a flashback. You may have a
few of those."

Her eyes slid shut, and she nodded quickly. "Yeah," she said,
turning her hand over to grasp Mulder's. "I'm okay." 

"You will be," Mulder said with conviction. "It'll take some
time, Scully, but let it take some time."

Scully swallowed, then nodded twice more and released her grip
on Mulder's hand. Moving slowly, she slid forward in the chair,
Mulder backing away as she rose to her feet, a little
unsteadily. "I'll be back in a minute," she said, flashing
Mulder a tight little smile.

She turned and walked into the hall, stepping into the small
bathroom there and turning on the water. She grabbed a washcloth
and dampened it, running it across the top of her chest above
her shirt before pressing it against the sides and back of her
neck. Dropping the cloth on the side of the vanity, she extended
her arms and let the cool water run over the insides of her
wrists for a few seconds before shutting off the flow and
reaching for a hand towel.

As she dried her skin, she glanced around the tiny room. She
hadn't told anyone, not even her mother, but this was the only
bathroom in the house she could even enter. While the other two
were full baths, with complete bath and shower combinations,
this room had only a narrow shower stall in addition to the sink
and toilet. She'd tried using the guest bathroom that first day,
but her knees had buckled the moment she'd opened the door.

She threw the towel into the sink and leaned forward, her hands
gripping the porcelain sides of the vanity. She squeezed her
eyes shut. She hated this, hated it with a passion. She was
afraid of a bathroom, a fucking *bathroom*, for God's sake.
After everything she'd seen, after everything she'd endured over
the past seven years, all it took was one crazed lunatic with a
penchant for dead things to drive her over the edge.

"Scully?"

She jumped at Mulder's voice, whirling to face him where he
stood in the doorway. "Dammit, Mulder!" she spat out. "You
scared the shit out of me!"

He raised his hands immediately, palms facing her. "I'm sorry,
I'm sorry," he said, still using that smooth tone that was
starting to infuriate her. "You were gone a long time, and when
I saw the door was open ..."

"Does the word 'privacy' mean anything at all to you, Mulder?"
she demanded, stalking toward him and feeling a little spike of
glee as he scrambled to back out of her way.

She continued right through the living room and into the
kitchen, not even looking back at him, silently fuming as he
followed without a word. She flung open a cabinet and pulled out
the tea kettle, shoving it into the sink and turning on the
water to fill it. She didn't look at Mulder, and he still didn't
speak.

She filled the kettle and set it on the stove, turned on the
burner, then got out a single mug and a small box of teabags.
Planting one hand on the counter and the other on her hip, she
focused all her attention on the kettle, waiting. A fleeting
moment of guilt flashed across her mind for lashing out at
Mulder; this wasn't his fault. But his voice brought back all
her irrational anger.

"You know what they say about watched pots, Scully."

She spun around when he finally spoke, and this time she
unloaded. "Shut the hell up, Mulder!" she said. "It's none of
your damn business what I do or don't do. This is *my* house,
Mul --"

She broke off, her eyes wide, a taunting voice in her head
starting to skip and repeat like a scratched record. **It isn't
your house. It isn't your house. *Your* house is a shambles,
because of *him*. HIM, he was there, HE TOOK YOUR HOUSE --**

Her vision went black.

=====

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on something soft.
Disoriented, she started to lift her head to look around, but a
gentle hand smoothed over her hair and a gentle voice spoke to
her.

"Shhhh," it said. "It's okay, Scully. You're okay."

She closed her eyes, then opened them again and blinked a few
times. She was on the sofa, her mother's sofa, she realized, and
she turned her head very slowly to her right to meet Mulder's
gaze.

"Hey," he said softly. "Welcome back."

"Mul --" Her voice caught, and she coughed once. Mulder reached
out without looking and brought back a glass of water in his
hand; automatically, she took it and drank carefully before
handing it back.

"What ... what happened?" she said, afraid to hear his answer.

"I'm not sure," he replied, shifting from his knees to sit on
the floor beside her. "You were okay one second, and the next
you were headed straight down." He crooked a small smile. "Good
thing I have fast reflexes, or you'd have a knot on your head
the size of a golf ball."

She shook her head slowly, still trying to push away the groggy
feeling. "Don't need another one," she murmured, and was
surprised when Mulder's eyes widened and he clambered back up to
lean over her, one hand running across the back of her head.

"Another one?" he asked, his voice now anxious. "I thought the
paramedics cleared you."

"They did," she said, pushing his hand away. "It's just a
little bump, nothing serious. I'm fine, Mulder."

His jaw tightened, as if he wanted to challenge her, but he
apparently decided against it. "Okay," he said. "Okay." He
paused. "What happened back there, Scully?"

She frowned, unsure what he was talking about. "You mean in the
kitchen?" she said.

"Well, yes, that," he said cautiously. "But it really started
when I went to check on you in the bathroom."

She jerked back instinctively, recoiling from the word, and a
wave of fury washed over her at her own reaction, her fists
clenching and her breathing quickening.

"Hey, hey," Mulder's voice soothed, his hands reaching for one
of hers, prying her fingers open. "Relax. You're okay. It's
okay."

She gasped in several deep breaths of air, then trembled
violently. "God, Mulder," she moaned weakly. "I *hate* this. I
*hate* this."

"I know, I know," he said. "You feel out of control, and you
hate it. I know. It's okay; you'll be all right. It'll just take
some time." He worked her other hand out flat, then rubbed it
between his until she relaxed, leaning against the arm of the
sofa.

"I hate this," she murmured again, near sleep already in
exhaustion from her rampaging emotions. "I can't ..."

"You *can*, Scully," Mulder whispered firmly, his hands still
soothing hers. "And you will."

Feeling his warmth nearby, she drifted into sleep.

=====
=====

St. John's Catholic Church
Alexandria, Virginia
Wednesday, January 12, 2000
7:03 a.m.

"May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and
bring us to everlasting life." 

"Amen." Scully murmured the response to the priest's petition
along with the rest of the congregation, crossing herself
quickly and sliding into the back pew. She was just a few
minutes late for morning Mass, but the service had already
begun; she'd missed the opening hymn and has just caught the 
end of the Penitential Rite.

She settled back against the pew, absorbing the softness and
peace of her surroundings as she followed the service. But she
was unable to keep her thoughts from wandering back to the
previous day.

She didn't know when Mulder had left the afternoon before; she
only knew that when she woke up a little before five, he'd been
gone. He'd left her a note, though, sitting on the table next to
her so it would be the first thing she saw when she woke up.

Scully closed her eyes as the priest began to pray, but her
mind recalled the words of Mulder's note. "Scully," it read.
"Sorry I had to go, but Skinner's expecting me to make a command
appearance before the end of the day, and the last thing I want
right now is to draw The Wrath Of The AD on my head. I did have
another reason for coming by, but I never got a chance to tell
you. I want to talk to you again before the OPR hearing, when
you feel up to it. Are you busy for dinner tomorrow night?"

He hadn't signed it, not that he needed to, and as she'd
finished reading it, she'd heard her mother's car pulling into
the driveway. She'd slipped the note into her pocket as she got
up, feeling somehow both drained and refreshed, more prepared to
face what was still ahead of her.

She knew she had Mulder to thank for that. He'd pushed her, but
not too far; had taken everything she'd thrown at him in her
emotional upheaval; and had left her with his confidence in her
ability to rebuild herself. She wanted to believe he was right,
that she could recover from what she'd done, but for now, it was
enough to know that he believed.

She said a quick prayer for Mulder during the priest's final
words, as she always did, and as soon as the final prayers
ended, she stood and headed for the rectory. She'd skipped
communion, mindful that she wanted to confess first, and she
slipped into Father O'Hearn's office quickly, before she could
let herself think about what she had to say.

She was a few minutes early for her 8:15 appointment, so once
she was seated, she closed her eyes and bowed her head, not
really praying but instead picturing the people she loved safe,
healthy, and happy. She lingered on Mulder's face, visualizing
him as she'd seen him on a baseball field last year, playing
like a child and enjoying every minute of it.

The sound of someone moving into the room drew her from her
reverie, and she turned to see Father O'Hearn pulling the door
shut behind him. "Dana, it's good to see you," he said in his
accented voice, reaching out a hand to squeeze her shoulder
lightly as he stepped past her and took the seat opposite 
hers. "I'm only sorry it must be under these circumstances. 
I understand something is weighing heavily on you?"

"Yes," Scully answered, pausing to swallow heavily, trying to
calm her nervousness. Confession was never easy, and confessing
face-to-face was exponentially more difficult.

Her head bowed, she began: "In the name of the Father, and of
the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." 

Father O'Hearn's reply was immediate. "For I am merciful, saith
the Lord, and I will not keep anger forever."
 
Scully paused, absorbing his words, then said, "It's been
nearly two weeks since my last confession, Father." She
hesitated again, then continued. "I am an FBI agent, as you
know, and in the course of my duties, I have been forced to fire
my weapon numerous times and have taken the lives of several
people. I have confessed each of these, although the Church does
not require confession in such cases, because it is my personal
belief that killing is always wrong, even when it is necessary."

Father O'Hearn nodded slowly. "And you have another such event
to confess today?"

"Yes, Father," Scully said. "The difference this time is that
it was not clearly an act of defense." She studied her hands,
clasped tightly together in her lap. "The man I ... I killed ...
attacked me five years ago, during a case. He was captured and
charged with killing five women, and with attacking two others,
including me. He was sentenced to life in prison, after I asked
the judge not to give him the death penalty.

"Last week, this man escaped from prison. He killed one woman,
attacked another, and then attacked me in my home. I fought him
and was trying to get to my weapon to defend myself when my
partner came in. He was holding the man at gunpoint." She looked
up at the priest. "And I shot him anyway," she whispered, her
voice shaky.

Father O'Hearn merely nodded thoughtfully. "Dana, what was your
state of mind at the time?"

Her gaze dropped away. "I don't really remember it all that
clearly, Father," she said. "I remember being terrified that I
was going to die. After everything I've been through, everything
I've overcome, that this was the end, unless I got to my gun and
shot him." She lifted her face again, tears brimming in her
eyes. "And then it's all a haze. I remember walking toward him,
and then he was falling, and I realized I'd pulled the trigger.
And I knew it was wrong, that it wasn't my place."

Father O'Hearn smiled softly. "Dana, you know that killing
another human being is wrong in the eyes of God," he said
gently. "We are taught that killing in defense is not a mortal
sin, but you say you believe it is still wrong."

Scully nodded quickly. "But this wasn't in defense, Father,"
she said, her voice cracking. "It was wrong in the eyes of the
law, and it was wrong in the eyes of God."

Father O'Hearn nodded. "I understand, Dana," he said. "But you
must remember that there is a difference between the law of man
and the law of God. The difference is that God is always willing
to forgive us our human failings, as long as we are truly
repentant."

"I am, Father," Scully whispered. "I know that my job requires
me to be willing and able to kill in the line of duty. But I am
always remorseful when I am forced to hurt or kill another human
for any reason." She paused to swallow again. "I know that I
didn't have to kill this man. I know it was wrong. And I am more
sorry than I can ever say."

"Then God will forgive you, Dana," Father O'Hearn said. "You
need only open your heart to Him and ask His forgiveness, and it
is yours. God is merciful to all His children, in more ways than
we can imagine or understand."

"I know, Father," Scully said, raising her gaze to his, her
eyes damp. "I only wish I could forgive myself."

Father O'Hearn stretched out a hand to grasp Scully's. "You
will, Dana," he said. "Only believe in God and rely on your
faith, and you will learn to forgive yourself." He squeezed her
hand lightly. "Have you other sins to confess?"

Scully nodded. "Yes, I raised my voice in anger to my partner
yesterday afternoon," she said hoarsely. "He was trying to help
me, and I lashed out at him without reason. He understood why I
did it, I know, but that doesn't make it right."

"Again, Dana, God will forgive you your shortcomings," Father
O'Hearn said. "I will give you your penance, Dana, and then I
want to pray with you, and I want you to listen to and think
about the words we will be saying. Our God is a good God, both
just and merciful, and He knows the intent of our hearts. We
will never be worthy of His grace, and yet He will continue to
extend it to us, as long as we are penitent and ask His
forgiveness for our sins."

Scully nodded quickly. "What is my penance, Father?"

"For your words spoken in anger, five Hail Marys and three Our
Fathers," Father O'Hearn said. "For taking the life of another
human, in the manner in which you described, I will direct you
to service at St. Ann's Infant and Maternity Home in
Hyattsville. This home offers temporary housing and services to
infants and young children who have been displaced from their
homes due to crisis situations. They have a standing need for
volunteers, and I feel that your situation and background give
you a unique perspective that will benefit both them and you."

Scully's eyes fluttered shut, and she nodded in agreement.
"Thank you, Father," she replied.

"No, thank God," O'Hearn answered. "Have you an Act of
Contrition you wish to use?"

"Yes, Father," Scully said, bowing her head. She took a deep,
steadying breath, then slowly recited the prayer she had learned
many years before. "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having
offended You and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss
of heaven and the pains of Hell, but most of all because they
offend You, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my
love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to confess
my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."

O'Hearn's response was immediate. "God the Father of mercies,
through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled
the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the
forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God
give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in
the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." 

"Amen," Scully said.

O'Hearn raised his head and smiled at Scully. "Give thanks to
the Lord, for He is good," he said. 

Scully felt herself returning the smile as she gave back the
response: "His mercy endures forever." 

O'Hearn gave her hand one last squeeze. "Go with the peace of
Christ, Dana," he said. "And forget not all His mercies."

=====

10:03 a.m.

Karen smiled as Scully took a seat. "Good morning, Dana," she
said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to jump right back in where
we were yesterday. You were telling me how you felt about the
way Donnie Pfaster died."

Scully closed her eyes slowly, then reopened them; the
counselor certainly wasn't shying away from the hard questions.
"I feel shocked at myself," she said, finding the words a little
easier to come by this time. "I violated everything I've always
stood for, everything I believe is right."

"What you believe is right, in your role as an FBI agent?"
Karen prompted.

"As an agent, and as a doctor," Scully replied. "I had no right
to take a life that way. No one was in danger from that man at
the moment I shot him. I violated both my oath as an agent and
my oath as a doctor." She hesitated for a moment. "And I
violated my faith as well," she added in a softer voice.

Karen nodded. "I can't speak to your faith, Dana," she said. "I
would hope that you would be able to go to those who will be
able to help you with that aspect."

Scully nodded. "I have," she said.

"And did it help?"

"Some," Scully replied. "It's easier for me to talk about this
now than it was yesterday, and I think that may be a large
reason." She paused again. "I also talked with Agent Mulder
yesterday."

Karen tilted her head to one side. "How did that go?"

Scully shook her head. "Not all that well," she said. "But he
was very ... patient. He knows I'm on edge right now. He didn't
push me when I had trouble."

Karen nodded. "What kind of trouble?"

Scully looked down at her lap, watching her fingers as they
picked at the hem of her jacket. "I felt out of control," she
said. "I reacted badly three different times, and I don't really
know why." She looked up. "No, that's not true. I know what
happened once." She took in a deep breath and let it out. "It
was the bathroom," she said. "I've been having trouble facing
any bathroom with a tub in it." She stopped again. "I haven't
told anyone about this," she said. "I ... I've been using the
extra bathroom at my mother's house because it only has a shower
stall in it."

Karen smiled gently. "That's not surprising, Dana," she said.
"You've been through a very traumatic event, and certain things
you associate with that event may become triggers for your
emotions."

Scully nodded quickly. "I know, I know," she said. "But I don't
know why ..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at Karen,
her eyes wide. "I don't know why Mulder has become one of the
triggers."

Karen's eyebrows lifted. "What makes you think that, Dana?"

"The first time I ... had a flashback, I guess it was," Scully
answered. "Mulder was talking about everything that I'd been
through over the past few years, about the people who had hurt
me, and he lumped himself in with those people. Suddenly I was
terrified, and I don't know why. I saw something, maybe
remembered something, I don't know. I just remember being scared
and horrified at whatever it was."

Karen nodded. "Has Agent Mulder ever hurt you, Dana?"

Scully opened her mouth to say no, of course not, but she
paused and realized the truth. She looked at Karen. "Yes, he
has," she whispered. "Not physically; never physically. And he
doesn't do it on purpose. But he does do things and say things
that hurt me."

Karen leaned forward. "And have you ever hurt him the same way?"

Scully's eyes fluttered shut against the burn of rising tears.
"Yes," she said softly. "I know I have. I hurt him yesterday,
when I lashed out at him for something that wasn't his fault. He
was trying to help, and I hurt him."

"Dana," Karen said gently, and Scully opened her eyes to look
at the other woman. "It's obvious that you and your partner care
very deeply about each other, and that's a wonderful thing. But
it also means that you can very easily hurt each other, without
even realizing you're doing it. It's a part of being human. We
make mistakes, but we must learn to live with those mistakes."

Scully nodded. "I know," she said, her voice cracking with
unshed tears. "And I'm trying."

=====
=====

Margaret Scully's home
2:45 p.m.

Scully was fighting for her life.

She slept, lying curled on her side on the sofa in her mother's
living room, safe, warm, and dry. But in her mind, she was
somewhere else entirely.

She struggled against the bindings around her feet and hands,
feeling the bite of rough edges rubbing her skin raw. She
marshaled her strength, pushing herself across the glass-covered
floor, her eyes on the prize: her service weapon, lying
discarded on the floor.

She heard him coming, and she knew her time was up. **Get the
gun, get the gun,** her mind chanted. **He's going to kill you.
Get the gun, GET THE GUN --**

She got the gun.

She pulled the trigger.

And stood frozen, staring down at Mulder's body.

"Dana?"

Scully woke with a hoarse gasp, disoriented, her eyes wide and
body tense. Her mother stood a foot away, her hand hovering in
the air, as if she was undecided whether she should touch her
daughter to wake her.

"Mom," Scully rasped out, slowly lifting herself from the
cushions, flexing and stretching her tense muscles.

Maggie frowned. "Dana, honey, are you all right?" she asked.
"Did you have a nightmare?"

"I'm fine," Scully answered automatically. "It's okay."

And it was, or nearly so. Her heartbeat was slowing back to a
normal rate, and she already couldn't remember a single image
from the dream. She was left with only a lingering sense of
terror and loss, a nearly unfathomable sense of emptiness --
and, inexplicably, an overwhelming urge to call Mulder. She
closed her eyes for a moment, trying to recapture anything more
specific, but nothing emerged from her memory.

She opened her eyes and managed to offer her mother a weak
smile. "I'm all right," she said, glancing over at the clock. "I
thought you said you'd be back around four?"

Maggie studied her daughter for a moment before backing away and
settling into an armchair. "Elizabeth's sister called," she said,
never taking her eyes off Scully. "She hadn't talked to her in 
several weeks, so I told her to take the call and came on home."
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to her lap. "I thought ... maybe
we could see about cleaning up your apartment."

Scully's head started shaking before her mother finished
speaking. "Not today, Mom," she whispered. "Maybe in a few days.
Unless ..." She paused and swallowed as apprehension crept
across her body. "Unless you need for me to move back ..."

"No!" Maggie cut her off quickly. "No, that's not it at all,
Dana. You know you are welcome here for as long as you need to
stay." Her voice softened. "I just thought it might help for you
to know your place was ready whenever you want to go home."

Scully nodded, relaxing minutely. "I know, Mom," she said, her
voice trembling just slightly. "I just ..."

Maggie reached out a hand to cover her daughter's where it rested
on the arm of the sofa. "It's all right, Dana," she said gently. 
"You don't have to do it yourself, you know. I'd be glad to do it,
or to hire someone ..."

Scully shook her head. "No, Mom," she said, her voice stronger.
"I need to do it myself. I just ... can't. Not yet."

Maggie hesitated, then nodded. "All right," she said. "When
you're ready."

Scully turned her hand up to briefly squeeze her mother's.
"Thanks," she said, her voice soft.

She hadn't told her mother everything about what had happened
at her apartment. Maggie had heard some of it on the news, so
she knew who the man was, and Scully had told her he'd broken
in, she'd fought him, and she'd shot him. She saw no need to
worry her mother by telling her all the details. 

"So," Maggie said, leaning back in the chair. "What do you want
to do for dinner? I have some of that vegetable soup you like in
the freezer."

Scully's eyes widened. "Oh, Mom, I forgot to tell you," she said.
"Mulder wanted to take me to dinner tonight." She reached for the
phone. "I can call him and tell him we can go tomorrow ..."

"Don't, Dana," Maggie said, extending a hand to stop her. "Go to
dinner. You should get out. And I know you and Fox need to talk."

"I don't want you to have to eat alone, Mom," Scully protested,
but Maggie interrupted with a laugh.

"Honey, who do you think I eat with when you're not here?" she
asked. "Having company for dinner these last few nights has been
a treat for me, but I don't mind eating alone. You go. Have a
nice dinner."

Scully hesitated, then gave a brief smile. "I don't know if
'nice' is the word for it, Mom," she said dryly. "You don't know
Mulder's taste in restaurants."

Maggie chuckled. "No, but I can imagine," she said lightly. "I
*was* a Navy wife, after all."

Scully conceded the point with another smile, this one genuine.
"Well, if I'm going, then I need to run a load of laundry and
take a quick shower," she said, rising to her feet. "Can we save
the soup for tomorrow?"

"Of course," Maggie said, smiling up at her daughter. She
paused, then added in a careful tone, "You can invite Fox, too,
if you'd like."

Scully's smile faltered for a second, but she forced it back
into place. "Maybe," she allowed. "We'll see."

Scully puzzled over her mother's offer as she went to gather
her dirty clothes. Maggie hadn't shown much interest in spending
time with Mulder over the past few years; she accepted his
presence in Scully's life, but she didn't make any efforts to
bring him closer. She was cautious, Scully thought; cautious,
but never hostile.

Scully blinked rapidly as she worked, her eyes burning and
itching, heavy with the weight of still-unshed tears. She rarely
cried, but she knew when she needed to, and she recognized her
inability to let the tears come now as another sign of her
mental and emotional state. That, she supposed, was at least
part of the reason for her mother's invitation. Maggie wanted
her daughter to be at peace, so if she thought spending time
with Mulder would help, she'd encourage it.

But Scully wasn't so sure it *would* help. Mulder's presence
had helped set her off on several emotional tangents the day
before, leaving her apprehensive about tonight's dinner, and the
planned topic of discussion. They would be in a public place, so
she couldn't afford to fall apart again.

She shook her head sharply, dispelling the thought. I'll be
fine, she insisted to herself. It'll be fine.

She wasn't convincing. Or convinced.

=====

6:02 p.m.

Scully had once estimated that she'd spent less time over the
past seven years sitting in airplanes than she had riding in
various cars driven by Mulder. She'd accepted long ago that a
significant portion of her view of the world was filtered
through those passenger-side windows; whether it was his car, 
a Bureau car, or a rental, Mulder almost always drove, and she
almost always rode. 

Some days, she resented Mulder's tenacious insistence on doing
the vast majority of the driving in their partnership, and she
would insist on bringing her own car, or picking up the rental
or bucar herself. Most of the time, though, she let him take the
wheel. It was an easy way to make him happy, and besides, it was
familiar to her. Comfortable. Much like their relationship. 

No meaningless chatter drifted back and forth between them as
they rode to the restaurant. They spoke only a few times, easily
and naturally. No awkward silences fell; no nervous laughter
erupted. And though she had never said so, she enjoyed the
respite their easy partnership provided. With Mulder, she could
slough off a few of the protective layers guarding her soul. Not
all of them; some of those wrappings were built specifically
with Mulder in mind. But when they were alone together in such a
casual way, she could give her professional facade a bit of a
break. She didn't need all that with him.

She'd actually returned Mulder's slightly-nervous smile when he
arrived at the door to pick her up. "Ready?" he'd asked, his
eyes skimming over her, taking in her soft khakis and navy
twinset, an outfit she'd picked in part because it was
comfortable, and in part because she knew it was flattering and
he hadn't seen it before. She'd tried not to think about how
much that line of reasoning made this feel like a date.

Once in the car, she'd given him one sidelong glance. "So do I
get to know where we're going?" she'd asked, deliberately
imbuing her voice with an undertone of flirtatious humor. She
felt as if she should be batting her eyelashes as well.

He'd just laughed. "Now, that would spoil the surprise," he'd
said archly, shooting her an almost too-cheerful grin as he
pulled away from the curb.

Now, ten minutes later, she raised an eyebrow as he pulled into
the parking lot of the restaurant. "Fado's?" she asked. "Okay,
I'm surprised."

Mulder shut off the car and twisted in his seat to face her.
"Close, quiet, clean, and casual," he intoned, ticking off the
points on his fingers. "The four items you would have asked for,
had you asked. Correct?"

Scully felt a blush rising on her cheeks and ducked her head,
then realized that her new short haircut wasn't enough for her
to hide behind. She waited for Mulder's inevitable tease, but it
didn't come, and she glanced up to see him sliding out of the
car. A moment later, he was opening her door, his arm sweeping
out to the side grandly, and she couldn't help a grin as she
climbed from the car.

They walked toward the building in silence, and it took Scully
a moment to realize what made her feel uncomfortable about it.
He isn't touching me, she realized. Despite the courtliness he'd
displayed in opening her door -- despite the fact that this
evening was progressing very much like a date, which she had to
admit disconcerted her a bit -- he hadn't touched her once, not
even offering her a hand as she got out of the car.

Now, his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his trench
coat, and she watched him from the corner of her eye as they
walked. He looked normal at first glance, relaxed and composed;
and yet something wasn't quite right. His shoulders and arms
were stiff, just slightly, but enough that she could tell, even
if no one else would likely notice.

He's holding himself back, she thought, suddenly. He wants to
touch me, but he won't let himself do it. Does he think I'll
fall apart if he does? 

Or does he not trust himself?

She didn't allow herself to pursue that line of thought,
instead concentrating on the warm atmosphere and delicious
smells that drifted over her as they stepped inside the
restaurant. Fado's was, in fact, two separate businesses -- a
classic Irish pub on one side, and an upscale restaurant on the
other. While the pub tended to be rowdy, the restaurant was just
as Mulder had described it -- comfortable, subdued, and perfect
for conversation.

They were seated in a corner, at a small table for two, walled
in on three sides and obviously designed for couples.
Conversation was limited to placing drink and food orders for
the first few minutes, but once the waiter was gone, Mulder
turned to face her.

"I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, Scully," he
said, his voice carrying an edge of determination. "But if they
try to use this to crucify you ..." His voice trailed off, the
threat unspoken and unspecified, but quite clear.

Scully ducked her head. "Mulder," she said, her voice quiet.
"We both know that if they want to use this against me, they
will. If they want to use anything either of us does against us,
they will." She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. "And if they
do, we won't be able to do anything to stop it."

"Like hell," Mulder bit out, wrapping one hand around his water
glass, his fingers flexing and relaxing convulsively on the
slick surface. "We can fight it, Scully. They can't do that to
you, they can't ..."

"Mulder." She said his name gently, laying her hand on his
tensed forearm. "We don't know yet what will happen tomorrow.
And I can't think about what might happen, not tonight. Not if I
want to be at my best tomorrow." She squeezed his arm lightly.
"And I need you at your best, too, Mulder. If they're determined
to take me down, they will, no matter what you say." 

Mulder's eyes searched hers, and she did her best to reinforce
her words with her gaze, asking him for his help in the way most
comfortable for her. She knew the moment he acknowledged and
accepted her unspoken words; she felt the muscles in his arm
relax, and he nodded.

"Okay," he said, lifting his hand to cover hers where it still
rested on his arm, blanketing her fingers with his warmth. He
offered a crooked smile. "I'll be on my best behavior, Scully, I
promise."

She returned the smile briefly, then slipped her hand away from
his, just as the waiter arrived with their salads. The moment he
was gone, though, Mulder opened his mouth as if to speak, closed
it, and then finally spoke.

"Scully," he said. "Have you ... what are you going to do about
your apartment?"

Scully had lifted her fork to dip into her salad, but her hand
stopped in mid-motion. "I ... I haven't done anything yet," she
said, watching the melting cubes of ice shift inside her water
glass. "Mom offered to get someone to do it, but I told her that
I need to take care of it myself. Just ... not yet."

"I understand," Mulder said easily. "There's no hurry." His
voice was very close to the soothing tone he'd used to calm her
the day before, and Scully felt a brief flare of resentment
almost immediately flooded out by gratitude. She glanced up at
him; he'd turned his attention to his own salad, as if the
subject had never come up at all.

She forced herself to return to her food, but it took several
bites before it began to have any taste at all. A nervous,
uneasy feeling settled over her, and her stomach churned
lightly. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths as
inconspicuously as possible, willing herself not to lose it in
public. To her relief, it seemed to work; within a few moments,
she felt much calmer, more centered. 

When Mulder started talking again a few minutes later, she was
further relieved that he stuck to innocuous topics --
speculating on whether or not the new "Twenty-One" was as fixed
as the original; offering to exchange a taste of his corned beef
for a sample of her vegetable stew. She found she was actually
able to enjoy her meal; Mulder could be quite charming company,
when he wasn't spewing outrageous theories or fighting battles
against the world.

Well, she admitted to herself, he was pretty charming even
then. After all, that Mulder was the one she'd gotten to know
first, and she'd liked that version of him. She'd liked him a
lot. But it was nice to simply sit and eat a meal with him,
making small talk, laughing lightly. Being "normal."

It made her feel as if she might actually make it back to her
own personal version of "normal" again.

=====
=====

FBI Headquarters
Thursday, January 13, 2000
9:31 a.m.

Scully was thankful for the padded bench against the corridor
wall. She only wished it were narrower, so she could actually
lean back without her feet lifting off the floor.

Instead, she perched on the edge of the cushion, legs crossed,
back straight, trying to ignore the silence. Her hands moved
minutely in her lap, without her conscious thought, fingers
picking at the short nails.

Mulder had disappeared into the conference room nearly thirty
minutes earlier, tossing her a fleeting little smile as he
slipped through the doorway. Not a sound had emerged since,
which she'd tried to take as a good sign; had things been going
to hell, she imagined she'd have heard Mulder's voice by now,
even through the thick wooden door.

She'd been making an effort not to stare at the door, but her
gaze had just drifted that direction again when the handle
turned and the door opened. She stood up automatically as
Skinner leaned out of the room and looked over at her.

"Agent Scully," he said. "We're ready for you."

Scully nodded and strode forward, holding her most rigid
posture as she walked in. Despite her best efforts, though, her
steps faltered as she passed through the doorway and caught
sight of the five panel members sitting across the room.

"Please have a seat, Agent Scully."

Scully's slight hesitation was enough to be noticed by AD
Johnson, seated at the center of the table across the room,
flanked on each side by two of his colleagues. Scully knew the
man only in passing, but it wasn't his presence that had
disconcerted her. Nor was it AD Carpenter, the woman to his
left; nor her own supervisor, Skinner, just returning to his
seat on the far left end of the table.

What caught her off guard were the two remaining faces: Jana
Cassidy and Alvin Kersh.

Scully took her seat at the small table in the center of the
room, her expression carefully arranged to project calm
professionalism. A knot of apprehension had taken up residence
deep inside her, and she wished she'd been given a chance to
speak with Mulder again before she'd been called in. But he had
apparently been sent out a different exit, so their paths hadn't
crossed. She couldn't recall a similar situation, in all the
reviews she'd attended, and she wondered if that was deliberate.
And then she wondered what it would mean if it was.

"Agent Scully," Johnson said, flipping through a file full of
papers sitting on the table in front of him. "You have submitted
a written summary of the events leading up to the incident
Saturday night. Do you have anything you wish to add?"

Scully swallowed; her mouth was suddenly dry. "No, sir," she
replied.

Johnson scribbled a note. "Agent Scully, would you briefly
recount events as you saw them from the time you arrived home
Saturday evening?"

Scully had expected the request and quickly gave an overview,
knowing it was an almost word-for-word repeat of what she'd
written in her report. Johnson again made notations as she
spoke, but she forced herself not to speculate on what his
actions meant. The situation might be different, but she'd been
through many OPR reviews in the past -- both as witness and as
reviewee -- and she knew what to expect.

She finished her statement and fell silent, waiting for the
next question. Johnson wrote for another moment, then looked up
at her, tapping his pen lightly against the desk.

"Agent Scully," he said. "For the record, would you please
characterize your state of mind at the time you shot the
suspect, Donald Addie Pfaster?"

Scully blinked once at this, though she knew she shouldn't have
been surprised. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "My
memory of the incident is unclear, sir, as I stated in my
report," she said. "I would characterize my state of mind as
instinctual. I was fighting for my life, sir. My only goal was
to survive."

She stopped at that point, expecting to be asked to elaborate.
Johnson, however, simply made another note, then closed the file
and reached for a sheet of paper sitting to his right.

"Very well, Agent Scully," he said, then looked at the sheet
and began to read. "This review board has heard testimony from
Agent Scully; her partner, Agent Mulder; as well as from U.S.
Marshal Joe Daddo, regarding the escape of Donald Pfaster from a
maximum security facility in Illinois, as well as his intrusion
into Agent Scully's home. Further, Special Agent Moe Bocks,
formerly of the Minneapolis-St. Paul office, has provided us
with an affidavit regarding Pfaster's previous actions towards
Agent Scully during a case there in 1994."

Scully's eyes widened at this; she was surprised that Bocks
would have become involved, but grateful that the review board
had considered his statement. And then she realized that Bocks
likely hadn't intervened on his own; she knew she had Mulder to
thank for that.

Johnson continued to read. "Having reviewed the evidence and
the circumstances surrounding the shooting of Donald Pfaster, it
is the judgment of this review panel that Agent Scully's actions
were within her rights as both a citizen and as a federal agent.
As is standard in such cases, she shall be placed on supervised
administrative duty for two weeks, beginning immediately, and
ordered to attend counseling sessions within the Employee
Assistance Program at least three times per week during this
time. Further, following this time, Agent Scully will serve six
weeks probation, during which time she will continue to attend
counseling sessions at least once per week. The probation will
be reevaluated after six weeks, and the required counseling may
be extended if it is deemed appropriate. During this period,
Agent Scully must receive approval from her supervisor,
Assistant Director Skinner, before accepting or pursuing any
case as an agent of the FBI. Failure to abide by the terms of
this probationary period may result in disciplinary action, up
to and including termination without further notice."

He stopped, slipped the sheet into the file still sitting in
front him, then looked up at Scully, who sat frozen in place,
stunned. "Agent Scully, do you have any questions?"

Scully blinked, then cleared her throat. "No, sir," she said.

Johnson nodded. "Then you're free to go," he said, turning to
his right. "Assistant Director Skinner?"

Skinner's gaze flicked from Johnson's to Scully's face. "Good
to have you back, Agent Scully," he said. "Please report to my
office at 10:30 to discuss your administrative assignments."

The five panel members stirred, speaking to each other in low
tones as they stood up, straightening jackets and gathering
papers. Scully took advantage of their slow progress, rising and
quickly walking back out into the hall.

Mulder was waiting for her.

He stepped over as soon as she emerged, sliding his hand to the
small of her back and guiding her gently around the corner
before stopping and turning to face her. "Well?" he asked.

Scully exhaled, mentally pushing out all the tension that had
built up over the past hour. "Two weeks' desk duty and six
probation," she said. "Plus counseling, of course."

Mulder relaxed visibly and nodded. "Sounds standard," he said,
a small smile playing around his mouth. "I have to admit I was a
little concerned when I saw the makeup of the panel."

Scully's eyes widened and she nodded. "Kersh and Cassidy," she
responded. She paused, her gaze drifting off to the side. "But
then, now that I think about it, I'm not so sure we *should*
have been concerned," she said, thoughtful.

Mulder's brow furrowed and he leaned in a little closer. "What
do you mean?" he asked.

Scully looked back up at him. "Cassidy was on the panel that re-
opened the X-files," she said, her voice low and cautious. "And
Kersh could easily have raised objections to our reassignment
last spring, but he didn't. Maybe ... maybe they aren't the
enemy after all. I mean, they're by-the-book, that's for sure,
and they may have been picked for those jobs because they were
such straight arrows that it was likely they'd clash with us.
But I'm not so sure they were being ... controlled."

Mulder nodded slowly, pondering. "It's possible," he conceded.
"Kersh was a first-class asshole to us, but as far as I know, he
never did anything like ... well, spy on us." He paused, his
fingers flexing against Scully's back, where his hand still
rested, and Scully knew he was thinking of Skinner, who had done
the best he could but was so often conflicted and torn by
circumstance.

Mulder shifted, bending a little closer, then continued, "Kersh
is a career bureaucrat, Scully. He saw only his narrow little
interpretation of events. He saw two good agents gone astray,
and his job as he saw it was to pull them back in line. I think
it wasn't until after El Rico that he really knew what he was up
against." He paused again, then grinned crookedly. "Besides, I
think he has a soft spot for you."

Scully lifted an eyebrow. "Nice to see you being so diplomatic,
Mulder," she said dryly, glancing down at her watch. "And much
as I'd like to hear more of it, I have to be in Skinner's office
in five minutes."

Mulder nodded, his hand smoothing lightly up from her waist to
the middle of her back before dropping away. "Good luck," he
said, his voice light. "Hope you don't get surveillance duty."

Scully smiled briefly. "You and me both," she replied, heading
down the hall.

=====

1:15 p.m.

"And your reassignment?" Ten minutes into Scully's session with
Karen, they hadn't moved beyond the specifics of her hearing and
temporary duties. Karen was questioning her in detail, asking
Scully for her reactions to everything -- reactions Scully was
having a difficult time putting into words.

Scully exhaled. "Two weeks of reorganizing and recategorizing
lab files," she replied, barely resisting the urge to roll her
eyes. "The Bureau is changing some of its methods, streamlining
records searches, and I've been assigned to help with the
forensics side of things."

Karen nodded, making a note on her pad. "And how do you feel
about that?"

Scully shrugged. "It's about what I expected," she said. "I
know it needs to be done, and I know I can do it without any
problem."

"But ...?" Karen prompted.

"But I know I'll be bored," Scully conceded. "I've spent time
in the labs before on short assignments like this one, and I've
been bored every time."

Karen smiled. "Do you like your job, Dana?"

"I love my job," Scully answered without hesitation.

"What do you like about it?"

Scully paused this time, giving herself a moment to formulate
her answer. "The challenge," she finally said. "It's not always
easy -- in fact, it's rarely easy. Most of our cases are the
ones everyone else has given up on. Mulder almost always has a
theory about what happened -- a theory I usually disagree with."

Karen interrupted her. "Why is that?"

Scully frowned. "Why is what?"

"Why do you usually disagree with him?"

Scully leaned back in her seat. "It's who I am," she replied.
"We approach our cases from different sides. I use my scientific
background to find the reasons for whatever happens. And Mulder
..." Her voice trailed off, and she gave a tiny smile. "Mulder
tends to bring his theories in from the outer limits."

Karen smiled briefly. "And this duality works for you?" she said.

Scully nodded. "Eventually," she said. "I can't say that every
one of our cases has been completely explained, but they have
been solved, for the most part. Our reports don't always agree,
but the results are the same. So yes, it works."

Karen leaned forward, resting one arm on her knee. "Dana, have
you ever believed one of Agent Mulder's theories on a case?"

Scully blinked. Her mouth opened, ready to answer, but nothing
emerged. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her fingers had
begun her newest nervous habit again, picking at her short
nails. "I ... I don't know," she finally forced out. "I've seen
a lot of things that I couldn't explain, but to believe what
Mulder believes ..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked back
up at Karen, her eyes wide. "I don't know if I can just
believe," she said. "Not if I don't have proof."

Karen nodded thoughtfully. "Dana, do you think it might be
helpful to include Agent Mulder in one of our sessions?" she
asked, holding up a hand to ward off Scully's automatic protest.
"We've established that you and your partner are very close, and
that what you believe he thinks about you has influenced some of
your decisions. I think it may help for the two of you to talk
about some of these things here, in a controlled environment."
She tilted her head to one side. "I don't think it would hurt,
at any rate."

Scully's eyes drifted shut, and she forced herself to consider
the idea. Unbidden, the events of Tuesday afternoon flowed
across her memory -- her outbursts, tempered by Mulder's patient
caring. Didn't he deserve to hear a little about what she was
feeling? About what made her react that way?

Scully took a deep breath, then opened her eyes. "All right,"
she said. "I'll call him tonight and ask if he can come
tomorrow."

Karen smiled. "That's wonderful, Dana," she said. "Then I'll
see you both at 10 in the morning."

=====

4:23 a.m.

Scully had called, right after she and her mother finished
their vegetable soup dinner, and Mulder had agreed without
question to the session. Exhausted from the day, Scully had gone
to bed early and slept deeply and peacefully. Until now.

She fought desperately, calling every one of her combat skills
into play, and yet she lost. Bound and gagged, she didn't give
up, crawling on her stomach across the floor, determined not to
lose again. **Get the gun, get the gun,** her mind chanted.
**He's going to kill you. Get the gun, GET THE GUN --**

She heard noises, heard a voice, but she was focused on her
gun. She yanked away the bindings around her wrists, not even
feeling the pain, and tore the gag from her mouth. She strode
with purpose into her living room, facing down the embodiment of
evil. 

And his face changed. It was Duane Barry looking at her, eyes
wild; then Gerry Schnauz; then Diana Fowley, cold and
calculating. The bounty hunter, face like stone. Everyone who
had hurt her; everyone who had left her torn and empty, mind,
body and soul.

Without planning or thought, her arm raised, and she fired. As
she did the face changed one last time. Into Mulder's.

And she woke up.

And she remembered.

=====
=====

Friday, January 14, 2000
10:08 a.m.

Sitting alone in Karen's office, waiting for the counselor to
finish talking to Mulder, Scully huddled in her usual chair,
struggling to put the images from her dream out of her mind. She
hadn't even tried to sleep again afterwards, and she knew that
even the heavier-than-usual layer of makeup she wore would do
little to hide her emotional state from Mulder. He saw through
even her best masks.

The dream was irrational, in all its implications. She knew it
wasn't real. Yet it was branded on her memory, branded on her
soul, its many layers of possible meaning burning and twisting
inside her until she felt as if she would suffocate under their
weight.

The door opened behind her, and she stiffened in her seat, bile
rising in her throat. She couldn't do this. She couldn't sit
here and tell him and watch the despair and the guilt tear him
apart.

She couldn't.

But she had to.

"Have a seat, Agent Mulder." Karen's smooth voice broke through
Scully's tumultuous thoughts, drawing her back into the present,
all of her doubts and fears coming right along with her. She
pressed her eyes shut, refusing to look at him, refusing to look
at either of them. Not until she had to.

"Dana?"

That voice again, soft and silky, practiced and professional,
and almost against her will, Scully was compelled to pry open
her eyelids and meet the other woman's gaze. Her eyes were
gentle but searching, calming, and Scully responded
automatically, breathing evenly, finding that center of control
she knew she would need to get through this.

Karen smiled then. "I've told Agent Mulder why he's here, but
let me review just for a moment." She glanced briefly at Mulder
but addressed Scully. "Dana, you arrived early today to tell my
you had something specific you wished to discuss, and that you
wanted to do it while Mulder was here." Scully nodded, and Karen
looked at Mulder. "She said she is apprehensive but needs to do
this here," she told him, and Scully saw Mulder nod as well.

From the corner of her eye, Scully saw Mulder nod, and Karen
turned her attention back to Scully. "Are you ready, Dana?" she
asked.

Scully nodded quickly, uncurling her fingers from the knots
they had curled themselves into and spreading them out flat
against the soft wool covering her legs. They trembled finely,
and she considered fighting to still them but decided to
concentrate her energies on steadying her voice and her nerves
instead.

"I had a dream," she said carefully. "Early this morning. And
when I woke up, I realized that I'd had it before." She paused
and swallowed. "I dreamed it Wednesday afternoon, but I didn't
remember it when I woke up. And I saw it ... saw it Tuesday
afternoon. Like a memory. And I didn't remember then."

She stopped again, this time to gather her strength, then
forged ahead. "But the first time was Saturday," she said, her
voice near a whisper. "I saw it when ... when it happened ..."
Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes, watching the
faces play back across her memory again.

"I don't know why," she managed, her voice ragged. "I don't
know why I saw it. Why?"

"Dana." Karen's voice called Scully back, and she realized her
breathing was uneven again and her fingers were digging into her
thighs, almost painfully. With an effort, she relaxed her hands
and looked at the counselor.

"Dana," Karen repeated. "I know this is hard. But can you tell
me what you saw?"

Scully stayed frozen in place, her eyes wide, her mind
whirling. She nodded jerkily, keeping her gaze on Karen, trying
not to think about Mulder sitting right there, seeing and
hearing everything.

"I saw faces," she whispered. "People from cases. People I
fought, people who hurt me." She took in a ragged breath,
fighting for control. "I know why I saw them. Rationally. I know
I wasn't in control. I *know* why my mind did that."

Her voice had risen, growing more strident as she spoke, and
she stopped again, trying to concentrate on the sound of her
breathing but instead hearing Mulder's beside her. His was
nearly as ragged, and she could almost feel him struggling to
hold back, to not reach out for her. To let her do this, because
she had to do it for herself.

"What I don't know," she forced out, "is why the last face ...
the last person I saw ..." Her throat constricted, and her last
words were so soft she barely heard them herself. "Why was it
Mulder?"

She heard the sharp intake of breath from Mulder, quickly
drowned out by the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.
She slammed her eyes shut and tilted her head forward as a wave
of dizziness swept over her and nausea twisted her stomach. She
fought for control, grasping her legs to steady herself, and
concentrated on her breathing, in through her nose, out through
her mouth. In a moment, the roaring inside her head had
lessened, and she heard Karen's gentle voice calling her name
from somewhere nearby.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head just enough to look at
Karen, who had moved to sit on the edge of the table in front of
her. "Dana," Karen said again. "I want you to listen carefully.
When you were here on Tuesday, I asked you if Mulder had ever
hurt you. Do you remember?" Scully nodded quickly, never taking
her eyes away from Karen's, and the counselor nodded slowly in
response. "Do you remember what you said?" Scully nodded again.

Karen looked at her for a long moment, then asked, "Do you want
me to tell Mulder what you said?" 

Scully felt her eyes widen in surprise, and she almost looked
over at Mulder, catching herself only at the last second. She
forced herself to keep her gaze on Karen, and thought back,
remembering her responses. Did she want Mulder to know? No. He'd
only use her answer to blame himself. But did he need to hear
it? Did she need for him to hear it? Yes, of course.

So she nodded.

Karen never looked away from Scully as she spoke. "Dana told me
that yes, you had hurt her," she said, her voice smooth and
gentle, without a trace of accusation. "And when I asked if she
had hurt you, she said yes, of course." She paused, then
continued, "But you both know that neither of you has ever
intended to or wanted to hurt each other."

Scully sensed, rather than saw, movement to her left, and then
Mulder's voice came. "Scully, look at me," he said, his voice
low and almost pleading. "Please look at me."

She couldn't refuse him; not now, not after what she'd just
confessed. For the first time, she turned to look at him, seeing
him through a haze of tears, burning her eyes but refusing to
fall. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Mulder," she said, her voice
breaking and cracking. "I don't blame you, I never blamed you, I
don't know why I saw what I did. I don't think of you the way I
do them, I don't, I never have I ..." 

She choked and gasped for air, her lungs constricting in her
chest. The roaring in her head was back, the nausea hitting her
again, and she reached out blindly, searching desperately for
something to anchor her. 

Her hand met something warm and solid, and she felt long
fingers wrap around hers, encasing her hand with comforting
softness. She felt herself start to relax somewhere deep inside,
and then Mulder said her name again, his gravelly voice drawing
her attention immediately, as it always did.

She looked up to see him inches away, kneeling on the floor
next to her chair. His face was even with hers, and her gaze
dropped away; she couldn't look at him.

"Scully," he repeated, his voice low and insistent. He brought
his hands up to cup her face, tilting her head up toward him.
"Scully, look at me."

Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his, feeling an odd sense
of deja vu at their positions. His eyes were dark and piercing,
his face serious, and he waited for her to meet his eyes before
he spoke.

"I forgive you, Scully," he said softly. "I will *always*
forgive you."

And, mercifully, she began to cry.

=====

Scully's apartment
Saturday, January 15, 2000
11:40 a.m.

Muted light from the windows scattered irregular shadows around
the room as Scully stepped across the threshold and into her
living room. The furnishings sat in disarray, couch and tables
and chairs pushed aside to allow for investigation, and for the
removal of the blood-stained throw rug.

Scully's eyes were drawn to the bare spot in the middle of the
hardwood floor, only a small patch of darkness left as evidence
of the man who'd died there a week before. Her hands trembled
minutely, her breathing grew faster ... and a gentle hand
touched her back, whisper-soft between her shoulder blades,
sliding down her back to come to rest just above her waist.

Mulder slipped up beside her, his fingers pressing softly into 
her skin through her clothes, reassuring her of his presence and
his support. He set down the pail of cleaning supplies he held,
then took another step forward and turned to face her, standing
at just the right angle to block her view of the evidence that
littered the room.

"Scully," he said, dipping his head to capture her gaze in his
and hold it there, sure and strong. "I know you believe you need
to do this. But I want to be sure you know that you don't have
to be here if you don't want to."

He knew what she needed. He almost always did. In Karen's
office the day before, he was the one who realized what she
needed from him, even when she didn't know, and had given her
the words of forgiveness she had to hear to find release. 

The words weren't the end, of course. She still fought her
memories, still fought the doubts and fears that would always 
be with her. Despite everything, a part of her was fearful she
would find pity or recrimination lurking in his eyes. 

But standing there looking up at him, she saw only tenderness
and concern, only respect and trust. Only love.

She inhaled deeply, her first clear, unencumbered breath in
days, and smiled, slowly and easily. "I know," she answered,
watching the transformation come over his face as he answered
her smile, a reaction she knew was as automatic as reflex to him.

He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, his voice rough-edged and
soothing to her ears. "Where do you want to start?"

She didn't move for a moment, taking the time to drink up the
smile on his lips and in his eyes, allowing his warmth and
acceptance to spread over her like a blanket. And then she took
another breath, and plunged ahead.

"I want to start with the bathroom."

=====END ALL=====


A few final notes ... first, I cannot sing the praises of my
beta crew loud or long enough. To wit:

-- Poor MoJo, making the mistake of mentioning her Catholic
background just as I was diving into this one; she had no idea
what she was getting into. And yet she was nothing but gracious
and helpful with my many, often nit-picky, questions, and her
beta work simply outstanding. Let's hear it for new friends!!

-- Ditto on the fantastic beta and a big heaping helping of
gratitude with all the fixin's go to Brandon, who made me think,
and think again; and Lena, who kept me on the right track. I
<heart> you guys. :)

-- Thanks also to my final edit gurus, perelandra (who survived
her first go-round with my insanity) and Ropo, for catching the
messes I managed to edit *into* the story during revisions.
You're the best, chicks.

-- Special thanks to my sis-in-crime, Erin, for help with a
recalcitrant image, and for the Oreos. :)

-- And finally, rounds of hugs and smooches and eclairs and
other such goodies to everyone who sent me feedback,
encouragement, and threats about this story while I was posting
it. You helped me yank myself out of my "bad habits" and stay
focused, and we all benefited from it. You guys are the greatest!

Oh, and I'm still taking feedback, of course. You know the
drill: shannono@iname.com