From: Kirsten Kerkhof <kirsten_xf@yahoo.com>
Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1999 04:30:51 -0800 (PST)
Subject: Story submission (replacement)
Source: direct


TITLE: "Fire"
AUTHOR: Kirsten Kerkhof * kirsten_xf@yahoo.com
RATING: mild R, I suppose
CLASSIFICATION: S A R H
KEYWORDS: MSR
SPOILERS: Tiny one for "Hell Money"
SUMMARY: A fire brings Mulder and Scully closer 
to one another than they ever dared to wish for.
FEEDBACK: Who are you kidding? Compliments are 
very welcome, I think I could handle flames too. 
I'll reward every feedback with a reply and a 
Mulder.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine obviously. Why on earth 
would I be so lucky, huh? <g> They belong to the 
mighty CC and co. No infringment is intended.
NOTE FROM ME: This story has nothing to do with 
the first season episode by the same name, but 
you probably already guessed.

XxXxX

	God oh God oh God ...
	I can't help the continuous prayer which 
spills from my lips as I walk into the hospital 
and demand the way to the Intensive Care Unit.
	I ought to be angry with him, furious even, 
for taking off without me all over again, but I 
push that thought aside for another minute. First 
I have to know how he is and whether he is even 
still alive.
	That thought makes me gasp for a second and 
the reality of the situation slams in all of a 
sudden. He could be dead. He could be dead, Dana, 
he's probably dead ...
	I take a deep breath to steady myself, 
bracing myself against the force of these words. 
Easy now, girl, it's no use to become all panicky 
now. He's probably all right, he must have 
survived, he always does.
	"Where is he?" I demand from the nurse 
behind the counter. "I'm looking for Agent 
Mulder."
	"Agent Mulder is in room number thirty-
three, ma'am," he answers and I'm on my way. "But 
you can't --..."
	I ignore his protests. Of course I can't go 
in yet, they're probably still busy with him and 
I should wait until they've finished. Well, I'm a 
doctor, too, and besides this is my partner we're 
talking about. My stubborn partner who seems to 
be getting a kick out of leaving me in the dark 
about his whereabouts and scaring the shit out of 
me by having someone calling me at some ungodly 
hour of the night to inform me he's been 
hospitalised again, possibly very seriously 
injured. My selfish partner who has absolutely no 
regard for or mercy with the state of my nerves. 
That ass of a partner of mine who has made 
ditching into an artform worthy of The Louvre. 
That total bastard of a partner whom I cannot 
live without, however, and who'll make me 
relinquish a night's sleep without a second 
thought because I simply have no choice. I care 
too much about this man to give up on him, even 
when I want to strangle the life out of him when 
it actually happens. I do it because he does the 
same for me. I care about him and he's obsessed 
with my well-being -- well, apart from when it 
comes to my nerves as I mentioned before ... -- 
and because I'm the only one who's prepared to do 
this for him. No one else ever cared and no one 
else ever will.
	I open the door to his room and am stopped 
almost immediately.
	"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to wait 
outside for a minute until we're ready," the man 
at the door says, but I refuse to take no for an 
answer. I pull out my badge and flash it at him.
	"I'm Agent Mulder's partner, Doctor Dana 
Scully," I state, stressing the 'doctor'-part. It 
works miracles and the man moves aside so I can 
go in. I nod briefly as a way to thank him, but I 
have no real interest in him. I quickly walk 
toward the bed and then I see him, my partner, my 
Mulder. I don't think he ever looked worse ...
	"Ma'am, are you okay?" a nurse asks and I 
realise I must have paled visibly. They probably 
think I'm about to faint. They all look at me, 
the concern plastered on their faces. I nod and 
smile weakly.
	"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer. Actually, I feel 
like hell, but there's no need to tell them that. 
Mulder would see through it right away, but he's 
not among the ones to answer right now. I get to 
the side of the bed and take my first good look 
at my partner as he lies here.
	The complete top half of his head has 
disappeared under thick layers of gauze and the 
same goes for almost the entire left side of his 
body. He's connected to a respirator and if it 
weren't for the steady beeps of the EKG monitor 
I'd have thought him dead. His hair is singed by 
the intense heat of the fire and whatever part of 
his body isn't covered in gauze bandages looks 
red and blistered.
	With difficulty I tear my gaze away from 
him. "What are ...", I begin, but I find it hard 
to finish. Luckily I don't have to.
	"He has second and third degree burns over 
most of his body as far as we've been able to 
determine. It's not fatal, but it's enough to 
knock a person out," the nurse says with a smile, 
but I'm not in the mood for jokes and I shoot her 
a look that would make Hell freeze over. She 
apologises with a look and I look at Mulder 
again.
	"The worst is his face," the nurse says 
softly. "We are very worried about his eyes."
	I swallow hard when I hear this. I turn to 
look at the woman for confirmation of my worst 
fears. "Is his blind?"
	"Well, we're not sure yet," she begins, but 
one look from me tells her that I'm not looking 
for comfort here. I need facts, even when I don't 
think I want to hear them. She clears her throat 
softly. "Yes," she says, "he is blind."
	I can't help the shudder that runs through 
me and I almost grab his hand, before realising 
that his right hand, though uncovered, is still 
very sensitive and I should not touch him. God, 
the torture ...
	"Permanently?" I ask softly, trying to 
visualise his eyes as they must be under the 
gauze dressings.
	"We don't know yet," she answers, "it's too 
early to tell."
	I nod briefly. She's probably right. Oh, 
Mulder, what have you done to yourself ...?
	"We are keeping him in an induced coma until 
the worst of his injuries have more or less 
healed a bit and the pain has become more 
tolerable."
	More tolerable. Less agonising.
	I listen to the steady hiss of the 
respirator and watch the gentle rise and fall of 
his chest. 'How can you be so careless, Mulder?' 
I silently wonder, but then I realise that apart 
from his taking off on nothing more than a hunch, 
he really didn't do a lot of stupid things this 
time and certainly no more than he usually does. 
The chemical plant was rigged, something no one 
knew, and the explosion took everyone completely 
by surprise.
	He is the only survivor of the group of 
twenty-odd people who were trapped in the 
inferno, but that's only because he was clever 
enough to run away -- on a hunch, that same 
instinct that had gotten him there in the first 
place ...
	"Can I be alone with him for a moment, 
please?" I ask softly, not looking away. I hear 
the click of the door closing and then I know I'm 
alone. I draw a chair closer to the bed and sit 
down by his side. Better get used to it, because 
I'll be spending a lot of time in it during the 
next few weeks.
	Oh, Mulder, what have you gotten us into?

XxXxX

	His condition improved steadily over the 
next two weeks. The redness of his skin was first 
to go, followed by most of the blisters. I was 
glad about that because with the disappearance of 
the blisters I could finally hold his hand and 
touch his face.
	It turned out that practically all of the 
third degree burns were actually second degree 
burns, only the ones on his left upper arm and 
shoulder and the ones of his face are truly 
serious, and because of this they're considering 
him lucky. The insensitive bastards! How can they 
consider him lucky when he won't ever see again? 
He's blind for God's sake! And of course I'm in a 
lousy position to say this, but I have a fair 
idea that he'd gladly trade a couple of scars for 
his eyesight. Regain the use of his eyes when the 
price is a scarred back. Of course, like I said, 
I'm in no position to say anything, but it would 
be what I'd do and I know my partner better than 
he'd like ...
	I've seen the state his face is in when they 
changed the gauze. It's awful. The skin is red 
and raw and blistered and a burn runs right over 
his left eye to his hair line like an arrow. His 
eyebrows are singed by the fire but I haven't 
been able to see his eyelashes yet. His eyelids 
were too swollen to see them. He looks horrible 
and I know that under these swollen tortured 
eyelids lies something equally painful: his eyes. 
His gorgeous green eyes which are now so useless ...
	They still haven't given up hope actually, 
the fools, they still think he might regain the 
use of his eyes. Eventually. Yeah, eventually is 
good, that'll probably be his next life ... I'm 
not telling them about my doubts though; I can't, 
I want to hope that they're right ...
	I will miss these eyes so much. I'm going to 
miss him so much. Because I know he'll have 
changed when he comes home, he will no longer be 
the man I know. The change is inevitable, he's 
blind now for one thing, and I so don't want him 
to change ... I want him back just the way he 
was!
	Two weeks into the recovery stage he is no 
longer in a coma, even though the sheer quantity 
of sedatives and painkillers they're using means 
hardly any difference at all. He's still as 
lively as a piece of wood in a straightjacket, 
but at least he is aware of my presence and when 
I talk to him I do have a minute chance that he 
can hear and understand me. He's not allowed to 
talk to me though. Not that he's able to, he's 
still on the respirator because they're afraid 
his lungs won't co-operate. I hope they'll take 
him off the machine soon, it's agonising to see 
him fight the tube in his sleep.
	"Agent Scully?"
	I look around and see Dr Hozumi Isite coming 
into the room. He smiles and walks to the bed.
	"How is our patient today?"
	I sigh softly. "Quite restless, though that 
isn't much of a surprise."
	"That's true," he answers. Dr Isite has been 
treating Mulder for the past weeks. He is a 
doctor but also an ophthalmologist and it's his 
job to see whether they can do something for his 
eyes. So far he hasn't been able to achieve 
anything, but it's only been two weeks now ...
	"When are you going to extubate him?" I ask 
and he checks Mulder's chart.
	"We might give it a try today," he answers, 
"I do think his lungs will have recovered enough 
by now to do their duty."
	I smile. "That would be great," I say 
softly. "It hurts to see him fight the machine."
	A nurse comes in. "Good afternoon, doctor, 
Agent Scully," she says and walks to the bed. 
"I'm going to change the gauzes, doctor."
	Dr Isite nods and I take Mulder's hand in 
mine. This is going to hurt like hell and I want 
him to know I'm here, even when I cannot take any 
of the pain away.
	It takes the nurse over five minutes to 
remove all the tissue and clean his eyes. He's 
not allowed to open them of his own accord, they 
are too afraid that his eyes might get infected 
or something like that. I don't see their point, 
he's blind already, but it's probably got a good 
reason. Wish they'd explain it to me ... I mean, 
he's blind, what could go wrong and make it 
worse?
	It's still a sorry sight, seeing his 
tortured face even now that the swellings are 
mostly gone and his eyelids are almost back to 
normal too. They shaved off the singed eyebrows 
when his skin could take it and I notice that 
they're starting to grow back. For some reason it 
makes me feel a little better, knowing that, 
among all that is damaged, new and healthy things 
are coming back, replacing what was lost in the 
fire. His lashes are starting to grow back too 
and I'm so glad. He's slowly beginning to look 
more like the man I know and care so much about.
	"Agent Mulder?" the doctor addresses him. He 
takes Mulder's hand. "Can you understand me? If 
so, please try and squeeze my hand."
	I cannot see anything happening, but Dr 
Isite nods to the nurse so I suppose he got a 
satisfactory response. Then he turns back to 
Mulder. "We are going to try and remove the tube 
of the respirator and hopefully you'll be able to 
breathe on your own. Now please stay calm and all 
this will be a lot easier for you."
	It doesn't take long at all for the doctor 
and the nurse to remove the tube, but I cannot 
help but shy away a little when I hear his 
awkward attempts to keep breathing. Then I take 
his hand in one of my own, keeping my other hand 
to his cheek, stroking softly with my thumb.
	"Come on, Mulder, breathe," I whisper. He 
coughs and his breaths come wheezing and 
laboured, but it seems like he's getting the hang 
of it. "Can you breathe?" I whisper nonetheless, 
wanting to talk to him.
	"I think that went quite according to our 
expectations," Dr Isite says and he sounds 
content. I hardly pay any attention to it, 
focused as I am on my partner who's calming down 
a little. Then, all of a sudden, the stares of 
the doctor and the nurse begin to annoy me and I 
ask them to leave. They protest at first, but 
knowing that I am a doctor they leave us to 
ourselves.
	"Be sure to call for help if needed," Dr 
Isite says, but I don't hear him. Just get out of 
here, I think, wishing them away. Then, when I 
know for sure we're alone, I sit down on the edge 
of the bed and fully turn my attention to my 
partner.
	"Mulder, can you hear me?" I ask softly. He 
tries to answer, but I put my finger to his lips. 
"Shh, take it easy, Mulder," I say and smile. "No 
need to rush ..."
	I take his hand and lift it to my lips, 
gently kissing the fingertips.
	"Scully ...", he says, his voice rough. It's 
almost nothing more than a throaty whisper, 
brought on by the fire, the respirator and the 
lack of exercise. Still it's a wonderful thing to 
hear after the past weeks.
	"Yes, Mulder?"
	He clears his throat and winces. That quite 
clearly hurt and it showed.
	"Scully, are you okay?"
	My heart softens at his words. No matter 
what has happened to him, his first concern will 
always be my well-being. Unfortunately right now 
he should be focused on himself and not on me.
	"I'm fine, Mulder," I answer. "They called 
me after you were brought in. I've been here ever 
since."
	"What --..." He tries to swallow. "What 
happened?"
	"To you? The chemical plant exploded. You're 
the only survivor, the others didn't make it."
	He is silent for a while. Then he takes my 
hand again. "Scully, why haven't they removed the 
gauze over my eyes yet? I can't see."
	I look down at him compassionately. "They've 
decided that your eyes haven't healed well enough 
yet. They were very badly injured in the fire." I 
know this is a coward's way out, but I simply 
don't have it in me to tell him the bad news 
straight in the face. Not yet. But Mulder, the 
genius that he is, figures it out for himself.
	"I'm blind?"
	Oh God, here we go ...
	I nod, momentarily forgetting that he cannot 
see it, and I feel tears in my eyes. "You are," I 
say softly, stroking my hand over his cheek.
	His mouth moves as he tries to process this 
devastating news and I give him time, letting it 
depend on him when this conversation will go on.
	In the end though, it is but one word that 
comes from his lips, but it contains every 
emotion and thought that I'm sure went through 
his head just now.
	"No ..."
	He slowly shakes his head, turning it away 
from me. I fold my hands in my lap and we are 
silent for a long time. I can imagine all that 
must be going around inside his brain, it must be 
such a hurricane of thoughts and doubts ... I 
myself do not think at all, I only watch him, 
feeling so tremendously sorry for him.
	"Mulder ...", I begin and he turns his head 
towards me.
	"What?"
	Suddenly at a loss for anything to say I bow 
my head and shake it briefly. What can I possibly 
say? I have nothing to offer him except comfort, 
but at this moment I don't know whether he even 
wants that. I sigh. "I ... I don't know ...", I 
say softly.
	He takes my hand again and curls his fingers 
tighter around mine, causing him to wince 
slightly.
	"Hurts ...", he merely says and I think it's 
because of the recently injured skin of his right 
hand. It has healed quite well already, but it's 
still not perfectly healthy.
	"I'm sorry," I say softly.
	His left hand lies uselessly on the 
mattress. The doctors removed the gauze about 
four or five days ago to let it heal to the air, 
but the skin is still looking very tender and 
red. It's been his right hand which has provided 
me with a link to him during the past weeks.
	I gently stroke my thumb over the back of 
his hand and then I touch my fingers to his 
knuckles.
	"Scully?"
	I look up at him, suddenly realising I had 
been staring at his hand. "Yes, Mulder?"
	He hesitates before he takes a deep breath. 
"This is forever, isn't it?"
	Once again I nod. "It is," I answer. No more 
tip-toeing around the subject, his injury is a 
fact and we'll have to find a way to learn to 
live with it.
	He takes a deep shuddery breath and I see 
the underside of the gauze get wet very slowly. 
Then one crystal tear creeps out from underneath 
them and run slowly over his cheek, eventually 
getting caught by the dressings on his jaw and 
neck. It makes my eyes pool as well.
	I have absolutely no idea what is going on 
in that brain of his, I don't think I even want 
to know, but I do know that this is hard, very 
very hard for him to deal with.
	Then he opens his mouth, speaking slowly. "I 
think I want to go to sleep."
	I smile. "Okay," I whisper, giving his hand 
a soft lingering kiss and placing it on the 
mattress. He immediately reaches out to grab my 
hand.
	"Stay," he only says. "Don't go."
	And I stay.

XxXxX 

	Mulder moved in with me. We didn't even have 
a discussion about it, there was simply no doubt 
about that he would after leaving the hospital. 
My mother, the angel that she is, offered to take 
him in, but that was pretty much out of the 
question. She does, however, come around to 
'baby-sit' sometimes. This is her word, I'm not 
using it. Wisely, neither is she when Mulder is 
around, who'd consequently refuse to spend 
another second at my house. Not, as you might 
think, because he'd be insulted, but simply 
because the foolish, sweet man already thinks 
he's a burden and he should be somewhere else 
where he wouldn't be a bother to either my mom or 
myself. I haven't yet succeeded in convincing him 
that he is no burden, but he simply doesn't get 
it. Or refuses to get it, which is, knowing his 
inborn stubbornness, probably more correct.
	Tonight, though, things are good. Really 
really good.
	Naturally Mulder resigned from the Bureau, 
there was never a question about that, but he 
hasn't left his work behind altogether. Although 
theoretically he is no longer working for the 
FBI, people still come to him for advice, 
something which still surprises us both.
	I myself am still working, be it now as a 
part-time pathologist and no longer as a Field 
Agent. To our complete and utter stupefication 
Skinner found two Agents who were precisely right 
for taking up the X-Files project. I felt deeply 
for Mulder when we received the news from A.D. 
Kersch. We'd only very recently received the X-
Files back after Spender and Diana had made too 
big a mess of them and now Mulder had to accept 
that someone else was taking over his life's 
work.
	I spent three weeks with the two young 
Agents, Agent Jim Fitzgerald and Tony Abraham, to 
get them acquainted with that strange and creepy 
world Mulder and I dedicated, and still dedicate, 
our lives to. Skinner, who received the 
supervision over the X-Files back after 
Fitzgerald and Abraham got the job, is keeping an 
eye on them and so far we've heard nothing but 
good things about them and the way they handle 
the cases. One could say that they're about as 
loyal to the job as we ever were -- but don't say 
that to Mulder ...
	Today Mulder and I went back to the Edgar 
Hoover Building. It was the first time since the 
accident that he'd be back and this morning, 
while we were still in bed, he confessed how 
scared he was of going back. Or maybe not scared, 
but certainly very nervous and very anxious and 
wary.
	I could not quite reassure him, but luckily 
it turned out that his worries were in fact 
slightly unfounded.
	Over the past three months Mulder has grown 
increasingly more at ease with the fact that he 
can no longer see. He told me one morning that 
the world is in fact not a black void to him: his 
left eye is completely blind but it's like he's 
wearing an opaque contact lens in his right eye. 
He can see shades of light and sometimes 
contours. Sadly he cannot see me.
	When he's on his own he walks slowly, but 
when I lead him his stride is once again strong 
and powerful. I don't think he really minds that 
he has to be led by me, not to mention that he 
has very little choice indeed ...
	As expected there were the occasional 
whispers as we walked through the building, but 
it was far less than expected. Our first meeting 
was with Skinner. The man had expressly requested 
to see us whenever we'd be back at HQ and even 
though he is no longer our direct superior I 
simply could not refuse his request. He told us 
about how the new Agents were handling the X-
Files and answered Mulder's avid questions about 
anything that concerned them. I never realised 
that he'd been thinking about the X-Files so much 
for the past months until I realised that this 
was in effect not only his only reason for being 
here, but also that, being out of a job now, he'd 
had ample time to go over them again and again. 
It was the most relaxed conversation we'd ever 
had with Skinner.
	After our meeting with Skinner we went down 
to our former domain, our own little kingdom in 
the basement which we had now passed on to our 
successors.
	Mulder surprised me by taking the lead on 
our way down. He'd often quipped about his 
alleged ability to walk this way blindfolded, but 
I never really believed him. Turned out he was 
actually speaking the truth. And when we entered 
the office, which had been restored to its former 
glory after the fire, he only stood there for a 
moment, letting his senses assure him that he 
truly was back.
	He quickly went around the office, feeling 
every object he could find, on his face the most 
wonderful smile I'd seen in months.
	Of course we talked to Fitzgerald and 
Abraham, for hours and hours. Their dedication to 
the X-Files must have been a wonderful thing to 
experience for Mulder, especially after having 
been forced to witness the way the Weasel and the 
Fowl had corrupted his legacy.

	And now, four hours later, we're back home. 
We came home about two hours ago, I guess, with 
Mulder in a wonderful wonderful mood. I proceeded 
to make dinner while he sat with me in the 
kitchen as always, listening to what I was doing, 
tasting the bites of food I offered him to try 
and making his witty and sometimes even leering 
remarks whenever he had the chance and like 
nothing had ever changed. I must confess I let 
the sauce burn -- my mind was somewhere else 
entirely when I had put it on the fire and Mulder 
made me come in his arms. A Mulder-kiss has 
always managed to make my mind take a two-week 
vacation to a tropical island and that is not 
terribly good for whatever it is you're cooking ...
	We had a quiet dinner, no sauce obviously, 
and now Mulder is on the couch, waiting for me. I 
see him turn his head in my direction as I come 
into the living room carrying a bottle of wine 
and two wine glasses.
	"Scully?"
	I smile, walking to the couch. "Who else?" I 
quip and he grins. He pats the empty spot beside 
him.
	"Come here," he says softly.
	I place the glasses on the coffeetable and 
the wine on the floor and then I sit down, 
curling up in his arms.
	It's amazing how intimate Mulder and I have 
become. Partly it went without actual choice, he 
needs me close to give him what he needs. And 
partly it is because we have changed ourselves. 
Mulder is not the man he once was anymore, nor am 
I the same Dana Scully I was one year ago. We've 
become as close as a husband and wife could ever 
be. Which includes the arguments and the 
quarrels.
	Only last week we had a raging fight over 
something which now seems so trivial it is almost 
ridiculous, but at the time it was the ultimate 
last straw. God help me if I even remember what 
it was ... Looking back on the situation it was 
the culmination of frustrations, both his and 
mine, built up inside us and coming to the front 
over something so silly it is hard to believe we 
actually fought.
	It is hard for a free-willed, independent 
man like Mulder to be so reliant on someone else. 
He has a cane, but the spiders in my house have 
built many a love-nest around it since we bought 
it. He's not using it, refuses to use it. Which 
means, of course, that he needs a substitute, 
namely: me. And 99% of the time I love that, I 
really do, but there's that 1% when I really 
really hate it. Last week I suffered from that 
particular one per cent. And that in itself 
wouldn't have been that bad as I'm very well 
capable of swallowing my reluctance, but, as fate 
would have it, Mulder had also reached his 1% 
portion. War was inevitable.
	Nothing of that is apparent right now 
though. I turned the radio on and it's playing in 
the background very softly. The music mingles 
with the wonderful soft sounds of our breathing.
	His burns have healed really well. The 
recuperative powers of his body have always 
amazed me, but this time he has really outdone 
himself. Apart from the scar running over his 
brow and left eye, stopping just under his lower 
eyelid, his face is almost as good as new.
	I'm leaning into his right side, 
instinctively still avoiding the left side of his 
body. My right hand is in his left one as his 
right arm rests behind my back. I rub my cheek 
over the front of his shoulder and sigh with a 
smile.
	"Scully?"
	I nod against his shoulder. "Yes?"
	"You bring the wine?"
	I nod again. "Yes, I did," I answer, gently 
and reluctantly leaving his embrace. I remove the 
cork from the bottle and fill the glasses. Then I 
hand him one and, with my own glass in my hand, I 
move back into his arms. Sometimes paradise ain't 
that hard to find ...
	"Scully, I've been thinking," he says and I 
look up at him. He has bowed his head even though 
he cannot see me.
	"What about?"
	"I've been thinking about the possibility of 
corneal grafting," he answers. "You think that 
would be an option for me?"
	I'm silent for a second. "I don't know," I 
say, "I've never really thought about it."
	His hand comes up to my hair, following the 
contours of my face and then he slowly strokes 
it. I want to hum, that's how content he makes me 
feel.
	"I first read about it when we were 
investigating that Hell Money case in San 
Francisco," he says, "and it's been playing 
through my mind for about a week now."
	I think about what he just told me and for 
minutes neither of us says anything. Then I take 
a deep breath. If this is what he wants ...
	"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.
	"I don't know, guess that was because I 
needed to get used to the idea myself as well. It 
is quite a decision after all."
	"It is," I agree. I nestle a bit closer to 
him, resting my hand over his heart. I close my 
eyes, feeling supremely content. "I think it is 
certainly worth a try," I say. "Why don't you 
discuss it with Dr Isite when you're in?"
	He doesn't answer, but his head droops a 
little to rest on top of mine. I hear his sigh 
and when he speaks his voice is uneven, trembling 
with emotions.
	"Just imagine ... just imagine that one day 
I'd be able to see again ..." He swallows and I 
kiss the underside of his jaw. "Being able to see 
again ..."

XxXxX

	"Scully?"
	I open my eyes with difficulty and look up 
at him. We're in bed and I was just about to 
enter the most wonderful Mulder-dream of my life 
when he woke me, so it's understandable that I'm 
slightly unwilling to come back.
	"Mm-mm?"
	The fingers of his right hand draw soft 
circles over my back, sometimes slipping under 
the spaghetti straps of my night gown, while I 
press myself closer to him. He's so nice and 
warm.
	"I don't want you to take this amiss, but ..." 
He pauses.
	"What is it, Mulder?" I murmur, rubbing my 
cheek against the warm tee-shirt he's wearing to 
bed.
	"Why are you staying with me?"
	I groan softly and cast a quick glance at 
the alarm clock. 2.53 in the morning. Jesus, 
Mulder ... Then I move up a little so that I can 
look at him more easily.
	"Why wouldn't I?"
	He sighs. "But you never had to take me in," 
he says. He sounds so insecure it's almost 
annoying.
	I sigh and smile. Sweet, sweet man. I raise 
my hand, softly stroking his left cheek, my 
fingers whispering over the scar that runs over 
his left eye, a silent reminder of the horrible 
fire.
	"Yes, I had," I say softly. I feel how his 
hand creeps up to my neck and I look him in the 
eyes. It's sad to see his empty look even though 
his eyes don't appear to have changed all that 
much themselves. But that non-look hurts me in a 
place deep inside ... "Mulder, I'm not someone 
who'd leave a person who needs me. And you are 
such a person. You need me."
	He sighs. "I do, but ..." He shakes his 
head. "Scully, what have I got to offer you? For 
all you're doing for me, I can give you nothing 
in return ..."
	"Mulder, I'm your friend, remember?" I say 
with a smile. "Just as I stayed with you on the 
X-Files for all these years, I'm staying with you 
now. It's my own choice, my own decision, I feel 
happy when I'm here with you. And I won't deny 
that I sometimes long for what we had before the 
fire, but then I also feel truly happy for what 
we've got now. I love you, Mulder, I love you for 
all that you are. And maybe ... maybe I even love 
you better now than I ever could have if you 
hadn't had that accident. Now that when watching 
your back means really caring for you instead of 
repairing the mess you used to leave behind in 
your state of proud independence."
	I wish I could read his mind and know what 
he's thinking. I used to be able to read his 
every thought in his eyes, but they are 
expression-less now. I lean in and kiss him on 
the lips, gently but warmly and with promises of 
things to come. "I'm staying, Mulder, whether you 
want me or not."
	His answer is to gather me to him, hugging 
me tightly. "I didn't want to need you like I do 
now," he says. "I didn't want to be this 
dependent on someone else, but I have no choice."
	I shake my head, rubbing my cheek against 
his shoulder. "You don't. I'm staying."
	He chuckles and I smile. "And now I want to 
sleep, Mulder," I say, working myself up so that 
I can kiss him. "Only four more hours of sleep 
and I need 'em!"
	He turns me in his arms until we're both 
precisely right. "So do I," he answers. I fall 
asleep with his fingers caressing my hair.

XxXxX

	"Only your right eye would be suitable for 
corneal grafting, Mr Mulder," Dr Isite says and I 
look at Mulder. He is quiet, but very attentive. 
Then I look back at Dr Isite who continues his 
explanation of the procedures involved. "It is 
not common practice to transplant the cornea of 
an eye which is already completely blind, except 
maybe in cases where a chronical swelling or 
infection and the resulting pain would be 
relieved by the operation. I do think, however, 
that this is not the case in your case. And we 
should also bear in mind that your left eye was 
in fact very much destroyed by the fire so I 
think grafting would not be beneficial for that 
eye. Your right eye on the other hand does offer 
us enough chances of success to try it."
	Mulder reaches out and I take his hand. 
We're side by side in the leather chairs in Dr 
Isite's office.
	"Have you ever read about corneal grafting, 
Dr Scully?" he asks me. "At any time during your 
study in medical school or maybe as part of your 
work?"
	I shake my head. "Not really," I answer, 
"although Agent Mulder has to a certain extent. 
Personally I was trained as a pathologist and 
dead people usually no longer require transplants ..."
	Dr Isite smiles. Then he clears his throat. 
"Okay, well, as we already determined in earlier 
sessions the chances of your right eye healing 
naturally are very much non-existent, Mr Mulder. 
I do think, though, that a corneal transplant 
would be a solution, an option to restore at 
least part of your eyesight."
	He gets up from his chair and takes two 
booklets from a folder in the cabinet to his 
side. "Now, as neither of you are very familiar 
with the procedures I will explain to a certain 
extent what is going to happen. Of course the 
surgeon who will perform the operation, provided 
that you do decide to go on with it, will explain 
it in more precise detail, but this will give you 
at least some idea of what the operation is 
about."
	He hands me the two booklets and while I 
quickly scan the contents, Dr Isite explains the 
procedure to Mulder.
	It turns out that it is in fact not as big 
an operation as I always thought. In fact, in 
Mulder's case it may even be done under a local 
anaesthetic. After the eye has been 
anaesthetised, the eyelids are opened and the 
ophthalmologist performing the operation removes 
the damaged cornea, measuring the exact size so 
that the donor-cornea will fit into place. After 
everything has been prepared the donor-cornea is 
sewn into place.
	I look at my partner as Dr Isite explains 
what will happen. I can see he's already decided 
to do it, even though we have not reached that 
decision together yet. I'm not going to stop him 
though. If this is what he wants I fully agree 
with his choice.
	"Anyway," Dr Isite concludes his speech, 
"everything is explained in these booklets I just 
gave to Dr Scully." He rises and I follow his 
example. "Please do not hesitate to come to me if 
there are any more questions and when you've 
reached your decision."
	I shake his hand and smile. "Thank you very 
much, Doctor."
	Mulder takes that as his cue to get up and 
he too shakes the doctor's hand. "Thanks," he 
says. I can see that there's more he wants to 
say, but he doesn't. Then he holds out his hand. 
I take it and let his arm come around my waist 
where he's been holding me for the past three 
months. It's become his new customary place. It 
was a necessary change, I couldn't guide him well 
enough if he kept his hand on the small of my 
back.
	Together we leave Dr Isite's office and head 
back to the car. Tonight we'll take the decision 
even though I suspect Mulder already knows.

XxXxX

	It was no surprise for me when Mulder told 
me that night that he wanted to go on with it. I 
had no objections either even though I was maybe 
a bit apprehensive of it all. Maybe I still am, I 
don't know.
	We went to see Dr Isite two days later on 
one of my free afternoons -- I work mostly in the 
mornings because Mulder is not one to be left on 
his own. God knows he wasn't when he could still 
see and it hasn't exactly improved ... He's being 
good though, or at least he tries to. And when 
the Mulder-devil inside him really kicks in, 
which happens every two or three weeks when the 
frustrations and anger reach the maximum, my 
Mother-angel comes in and rescues the both of us.
	Mulder's name was entered into the waiting-
list for the corneal grafting, along with all the 
other necessary medical data, and from then on it 
was just a matter of time.
	I knew that waiting-lists were murder on the 
nerves, but I guess I just never realised just 
how badly I'd react to the seemingly endless 
wait, thinking that every phone call could be the 
one ...
	Mulder seemed to be handling it a lot better 
than I did. He seemed to have become used to the 
fact that he couldn't see, even if the term 'used 
to' would probably not be the correct one. But he 
had accepted it, stopped to fight it, and 
sometimes, in moments of happiness I silently 
pride myself that perhaps I've had something to 
do with that. I mean, of course he's always had a 
strong personality, but he's amazed me with the 
way he deals with his blindness.
	The burns on his body have healed quite 
well. He has a few scars on his left arm and one 
deep one running over his left shoulder down to 
just under his shoulder blade. This was where the 
fabric of his clothes was burnt into his skin and 
that never heals completely. I don't mind though.
	I'm not as calm as I seem, however, right 
now. We received the phone call that a cornea was 
available for him early last night. We've waited 
for just over eight weeks and today will be the 
big day. We didn't sleep much last night, we were 
both simply too nervous, too worked-up about the 
news.
	Mulder and I walk across the main hall of 
the hospital towards the ophthalmology ward. When 
we reach it we are greeted by a woman in hospital 
scrubs. A doctor, no doubt about it.
	"Mr Mulder," she addresses my partner and 
shakes his hand. "Ms Scully."
	I shake her hand and look at the name tag. 
Dr Iris Teiresios. I wonder if her parents were 
Greek. That name does ring a bell though, but I 
cannot quite put my finger on it. Well, that's 
not important right now.
	We follow Dr Teiresios to a small office. 
There she invites us to take a chair and she 
herself sits down behind her desk.
	"Well, Mr Mulder. I'll be the surgeon who is 
going to perform the grafting to replace the 
damaged cornea of your right eye. It is your 
right eye, isn't it?"
	Mulder and I nod. Glad she asked, I suppose. 
She smiles.
	"Then I know I received the correct 
information," she says and smiles at us. I'm too 
nervous to find it very funny though. "Okay, now 
I heard from Dr Isite that you lost the ability 
to see after a fire, is that correct?"
	Mulder nods. "That is correct. I was trapped 
in an exploding building."
	Dr Teiresios looks at him. "All right. Well, 
I presume you already received the necessary 
information about the operation from Dr Isite, he 
is very thorough in cases like this one, but 
before we begin, do you have any questions?"
	I look at Mulder. I do have a last question, 
but I want him to go first if he has one as well. 
Apparently not. "Yes," I say, "there is one 
thing."
	"Which is?"
	"When the protective shield is removed, will 
he be able to see right away or will it be some 
time before his eyesight will have returned?"
	"The postoperative recovery is a long one," 
Dr Teiresios says, "and although you may expect 
to be allowed to go home later this afternoon, Mr 
Mulder, you should also expect it to take another 
six to twelve months before the final improvement 
in vision is complete. We do expect, however, 
that you'll be able to see right away, be it that 
the world will seem a bit hazy to you for a few 
days to come," she smiles.
	I see Mulder turn to me.
	"I can live with that, I think," he says and 
I feel a tear in the far corner of my eye. I 
blink it away. I have a dawning suspicion that 
I'll be shedding plenty of tears sometime in the 
very near future so it's no use wasting them 
already.
	"Okay," Dr Teiresios says, rising from her 
chair. "Then I think we should get started."
	A cold chill runs along my spine, but I tamp 
it down. I take Mulder's hand and we follow Dr 
Teiresios across the corridor to the operating 
theatres.
	"Let's get this show on the road," Mulder 
says softly and he smiles widely. He's so looking 
forward to this ...
	The door to one of the operating rooms is 
opened and a man exits the room, greeting Dr 
Teiresios. This is it, I realise. Why do I feel 
so weird ...?
	"Mulder," I say softly, giving the hand I 
hold to guide him a soft squeeze.
	"We're there?" he says and chuckles. "I 
thought we'd never get there." His feelings are 
so totally different from mine and there is a 
part of me that wants to make him stop smiling 
because I can't feel like it, but then the 
rational Dana Scully makes the foolish Dana 
Scully keep her mouth shut. Not that she manages 
to keep the tears at bay ...
	I take both his hands in mine, but it's only 
for a nanosecond that I stand here like this, 
then I'm in his arms. I don't want to cry, I want 
to be strong for him, but I can't.
	"Shh, Scully, don't cry ...", he gently 
soothes me. "I'll be fine ... shh ..." He strokes 
my hair. "We'll both be fine ..." He follows my 
face and tilts my face up with his forefinger and 
kisses me, gently and sweetly. "I love you," he 
says softly, smiling tenderly.
	I gulp a couple of tears away. "Me too," I 
whisper, "take care ..."
	"I will," he promises and with a last smile 
he is led into the room. A lonely tear makes its 
way down my cheek, but I manage to bite the rest 
back with a smile. Then I slowly make my way to 
the waiting room.

XxXxX

	"Agent Scully?"
	I look up from the magazine I'm holding and 
which is quite tellingly still on page four. Not 
that I can remember anything from pages one, two, 
three or four.
	The assistant takes off her gloves and 
smiles. "We're ready. If you'd like to come with 
me?"
	I jump up, throw down the magazine -- which 
was ancient anyway -- and follow the woman to a 
room adjacent to the operating room. I spot the 
time and I'm actually surprised to learn it's 
more than two hours later. I never noticed the 
time going by.
	I see Mulder lying on a bed, a neat white 
gauze covering his right eye. He looks asleep, 
almost the way I sometimes found him in his 
apartment, the only concession to sleep being 
that he'd taken his shoes off. He's more tranquil 
now, but that might also have something to do 
with the anaesthetics. I walk up to him and take 
his hand in my left, stroking his cheek with my 
right hand. He lifts his hand and covers the hand 
on his cheek.
	"Hey, Scully," he says softly, smiling 
weakly.
	"Hi, Mulder, how are you feeling?"
	He touches the gauze pad covering his eye. 
"I've been better," he says wryly. "I've been 
worse, too."
	I smile. Well, at least the anaesthetic 
didn't affect his sense of humour. "That's 
good..." I say softly. Then I look at Dr 
Teiresios and one of the assistants. "When will 
he be able to take off the gauze?"
	"Oh, that'll probably be tonight or 
otherwise tomorrow," the assistant says. "And 
certainly when his ophthalmologist tells him he 
can do so."
	"Tonight?" I say and I admit that I'm 
amazed. I knew it would be soon, but I never 
realised it could be this soon.
	"Good, eh, Scully?" I hear Mulder say and I 
look at him. He has a big goofy smile on his face 
-- which is quite understandable of course -- and 
he reaches out to take my hand. I smile and take 
it. Then I sit down on the edge of the bed and 
hold his hand in both my own, gently letting my 
fingers stroke it.
	"Yes, it is," I smile. "Can you sit up?"
	"Don't know. I could try," he answers, 
immediately putting his words into action.
	"Shh, Mulder, take it easy," I say, trying 
to make him take this one step at a time, but 
it's to no avail. Suppose I shouldn't be 
surprised really, as if I don't know what my 
partner is like.
	He sits up and winces for a second. Well, I 
told him to take it easy, but he just wouldn't 
listen.
	"You okay now?" I say when he appears to 
have recovered.
	"Yeah, my eye feels funny though," he 
smiles, again touching the white gauze.
	Dr Teiresios returns with some medication. 
"These are eyedrops which you'll have to continue 
using for the next three or four months, 
depending on the recovery of your eye. They are 
partly to help the eye recover, but they also act 
as a means of preventing rejection of the new 
cornea."
	I take the small bottles and read the 
instructions. Meanwhile Dr Teiresios addresses 
Mulder.
	"I would like you to come back tomorrow for 
a check up and after that you will stay under the 
treatment of Dr Isite."
	Mulder nods gravely, looking too much like 
an obedient little boy. The man could fool even 
me with that look ...
	"It would probably be best to keep the 
eyepad on for at least another six hours, but if 
you keep the light dimmed to reduce stress on the 
eye you can take it off tonight," she says and I 
see how Mulder smiles hopefully. I feel 
butterflies in my stomach, part nerves, part 
relief, part ... I don't know. I only know that 
tonight will be the moment of truth for us. Will 
he see?
	"Mr Mulder," Dr Teiresios says to him, 
"there are a few things that you should bear in 
mind. First, you need to be very careful not to 
rub or press on your eye. You should avoid 
driving until Dr Isite says that it is safe for 
you to drive, he'll monitor the process of 
healing. You can continue any normal daily 
activities, but you should avoid strenuous 
activities such as lifting, bending or straining 
for at least two weeks." Mulder nods earnestly. 
"You'll have to continue using these eyedrops and 
whenever you go outside you should protect your 
eye by means of an eyeshield or glasses. I don't 
think that will be much of a problem though." She 
closes the file and smiles. "Are there any more 
questions?"
	I rouse from the sudden dream of Mulder 
having to wear his glasses for medical reasons -- 
oh, bliss -- at Mulder's question.
	"Yes, when will the sutures be removed?"
	"Anytime between six months and two years 
from now," Dr Teiresios answers. "Dr Isite will 
advise you when it's best to have them removed."
	He nods and gives my hand a soft squeeze. 'I 
want to get out of here,' it says and I fully 
agree.
	"All right," Dr Teiresios says, shaking my 
hand first and then Mulder's. "Take it easy, Mr 
Mulder, make sure that you avoid all strenuous 
activities for at least a week or two."
	"I will," he answers. "Thank you very much, 
doctor."
	I too thank Dr Teiresios and then I take 
Mulder's hand, make his arm circle my waist and 
together we leave the room.

XxXxX

	It's nine in the evening now and looking 
through the kitchen door I see Mulder sitting on 
the couch, the gauze pad still covering his right 
eye. We agreed to take it off tonight, after 
dinner, when we were both relaxed. He didn't 
protest, agreeing fully with my proposal. Told 
you the man has changed ...
	I bring a glass of wine for myself and a 
glass of orange juice for Mulder back with me 
into the living room. He asked for a beer, but 
I'm still not certain about the medication still 
inside him and I refuse to take any chances. For 
now o.j. will have to do. He turns his head to me 
and scoots a little to the left, making room for 
me. I sit down beside him, moving close to him.
	"I'm nervous," he confesses and I nod.
	"Me too."
	"Scully, what am I going to do if it didn't 
work?" he says almost inaudibly and I can't help 
a sigh.
	"I don't know, Mulder," I answer. "I 
honestly don't know."
	I look at him and then I see just how tense 
he is. I place the two glasses on the table and 
sit up on my knees on the couch and gently take 
his face in my hands. Then I place soft kisses on 
his left eye, his nose and finally his lips. I 
intend for it to be just a quick kiss, but my 
body seems to have different ideas. Quite of 
their own volition my hands move around his neck 
and my lips are once more on his, kissing him 
deeply, warmly. I care so very very much about 
him and it really doesn't matter what the outcome 
of the operation will be. I will always love him.
	We end in a loose embrace, our foreheads 
touching and I look at him. Then I close my eyes 
and for a long time I only feel him. He is so 
warm and strong and he cares so much for me.
	"Mulder," I whisper, feeling his breath soft 
on my lips.
	He doesn't respond for a moment, but then 
the words come from his lips, trembling and 
scared. "Scully, I can't ... I can't do this ... 
What if ..."
	I press a soft kiss on his lips and then I 
sit back a little. I know that the only way we're 
going to do this is by simply putting words into 
action. I carefully remove the tape which holds 
the gauze in place and with trembling fingers I 
remove it. I can't help a smile when I see the 
colours the skin around his eye has become. He 
looks pretty beaten up.
	"Mulder, dare to open your eyes?" I say 
gently, carefully stroking a lock of hair from 
his brow.
	I've turned the lights in the room down and 
it's quite dark, but I don't want to put too much 
stress on his eye. After all it's been almost six 
months of near-darkness for him.
	He slowly opens his eyes and lifts his face 
to meet mine. And then I realise that he *can* see 
me: his eyes hold a recognition I never realised 
I missed so much during the past months.
	"Scully? Is that you?" he whispers and his 
voice trembles.
	I smile widely and nod. "Yes, Mulder, can 
you see me?"
	He bites down on his bottom lip and a tear 
runs down his face. "Oh, Scully ...", he merely 
says before gathering me in his arms and then we 
both start blubbering like babies. Well, I don't 
care, not now, not after this.
	Still crying he takes my face in his hands 
and looks at me. His gaze is so eager, so hungry 
and he runs his eyes over my face over and over 
again as if he cannot get enough of looking at 
me. I myself only look at his eyes, revelling in 
the look of recognition I see there. I missed him 
so much and now I've got him back ...
	"My God, I just never realised how beautiful 
you are," he whispers and he sounds so stunned. 
"Please remind me never to take this, all this, 
all of you for granted."
	He traces the features of my face with his 
fingertips, mumbling words but I can't understand 
what it is he is saying. His thumb lightly trails 
over my lips while his other fingers touch my 
cheeks. My eyebrows are next and then my nose. He 
smiles when he touches his forefinger to the 
little mole just above my lip.
	"You're not wearing any make up," he says, 
looking up at me. "You didn't cover your beauty 
mark."
	I shake my head. "I stopped doing that when 
I stopped being a Field Agent."
	He combs his fingers through my hair, 
twisting the ends around his fingers. "You let 
your hair grow, too," he smiles. Then he puts on 
his sexy pout and I can't help the happy sigh 
which escapes me. He may no longer be the poster 
hunk he once was, but he's still one hell of a 
damn sexy man. "You let your hair grow and you 
didn't even tell me about it!"
	I grin. "I thought that after all the nights 
we've spent in bed together, you would've 
noticed."
	He smiles an embarrassed smile and looks 
down. And then he looks back up through his 
lashes. They've grown back to full glory and are 
as gorgeous as before. They make every reply 
simply impossible to come up with. Instead I 
merely smile and I'm surprised I manage as much 
as that.
	"At least now I know that you really can see 
me," I say softly, touching my fingertips to his 
jaw.
	He freezes and it looks as if the impact of 
these words finally hits home: he's no longer 
blind, he's such a huge step closer to a normal 
life.
	He remains motionless except for the tear 
that runs fast from the corner of his eye down 
his cheek. I lean in and kiss it away, tasting 
the salty moisture and relishing it as though it 
were nectar of the gods. Then I sit back just a 
little to look at him and see that he's barely 
reacted. He's just sitting there, looking at 
nothing it seems, before he finally lifts his 
gaze up to meet mine. I smile encouragingly and 
my reward is another crystal tear. Then he cups 
my neck in his graceful hands and draws me in, 
kissing me with all the love he has to give.
	And when we finally look at each other again 
we smile, exchanging looks of admiration and the 
most tender caresses I've ever had the pleasure 
of feeling. Then he kisses me on the forehead, a 
lingering gentle kiss, and whispers my name.
	"Scully ...", he whispers and it sounds so 
sweet. I nod, but do not answer. I look at him 
and he looks me in the eyes. "I want to make love 
to you, Scully."
	I smile and nod. "Yes," I whisper and touch 
my lips to his.
	He smiles and then takes my hand in his and 
together we walk to my bedroom.

XxXxX

	I wake up alone. I first notice something 
missing in my bed when I turn to his side and am 
met by nothing but cooling cotton. I press my 
face into that warm spot and take a deep breath 
and my nose gets filled with pure undiluted 
Mulder-scent, but the source is nowhere to be 
found.
	Still half-asleep I sweep my arm across the 
smooth cotton but he really isn't there. This 
isn't fair!
	I turn onto my back and can't help a light 
groan. I feel muscles protesting which have lain 
dormant for an embarrassingly long time and last 
night they got a serious work-out. I smile at the 
thought. Even though Mulder moved in with me 
immediately after he was discharged from the 
hospital and he began sleeping with me almost 
right away -- consequence of the nightmares which 
kept him up all through the night -- we remained 
platonic lovers, indulging ourselves only in a 
kiss every now and then to make this decision, 
which became increasingly more of a torture, at 
least slightly possible to keep. And last night 
we broke with that decision. Well, it *was* about 
time, too ...
	I hear the door to the bathroom open and 
Mulder comes out. I run my eyes all over him, 
appreciatingly and unabashedly. He is completely 
naked, making him even more of a dream to look 
at.
	He smiles when he sees my direct look. "Hey, 
gorgeous," he says, his voice dark and slightly 
rough around the edges. I don't know whether that 
is all sleep or ... Probably isn't ...
	"Why did you leave?" I say and my voice 
doesn't sound anything like my normal voice 
either. "The bed is cold without you."
	He smiles a toothy smile and slips back 
under the covers beside me. The temperature rises 
immediately and somehow I know that that cannot 
all be blamed on Mulder's body warmth. Without a 
moment's hesitation I climb on top of him and 
sigh contentedly. He makes the best mattress and 
pillow in the world.
	"What were you doing?" I ask.
	"Except for the normal things a guy does in 
the bathroom?" he replies with a grin and I nod.
	"Unless you've got some bathroom secrets you 
wanna share with me," I whisper and I feel him 
chuckle under me.
	"I might," he answers enigmatically and then 
it's my turn to chuckle. He strokes my back and 
sighs softly. "I was looking at myself in the 
mirror."
	"Feeling narcissistic?"
	He doesn't reply right away. "After six 
months I think I have a right to," he says 
eventually.
	I raise up a little and see him look at the 
ceiling. Somehow sensing my gaze he looks at me 
and closes his eyes for a moment, letting a small 
sigh out. "I'm sorry," he says, but I shake my 
head.
	"No, I'm sorry," I whisper. My comment was 
unkind and insensitive. The man has every right 
in the world to do this, God knows I'd probably 
need months to get used to my own image again.
	"I haven't exactly got prettier," he then 
says, rubbing his hand over the left side of his 
face where the faint scars of the fire are still 
visible. Together with one blind eye and one 
black eye he is indeed no pin-up model, but right 
now, in my sated state of sex-induced bliss, he 
is the most gorgeous man I know.
	I touch my fingers to his face and smile. 
"Not really, no," I answer, "but, if you're 
prepared to accept my highly biased opinion, I 
could still spend hours looking at you. You're 
still a damn good-looking man."
	"Am I really?" he smiles and winks. Part of 
me wants to poke him in the ribs for teasing me 
like this, but the melted part inside me has a 
far better idea of how to make him pay for his 
leers and innuendoes. And that involves nothing 
but him, myself, a bath and a bed. It's the 
impulsive side of me actually, a side which I 
normally manage to keep under control and do not 
pay too much attention to, but sometimes that 
part of Dana Scully has her bright ideas too. And 
then it would be such a shame to let those ideas 
go to waste, wouldn't it? I thought so, too.
	"Yes, you are," I smile, pressing a soft 
kiss on his lips. "You always have been, you 
know."
	"Thanks," he whispers and for a long time we 
only look at one another, the looks interrupted 
by soft kisses and loving smiles. It's so good to 
have him back and where we are now ...
	I rub my cheek over his chest and his scent 
slowly fills my nose and spreads itself in 
luxurious waves all through my body. I lazily 
raise my eyes to look at the alarm clock. 8.24 
a.m. At first this information doesn't mean much 
to me but then I suddenly realise that I should 
be on my way to work in half an hour. Oh no ...
	"Mulder," I say softly, raising up a little 
and looking at him. He's closed his eyes, but 
opens them to meet my look. "I have to go to 
work," I say and he smiles a little.
	"That's right," he replies. "What a pity."
	"Mm-mm."
	"Suppose you can't stay at home?"
	I shake my head. "Wish I could. It's kind of 
urgent that I go though," I say and I wish I were 
lying. I kiss him briefly, but Mulder seems to 
have far better ideas, cupping the base of my 
skull in his hand and kissing me long and 
sensually, effectively reducing my insides to 
goo. And when we part he smiles up at me, his 
look so sweet and loving it very nearly makes 
tears spill from my eyes. But I don't want to cry 
when I'm here with him. It undoubtedly wasn't the 
smartest thing to do to fall in love with this 
difficult and complicated man, and he's most 
definitely the kind of man my parents didn't want 
me to date when I was in highschool or college, 
but he's made such a profound impact on my life 
that I cannot but forgive myself for taking this 
risk ...
	He sighs and smiles. "Come on, it's time for 
you to go," he says softly and I nod. We get up 
and after putting on our robes we walk to the 
kitchen. It goes automatically when I take two 
plates from the cupboard and begin making 
breakfast for the two of us. Halfway through 
slathering butter on the toast it suddenly dawns 
on me that he's no longer dependable on me for 
all this. I hand him the knife and he smiles in 
surprise. He hops off the stool and proceeds to 
make his own toast, smiling widely.
	"Do you know how much I've been looking 
forward to doing this again?" he says and takes a 
bite from the toast. I give him a quick kiss on 
the cheek and walk to the bathroom. He's making 
it very tempting just to forget about work and 
stay at home, but duty calls and I have to hurry. 
I promise myself to take tomorrow off to make up 
for today.
	"Make sure you enjoy it to the max then," I 
smile just before I step into the bathroom and he 
nods with his mouth full.
	"Defi'ly," he mumbles and I grin.
	Five minutes later I leave the bathroom and 
see Mulder lying on the couch. He's still wearing 
nothing but the robe and he could do with a shave 
too. Dear God, give me the self-control to ... 
Think other things, Dana, only ten minutes before 
you have to go to work, there is no time to go on 
a field trip and investigate all the places of 
interest on Fox Mulder's body ...
	I take a deep cleansing breath and the 
heatwaves lose some of their aggressiveness. I 
walk up to him and give him another peck on the 
cheek. "I'm going to dress now," I whisper and he 
looks up at me. Sweet Jesus, please wipe that 
maddening leer off his face, I cannot bear this 
much torture, I'm only human ... "I'll be right 
back."
	He reaches out to grab my hand and I have to 
forcefully keep that limb to my side. He'd draw 
me onto the couch and into his arms if I'd fail 
to keep my hand within reach and then it would be 
no work for me today. Mmm, what a tempting idea ...
	"In four hours, Mulder," I whisper sensually 
and he sighs. I smile in reaction and playfully 
ruffle his short hair. It still has a few crispy 
hairs among the healthy strands, reminding us 
time and again of the close call we had. Five 
more minutes in that furnace which used to be the 
Melchior Chemical Plant and all I'd have as a 
memento of the man I love so very much would be a 
cold grave to visit.
	I dress quickly and when I leave the bedroom 
Mulder approaches me. "When will you be home?" he 
asks, taking me in his arms.
	"About half past one, I guess," I reply, 
weaving my hand in the soft hairs at the base of 
his skull. "Why? You got something up your 
sleeve?"
	"I might," he whispers into my ear and his 
breath is far too hot to be healthy on my nerves. 
I need to be on my way, but I decide it probably 
wouldn't hurt to indulge myself in one last kiss. 
I gently touch my mouth to his and feel how he 
teasingly trails the tip of his tongue over my 
lips. I know I really shouldn't do this but I 
open my mouth to let his tongue in anyway. Well, 
you would, too, if you were the one kissing him. 
Trust me.
	"You should be going," he says against my 
lips and I moan. Mulder, you are so cruel! 
Reluctantly I let him go and he smiles at me.
	"This'll certainly turn into a rush job," I 
say and that earns me a leering grin.
	"Please, be gentle," he whispers and 
snickers when I push him away. I think a letter 
would be in order by now, a letter to whatever 
deity made him return to me with his leering 
attitude quadrupled. He's always known how to 
push my buttons, but with the restoration of his 
eyesight he's also received his teasing 
sensuality back eight-fold. In short, he's become 
too irresistible for my own good.
	I brush my lips over his. "You know me ..." 
I whisper in return and he moans. "Get dressed 
and make sure that whatever it is you've got in 
store for me is ready to go when I come home. I 
don't think I'll be able to wait ..."
	And with these words I let go of him.

XxXxX

	Of course Mulder's plan was a hit to end all 
hits. Remember I talked about my plan to make him 
pay for his leers and shameless innuendoes? The 
one with the bath and the bed etcetera? Turns out 
Mulder's actually psychic, for when I come home 
that afternoon I'm greeted by a Mulder in a robe 
and black silk boxers -- please have mercy with 
my poor heart -- and the apartment is lit by 
innumerable candles in all sizes and colours. 
I've always loved the soft light of candles and 
here we have hundreds of them, bathing the rooms 
in a very sensual warm light. The place smells of 
wine, cinnamon and, yes, a bit of lemon. Thought 
I smelled that. Whatever remnants of the 
formaldehyde there still were anywhere on me, 
they now lie in a useless little heap on my 
doorstep. *This*, ladies and gentlemen, is 
decadence ... And the best is still to come, I 
know.
	He's slouched on the couch and his brown 
hair is mussed in a gorgeous way and I feel my 
insides tingle and soften with desire. I always 
make him dress in the morning, I don't want him 
to stay in his night-clothes all day, but right 
now I know I'd never be able to protest. Not when 
he's looking as desirable as this ...
	He opens his eyes when I take off my coat 
and he smiles.
	"You tired, Mulder?" I smile and he raises 
an eyebrow. Then he gets up from the couch. 
"You'd better not be, otherwise I won't have 
anything to achieve today ..."
	He reaches me and slips his hands under my 
suit jacket. The candlelight makes his skin glow 
and his eyes flicker dangerously.
	"Don't worry, Scully, I wouldn't dare 
spoiling your fun," he whispers. "Oh, and may I 
remind you of the dress code in here? It's very 
strict."
	I let the jacket slip from my shoulders and 
down my arms. "Well, gotta do something about 
that then. Help me, will you, please?"
	I hook my fingers under the waistband of his 
boxers and feel how the muscles in his abdomen 
quiver as I brush my hands over them and 
something in his eyes melts. His fingers have 
been busy opening the tiny buttons of my blouse, 
but now one of his hands comes up to cup my chin 
and draw me in. And then he kisses me. It ups the 
need in me with a factor n. I tangle my hands in 
his hair, holdinghim close to me and I feel his 
desire pressing hard into my belly.
	I quickly dispose of my blouse and skirt and 
then I stand before him, clad in nothing but a 
bra, matching panties, thigh-highs and high 
heels. I see his Adam's Apple bob as he swallows 
hard and I smile. I bought this set of lingerie 
about two months ago, when we first heard about 
the transplant and maybe I bought this way-too-
expensive set because deep in my heart I always 
knew one day he'd get to actually see it. Oh 
well, and purple lace has always managed to drive 
him out of his mind.
	He opens his mouth to say something, but 
then he just laughs. "You did that on purpose!" 
he says with a big lusty grin and I nod, smiling 
just as widely.
	"You like it?" I ask and he snorts in 
indignation.
	"Does Cancerman smoke?" he deadpans and I 
giggle. I kick off the shoes and then I let my 
eyes sweep over him.
	"But now it's you who's overdressed," I 
smile and he grins. He begins to untie the belt 
of the gown but I stop him. "Let me," I whisper 
and he nods. And with our lips touching I undo 
the knot and let front of the garment fall open. 
I press my body flush with his and he lets out a 
groan.
	"Mmmm, this is good," he whispers hoarsely.
	I nod. "Yes, it is."
	We kiss for another minute or so before he 
lifts his head away from me just a little bit and 
then he smiles. His eyes are pools of molten 
lava, but his smile is so very tender and sweet.
	"Come," he says, "there's more to come."
	"Mmm, I think I like what I've got here," I 
say. I look up into his eyes and smile wickedly. 
"You don't mean to tell me this ain't the best, 
do you?"
	He chuckles. "Trust me," he smiles, taking 
my hand and leading me to my bathroom from where 
I can smell the fresh scent of lemons. How did he 
guess that this was my favourite bathgel? Tell me 
the man is a clairvoyant and I wouldn't be 
arguing about it. I'd believe you straightaway. 
He leads me into the room where even more candles 
are burning. It's so good to be the one who's 
being led instead of being the leader.
	Apparently Mulder has noticed this as well 
for when we've reached my old clawfoot tub he 
makes me face him. He is very serious now.
	"I thought a form of thank-you would be in 
order," he says and cups my face in his hands. 
He's not smiling now, his expression is heart-
breakingly tender and serious. "I know how much 
you like taking baths and I know that on the 
countless stays in those fleabags I always picked 
out for us you so often had to miss this and ..." 
He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts it 
seems. " ... let me do this for you now."
	I smile and nod. Did I ever stop to tell you 
that I love this man? "Please," I say.
	He smiles and gives me a wink. Suppose that 
means his battered ego has lost a few of its 
countless dents. Viva self-esteem. "You won't 
regret this," he says softly, unfastening my bra.
	I let my fingertips whisper over his chest. 
"I'm counting on that ..."

XxXxX

	Mulder thinks I'm asleep, I'm sure of it.
	We're in bed and I'm nestled comfortably 
against his warm body. I feel so relaxed, warm 
and pliable. I usually do after sex, but this 
time it's even better. Life is pretty good, I 
must say.
	His fingers play with my hair in ways I know 
he'd never let me feel if he knew I was still 
awake. So soft, so tender. Mulder is not afraid 
of showing these feelings, but it's still 
different.
	"So very beautiful ..." I hear him mutter 
and my heart softens considerably. Then he sighs. 
I feel his lips on my hairline, not quite kissing 
me, but it's a wonderful feeling just the same. 
He gathers me to him and I bury my face in the 
curve of his throat, my senses fully overwhelmed 
by him, my eyes on the single last burning candle 
in the whole of this apartment. We extinguished 
all the candles except for the one on the 
coffeetable, knowing that candle was about the 
safest one to let burning. Okay, so it isn't a 
very smart idea to have a candle burning while 
you sleep, but I've done worse things in my life ...
	I wait until he's asleep before I turn and 
look at him. His face is relaxed and calm and he 
really is beautiful, no matter what he thinks 
himself.
	We still have to decide what to do now that 
he can see again. He's not a man who could be at 
home all day, it drove him up the wall even when 
he was blind and it's bound to become even worse 
now. I talked with Skinner and with Fitzgerald 
and Abraham and we agreed that it might be an 
option if he were to return to the X-Files again, 
become a part of a three-man team. After all he's 
undeniably the most experienced person available 
for the job. I haven't talked with him about this 
yet, I need to be sure first.
	I luxuriate in the opportunity to watch him 
sleep and I feel my heart grow bigger and softer 
with the love he can bring out in me. Who 
would've thought this was going to happen when I 
first knocked on the door to the most notorious 
office in the building, way back in 1992? It 
wasn't what I planned for and perhaps, just 
perhaps, I would have turned the offer down when 
they told me I could become a Field Agent, 
Special Agent Fox Mulder's partner if I'd known 
beforehand. Maybe I would have. But then again I 
cannot be sure anymore.
	I kiss his cheek and then sigh a little, 
moulding myself to his body. And I make him a 
promise that I'll do everything in my power to 
give him back what he has missed over the past 
months and what he so truly needs.


The End


Kirsten Kerkhof (c) 
The Netherlands, 16-12-1999