Disclaimer: The following characters are owned by Chris Carter, Vince Gilligan, 1013 Productions and Fox. Infringement is not intended. I only want to honor the brilliance of Chris and Vince and add my own little tale to "The X-Files" universe for those interested in reading something Mr. Messer-of-Heads Carter would probably never give us on the screen (but Vince might :).

     Dedications: To my big sister, Julz who helped polished the rough edges and make the read a smoother one despite wanting to write her own "La Femme Nikita" story and leave Mulder and Scully to Chris Carter. Also, to Carrie, my Ronin-Beta Reader, whose advice helped improve this story immensely.

     Note: I have heard rumors of a sequel of sorts to the 3rd season Episode "Pusher," and this is my hopeless romantic, overactive shipper take on a possible scenario (a few scenes at least.) I tried to make the characters as believable as possible and as within character as possible. I do think this could conceivably happen on the show (with some judicious editing here and there,) it's just not very likely.

     Another Note: This was previously placed in the Gossamer archive under "Pusher's Fantasy." It has been revised, along with the title change.

     Archive: Anywhere you want as long as I get credit :)

     Comments? Questions? Love Notes? Flames of 6th Degree Burns? Insane Musings on Cancer Man? Send 'em here - arabian@ite.net

     The telephone was ringing when Scully walked into her apartment. She hurriedly flicked on the light switch by the front door and rushing over to the couch, she flung her heavy overcoat on its back and grabbed the phone. Unbuttoning her jacket, she sighed heavily into the mouthpiece as she brought it to her lips, having a good idea of who was on the other end.

     "Hello," she said in a quiet murmur. The "Mulder" was unspoken, but it was there.

     "Modell's free," he stated blankly with no emotion.

     "What?"

     "Robert Patrick Modell. Our friend, Pusher, he's gone from the hospital. No one even remembers how he left." A note of bitterness crept into his voice. Bitterness and self-guilt.

     "How? The last time we saw him he was on a respir --"

     "I know," Mulder interrupted. "I know. The miracle of modern science."

     Scully opened her mouth to speak and then she paused. Mulder waited.

     "What are you going to do?" she finally said.

     It was his turn for silence. He held the phone away from his mouth.

     "Mulder?" He closed his eyes briefly and then answered her.

     "Nothing." An audible sigh of relief escaped from Scully's end. "I can't," he continued. "I can't let myself near that man again." He paused, his voice lowering. "I almost shot you." He paused once more, his mind freeze-framing on Scully standing before him, her eyes wide in shock, in fear, one lone tear streaming down her face. I almost killed you, he thought with an ache that had yet to disappear whenever he thought of Modell, of that day in the hospital. I almost killed you, he repeated in his mind, a litany of self- flagellation.

     Scully was silent for a moment. "He almost killed you as well." Mulder ran a hand through his hair, wryly wondering for the thousandth time if that would have been such a bad outcome. He shook his head, he could feel her tension and worry over the phone. "I know and that's why I won't go near him again. I won't underestimate him again."

     She breathed one word. "Good."

     Almost as soon as Mulder hung the phone up after talking to Scully, it rang again.

     "Mulder," he answered.

     "Is this Fox Mulder I'm speaking to?" A silky voice murmured in his ear. Mulder paused, all instincts screaming at him to hang up the phone, but he didn't. "Modell," he whispered harshly.

     "You remember me, Mulder. My friend, I'm touched. Ah, ah, ah, don't hang up."

     Mulder's grip tightened on the phone and his mouth became a grim line. "What do you want?"

     Modell's laugh carried over the phone line. "I just want a little visit between old friends. You get in your car and drive to 1013 St. Vincent Lane, Marty's Motel, room 56. Come now."

     Mulder nodded his head without speaking, and reached for his leather jacket slung across the couch. He started to put the phone down, but Modell's voice stopped him.

     "Oh, Mulder?" Mulder quickly brought the phone back to his ear. "Yes." The word was ripped from his clenched teeth.

     "I have a surprise for you." The phone line went dead.

     Mulder stood gripping the receiver. His eyes were closed, his body still and with every ounce of strength he possessed he tried to fight the urge to pick up his keys. He could not. With a barely suppressed expletive, he grabbed them with one hand and threw his jacket over his shoulder and strode out of his apartment.

     Modell sagged upon the bed of the motel room and wiped a slight sheen of sweat off of his forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. When he opened them, a light danced within their depths, a smile playing along his lips. He lay back upon the bed, his head falling upon the pillows. One more phone call, he thought, but first, a little nap.

     He closed his eyes.

     Five minutes later, the alarm on his watch beeped, awakening him from his slumber. He stretched and pulled himself up into a sitting position, reaching for a can of the Kiwi Tropical Swirl Carbo-Boost resting next to the phone on the small table. He took a healthy swig and then another. Setting the can back down, he rubbed his hands together.

     "And now," he smiled widely. "Now, the lovely Agent Scully."

     He reached for the phone.

     Scully knocked on room 56 of Marty's Motel, silently she wondered for the thousandth time why she was here, why she hadn't called Mulder or the police. *Why? Why? Why?* She silently berated herself.

     The door swung open. Mulder stood there, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. His eyes widened when he saw her, a look of horror crossing his features. She shook her head.

     "Mulder, no," she whispered softly, reaching out to grab his arm and pull him out of there before Modell did whatever he was planning to do.

     "Mulder, bring her inside," Modell's voice called from inside the room.

     "No," Mulder cried even as he reached for her. He let go of her once inside and stood in the center of the room. Scully stared at him, at a loss for words.

     "Ah, Agent Scully, would you shut the door, please?" Modell asked politely, with a sweet smile. Scully glared at him, but as her gaze transferred back to Mulder, her expression changed to one of anguish.

     She walked over and shut the door as Modell began to speak to Mulder.

     "At first I thought I would just play the same game we both so enjoyed last time before your 'lovely' partner interrupted our fun." Modell smiled at Scully. She pressed herself against the door, her gaze fixed on Mulder, her mind racing. Mulder stared at Modell, hatred glittering in his eyes. Modell turned his attention back to Mulder and his smile grew as he feasted upon that hate. He continued, obvious satisfaction coursing through his voice.

     "Then I decided we should do something different. So as I lay on that cold hospital bed I thought and I thought," his smile widened, his eyes alight like a small child's. "And then it hit me." He transferred his gaze once more to Scully, his eyes roving over her body. Mulder's fists clenched and he took a step closer towards the bed. Modell jerked suddenly, his eyes once more on his favorite nemesis.

     "No, no Mulder. You don't get me this time." He paused, that smile so full of mirth and devious joy spreading across his face again. "You get," he looked at Scully once more, "her."

     Confusion crossed across Mulder's face, he turned halfway, looking at his partner. Scully began to shake her head. "Mulder, no. You are strong--"

     "Quiet! Agent Scully, I want you to keep quiet."

     "Be quiet, Scully." Mulder murmured almost absently. Scully looked at him and although she kept silent, her eyes spoke volumes. Mulder turned more fully toward her and took a step forward.

     "That's right, Mulder. That's right." Modell's voice lost it's hint of malevolent joy and malicious intent. Instead he spoke softly, a timber of emotion riding the words. "I can guess at what you think of at night, Mulder, when you're lying there in your apartment, all alone. The lights are out. And your eyes are closed. What do you think of, Mulder? Tell me if I'm right," his voice dropped even lower. "Then tell her."

     Mulder shook his head slowly, back and forth. "Scully." The word, her name was wrenched out of him in a whisper.

     "Go to her, Mulder." Scully stood transfixed, her eyes locked on Mulder as he walked towards her. His eyes were beseeching hers and his arms hung at his side, his fists clenching, unclenching. She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting, the tip of her tongue darting out, wetting her upper lip and Mulder let out a slight moan at the sight, his eyes closing briefly.

     "Muld --" her voice died.

     "Mulder." Modell spoke at the same time. "You lie there in the dark, thinking of her. Go to her, Mulder." Mulder took a few steps more until he was standing almost before her. He once again shook his head, a silent denial that had no power. "You think of touching her. Touch her, Mulder." Mulder reached out a hand, his fingers drifting across her face. Scully closed her eyes, Modell's words washing over her, through her; inciting her almost as much as Mulder.

     "What do you want? What do you want when you lie there at night, thinking of her . . . touching her . . . kissing her." Modell's voice was so low, the only sound in the deafening silence of the room.

     Mulder jerked his hand away from her face. "No." His eyes clenched tightly. "Modell." His voice was a low, murderous hum, but he could not deny the power of Modell's push and so he fell to his knees before Scully.

     "Touch. Touch. Touch her."

     His eyes still closed, Mulder reached out, leaning forward. He rested his face against her lower abdomen, pressing against the cool fabric of her blouse as another slight moan escaped from his throat. His hands found purchase against the side of her hips, curving around her. In the background of his mind, of the room, Modell's voice pushed incessantly . . . touch, touch, touch, touch. He felt as if he were in a dream state. Scully was before him, but she didn't seem real. Nothing did, not Modell's voice, not the softness of her blouse, the warmth of her body. This was a dream. Slowly, his hands rose, his fingers curling into the curve of her waist.

     Scully's hands pressed blindly against the hard door. Her head was bent and her eyes were closed. Slowly she opened them, her gaze falling upon Mulder's dark head. Her hands moved from the door and her fingers danced across his hair, sliding in between the silky strands. She raised her head and her eyes met Modell's. She stared at him, unable to speak, unable to do anything other than react to the feel and the touch of Mulder's hands upon her. She wanted to look away from Modell, deny him entrance into this moment, but it was *his* moment, his fantasy. She and Mulder were just pawns in his sick game.

     Modell smiled sweetly at her, perhaps reading her mind, perhaps only guessing at her thoughts. She didn't know, and she didn't care. His voice -- that beautiful, melodious voice of his -- was the only power in the room.

     "Touch. Touch. Touch," he said and she could only shake her head slightly, her eyes closing once again.

     "Mulder." Modell's voice continued, need and lust and desire caressing every word, every syllable. "Tell her what you think. When you lie there in the dark, thinking of her. Tell her."

     Mulder slowly raised his head. He looked up, his fingers massaging the cream of her blouse, loosening it from the waistband of her pants. The cool, stale air of the room breathed upon her now bared flesh. His fingers caressed her.

     "Scully." He whispered. She opened her eyes, looking down at him, looking into his eyes. Her head shook back and forth, she tried to speak, but she couldn't.

     "Tell her. Mulder. Tell her. Tell her."

     Mulder struggled to fight against the irresistible pull of Modell's push. If he spoke, if he told her his secret longings, the Scully fantasies that occupied his mind on too far an occasion that he was willing to admit to, would she hate him? Would she pull away in disgust? If she did, what would Pusher do? Would he hurt her?

     And what would he would do if she pulled away? But I want -- he cried mentally as his mind fought itself. He was torn, trapped between Modell's insistence that he "tell her" and his own desire to do just that, once and for all, just tell her. But then there was the fear.

     There was the fear that if he did tell her, she would know that it was his truth and not Modell's. Would she leave him? Was his apprehension that Scully would walk out of his life stronger than Modell's push? He looked up at her face, into her eyes gazing into his own, her own fear of what Modell would do evident alongside a warming glow that he could only describe as a soft arousal. He gazed up at her, reading in those eyes any answer he would ever need and his thoughts for the moment were at peace. She wouldn't leave him. She would never hate him. And if she knew, she knew. They would deal with it together.

     "Tell her."

     He stared at her, his heart on his sleeve, his desire in his eyes and he gave up the fight.

     "You talk. About your science. And your theories. You use your big words and your hypotheses. You walk towards me. Scully. You unbutton your blouse. Slowly. One by one."

     "Tell her. Tell her." Modell insinuated himself between them, with his voice, with his presence, joining them.

     Scully felt her heart race, her breathing becoming erratic. Her fingers began to pull more insistently within the strands of his hair as small sighs began to escape from her throat. Slowly, Mulder rose, his hands, his fingers skimming along her body as he rose . . . as he spoke. Her hands slipped from his head, running across his shoulders, his back.

     "You lean over me, your body brushing against mine as I lay there . . ."

     "In the dark. In the dark . . ." Modell's voice kept time with the emotions raging throughout the room.

     "In the dark," Mulder's words continued at Modell's urging. "Then you pull your blouse off." His hands danced along the side of her breasts, his fingers sliding around their shape, the tip of one finger upon her tightened nipple. A sharp moan leapt from her parted lips and she pushed her hips against his. Her hands pressed into the muscles in his back, savoring the feel of him beneath her fingers. She opened her eyes, resting her gaze once more upon his hair as she ran her hand along the curve of the nape of his neck, entwining her fingers again in his dark strands.

     Mulder bent his head. "I kiss you." His lips nudged the lace of her blouse away from her collarbone. His tongue slid out, lightly dancing across her flesh and his mouth was pursed, running along the protrusion. Heat and moistness trailed in the wake of his kisses. She arched her neck. His hands grasped her arms, sliding up and down as his lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, riding the upward slope of her neck.

     He raised his head and their eyes met and their lips parted.

     "Scully."

     "Mulder."

     His arms slid around her back, pulling her away from the cool hardness of the door, pulling her into the warm hardness of him. Slowly he slid to the floor, her body molding against his. Their eyes remained locked upon one another and their rapid breathing was the only sound in the room.

     He knelt before her, her legs wrapping around him. Pressing her once more against the door, he lowered his head. Her eyes closed and her lips parted. His mouth captured the soft pillow of her upper lip, sucking gently and then his tongue slid in between her mouth, sliding along her bottom lip, tasting her. His hands swam up her back, diving into the tousled strands of her burnished red hair. Softly, slowly they pulled away.

     Her eyes opened slowly and once more they were lost in each other's gaze.

     "Kiss her. Kiss him. Kiss her. Kiss him." Modell's voice drifted between them, weaving a spell neither one could break, pushing them over the precipice. In one moment, the hesitation, the softness was gone, banished.

     Their lips collided, their mouths molding together. Their hands pulled and pushed, running wildly over one another as their breath became one and their bodies moved in tandem, developing a rhythm. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, her hips pushing against him.

     He pulled away slightly and she moaned softly, before his hands cupped her face and then his lips descended upon hers once more. Raining whisper-soft kisses upon her mouth, his tongue flicked out, dancing with hers. Her fingers lost themselves in the dark strands of his hair as she pushed herself closer and closer yet against him, trying to become one with him. Her fingers fell away from their tousling and her arms locked themselves about his neck.

     Modell's voice, soft, insistent continued uninterrupted. "Kiss her. Kiss him. Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her." And then the words changed, the rhythm remained the same, the cadence rising and falling with their mounting passion, but the words changed, replacing passion with violence. "Kill her. Kill her. Kill her." Mulder's hands moved from Scully's face towards her throat. His fingers began to tighten.

     "No, not like that Mulder. Stop." Modell whispered as he pulled a gun from inside his jacket, looking at it almost lovingly.

     Mulder's fingers loosened, relaxing their grip. Modell bent down wearily, consumed by his effort and placed the gun upon the worn carpet. He looked at the entwined couple pressed against each other so intimately against the hard door and smiled. Modell looked back down at the gun and then kicked it across the room. It landed just inches away from the two.

     "Mulder. Mulder." He called softly. "I'm going to ask you do to something for me. On the floor, right next to you, on your right, is a gun. I want you to pick it up, Mulder."

     Mulder pulled away from Scully. Her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and then back.

     "Mulder," she whispered breathlessly. He reached out one hand to the right of him and his fingers found the shape of the gun. He picked it up.

     "That's good, Mulder. Very good. Now, I want you to press the gun against the side of her head, Mulder."

     Mulder raised the gun, pressing it softly against the side of Scully's head. Scully felt the cool hardness and jerked away from him, banging her head upon the door. She turned away slightly, her eyes turned to the right. She saw the gun, hovering in the air next to her.

     Mulder's finger was on the trigger.

     "Mulder." She cried softly. "Mulder, put the gun down."

     "Mulder." Modell called out. "Put the gun next to her head again." Mulder put the gun next to her head. A single tear lay in the corner of his eye.

     "Scully." He whimpered. "I can't. I can't stop him."

     "That's right, Mulder. You can't stop me. I want you to pull --"

     "NO!" Scully tried to break free, but Mulder had a tight grip around her waist. "Mulder." Tears ran down her face and she cupped his face in her hands. All the while, Modell watching silently, a small smile playing about his lips. There were no fire alarms within reach. Mulder was his. He would allow Scully her attempt. It would be useless.

     "Mulder." She cocked her head to one side. "You don't have to do this. Please. Mulder." Her voice broke, but she did not look away. She kept her eyes glued to his. She took a deep breath. "Mulder, put the gun down. You are stronger than him. You can do --"

     "Mulder." Modell's voice cajoled.

     "Shut up!" Scully barked. "Mulder." His eyes pleaded with her. Help me, do something. His hand shook with the effort of keeping the gun steady, keeping the trigger from being pulled.

     He cried out desperately, "I can't --"

     And then Scully leaned forward and captured his lips with her own. She kissed him with all of the passion and all of the love and all of the feeling she had within her. Mulder pressed her against the wall, returning the kiss, a shock wave running through him. Her skin felt real against him, her lips soft, the scent of her, the feel of her: real. He was no longer in a dream. Everything felt real, was real.

     "Mulder?" Modell's voice sounded as if from a distance, but there was no power within it. All that Mulder could hear, all that mattered was the ringing in his head, the blood rushing through his veins, the pressure of her lips against his, the soft rustling of her clothes. The gun felt hard and cold in his hand, the opposite of the soft and warm woman in his arms. Scully.

     Mulder broke away. Scully's mouth worked as she tried to say his name. He shook his head slightly, his eyes clear and a rush of relief danced across her face. In one fluid movement, Mulder pushed away from her, his grip tightening on the gun. He turned around, facing Robert Patrick Modell.

     Modell's eyes widened in surprise and in fear. "NOOOO!," he shouted. Mulder's finger pressed against the trigger and Pusher went flying backwards, the bullet landing with precision through the center of his forehead.

     Mulder didn't move, he stay kneeling on the carpet facing the bed as the echo of the gun shot faded in the air. Scully remained pressed against the door staring at the back of him. She relaxed slightly against the hard wood and shut her eyes in a silent prayer. Opening her eyes, she looked past her partner and towards the sprawled body of Modell.

     Getting to her feet, she walked past Mulder and headed to the bed. She reached out, feeling for a pulse at his wrist, but there was none. She looked over at Mulder, who remained unmoving. Turning back to Modell, she felt the side of his neck. Nothing. She turned to Mulder, still as a statue.

     "He's dead."

     At those words, Mulder seemed to collapse before her eyes. His knees buckled beneath him and his arms fell limply at his side; the gun thudding against the worn carpet.

     Mulder sat alone in the darkened interior of his apartment. He sat upon his well-worn couch, wearing jeans and a gray tee-shirt, sitting in the same spot he'd been in for the last half hour, trying not to think. It was difficult.

     There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. Silence followed. The knock came again and he shut his eyes briefly, knowing it was Scully.

     She spoke.

     "Mulder?" Her voice called through the door and he ignored her. She knocked again. And again. "Mulder?" She called once more. He leaned back against the couch, waiting for the inevitable jingle of keys, the turning of the lock. It came.

     Scully stepped into the darkness of his apartment and called out his name again. Shutting the door behind her, she rested against it for a moment. He didn't turn in her direction or even move at all, but he knew that she had seen him by the sudden stillness of her body. Her body, he mentally groaned, remembering the feel of that body in his hands, against his body, under his lips.

     "Mulder." It was a statement this time. He did not respond, hoping beyond hope that she would turn around and walk back out. He was not ready for this. He couldn't believe that she was. Yet, here she was and he knew her, knew that now that she was here she wouldn't leave until they had spoken.

     He was right. She ignored his silence and walked across the small space between the door and couch. Kneeling before him, she rested one hand upon his knee. "Mulder," she said a fourth time and this one was the charm. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, smiling lop-sidedly.

     "Hi."

     "Hi." She smiled back. He shook his head, leaning back against the couch and sighed. "Scully, I don't know what to say." He laughed lightly without humor. "

     Mulder, it wasn't your fault."

     Mulder leaned down quickly, looking her in the eyes. "I came this close to killing you. Again. Because of that man." He looked away.

     "Mulder, you resisted him long enough. You resisted him far longer than any of his victims. I'm here. I'm fine. So are you. We are both alive and he is dead. He won't ever harm me or anyone else ever again."

     She reached up a hand and lightly brushed his jaw, bringing his eyes back to hers.

     "You did nothing wrong. It was Modell." She paused and looked down. She swallowed deeply and lightly licked her lips. She looked back up at him. "It was all Modell."

     Mulder met her gaze, hearing her unspoken words loud and clear. He shook his head. "No, it wasn't. Scully, I have thought of you . . . like that. I have."

     She looked away again, sighing heavily. She wasn't ready for this. She'd just come to clear the air a little, not deal with this *thing* between them. And despite his words, she knew neither was he. Perhaps a little humor would ease things and dissuade him from his train of serious thought. Once again she turned her gaze back to him, a small smile curving her lips. "I'm flattered."

     "Scully," he ran a hand through his hair, then over his mouth. "I'm serious. I don't mean that -- it doesn't mean that I don't respect you or that I respect you any less than I always have. I honor you, I --" He broke off again. She continued to look at him calmly, her apprehension kept inside. He gave a little smile.

     "Did you ever see that movie where Meg Ryan had an orgasm in a restaurant?"

     "When Harry Met Sally . . . Yes."

     "Well, you know in the beginning when Billy what's-his-name says that men and women can't be friends because the man is always thinking of having sex with the woman?"

     Scully nodded.

     "Well, he's right." Mulder continued. "I don't mean that men and women can't be friends. Of course they can, but there are always sexual thoughts. It's a guy thing. And," he paused. He reached out a hand and lightly brushed a finger across her cheek, pushing a strand of red back behind her ear. "I'm a guy."

     Scully looked down and then rose to her feet. Mulder's hand fell away. She sat down next to him sideways so that she was facing him. If she didn't turn the conversation now, things might get difficult. Damnit Mulder, she thought, we're not ready to deal with this.

     "If it makes you feel any better, I've had an illicit fantasy or two about you."

     "Really?" Mulder's eyes widened, a light, yet sincere, smile spreading across his face and she suppressed a sigh of relief.

     "Really." Scully returned his smile, "and I always respected you in the morning. Mulder, it's natural. As closely as we've worked together for the last four years, it would be unnatural if we hadn't. It doesn't mean that we aren't friends. It doesn't change what's between us. Besides, today it wasn't real. It was a fantasy. And not even ours. It was his fantasy."

     "Scully, "he began, argument in his voice. She cut him off, "Mulder, it wasn't us. It was Modell, pushing us into a sick fantasy of his. We were just participants in his game. His game. His fantasy. Not ours."

     Mulder nodded. "It didn't really feel real. It was like I was in a dream," he paused and looked away from her. "Well, most of it. Was it like that for you?"

     "Yes, it was just like a dream. A gossamer fantasy that had no tangible reality. And, Mulder, we don't have to let it bother us unless we want to." She paused and captured his gaze. "Do you want to?"

     He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it and shook his head. He offered her another lop-sided smile and stood up, holding out his hand to her. Scully accepted and he pulled her to her feet.

     She nodded and stepped back quickly, releasing his hand. "We're fine?" She asked hesitantly.

     "Yeah, we're fine," he responded softly. She looked at him for a moment longer, hearing the dissatisfaction in his voice, but she knew how real the possibility was that if he said what was on his mind, things between them would be different. She gave him a weak smile and walked to the door.

     His "Scully?" stopped her and she wanted to cry suddenly. She wasn't ready for this, she just wasn't. She stood still for a moment before finally turning to him.

     "What?" She gazed at him expectantly.

     He stood at the end of the hallway, his fingers dancing patterns on the side of the doorjamb. His smile was gone and he seemed unable to meet her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, a note in it revealing his apprehension. She took a deep breath and a step closer towards him, preparing to meet this head-on. If he wanted to deal with it, they would deal with it, then.

     "When I had the gun," he paused and briefly, guiltily met her eyes, "on you. Why," he paused once more, and in a rush "why did you kiss me?" Then he looked at her full-on.

     She could side-step this question. It would be easy and then she could leave and things would be as they were. For a timeless second she wondered what the consequences would be if she did not skirt the issue but instead answered him honestly and without obfuscation. Scully shook her head and closed her eyes briefly. Lord help her, she couldn't. "I was just trying to break the hold that Modell had on you."

     "Why a kiss? You could've slapped me or --" Why was he doing this? She knew him. She knew him, heart and soul and mind and she knew, without a doubt, that Fox Mulder was even less ready to face this than was she.

     Or was he? She would give him his chance.

     "-- Mulder?" she interrupted. "Does it matter?" She answered her own question. "No, it doesn't. But you know that, so tell me, what exactly do you want to ask me?" She stared unflinchingly into his bold stare, giving him an opportunity to say what he'd been thinking since she'd kissed him, but she knew him, she knew that he would not take it. He would back away.

     And he did just that, looking down, breaking eye contact. He ran a hand through his hair once more and turned away, walking back to the sofa. "Never mind." He sat down and buried his head in his hands, breathing deeply.

     Scully walked through the hallway and stood silently, looking at him. She couldn't blame him for not coming to the heart of the matter. The heart, she thought with a self-ironic laugh. That's what his question was about. He just couldn't come and ask her if she loved him, if that kiss was a signifier of her real feelings. All the talk of fantasies, light-hearted and teasing, had glossed over the fact that they each had revealed more to each other than the fact that they harbored sexual fantasies about one another.

     As their first meeting with Modell had proven to her that Mulder loved her and she him, this second (and last, her mind gratefully reminded her) had opened the door, just a crack, into just what kind of love they actually felt. This was no platonic love that they shared, although she had done a very good job until this point convincing herself of that. But in that motel room, with Mulder's eyes burning through her, his hands, his fingers, his mouth, his lips on her . . . she knew that "platonic" had nothing to do with their feelings.

     They loved each other, yes. But they were also in love and in lust with one another and that is precisely what he had wanted to broach in the hall. So she had cut straight through his lame question, but had asked her own in such a way to save their revelations for a later day. She had given him an out, half-hoping, almost certain that he would grab it.

     And he had done just that.

     Never mind.

     Still, if she went to him now, one word, one touch, one look . . . there would be no turning back. And as afraid as he was to face that, so was she. She allowed herself one more look at his bent head, praying for an earnest, yearning second that he would look up and meet her gaze, open the floodgates and release their desire.

     But he did not. His hands moved through his hair, uncovering his face, but he did not look up. She closed her eyes briefly. Never mind, she thought. She turned and once more walked down the short hallway, her heart, her mood much heavier than her first trip only moments before. Opening the door, she stepped outside.

     As she shut the door, a soft click spreading throughout the room, Mulder looked up, on the verge of rising to his feet and going after her. Telling her what he wanted to say, what she wanted to hear and perhaps hearing the words he longed for from her.

     But he did not.

     Instead, he just sat there and silently damned Robert Patrick Modell. And himself.