"Under the Milky Way" by The Church, from Under the Milky Way: Best of The Church

A woman's hand touches the branches of a tree tenderly, admiring the bright new leaves, only now making their appearance. Spring is late this year, and the city struggles in the clutches of winter unsuccessfully, unable to proceed with the normal rhythm of its life.

A small smile appears on Scully's lips, and dies just as quickly – like a lantern left without oil. The frost of winter may be unseen, but she finds its damaging evidence everywhere she goes – in the distant face of Samantha, in the wrinkles appearing around her partner's eyes, in the silences that reign between them.

She knows that he hadn't visited the hospital in several days. She knows his reasons, and she wishes that he didn't feel the need to lie to her. Every day he still puts on his coat and goes out the door, ostensibly to see his sister. She wonders where he spends his time instead. Does he wander the city streets? Does he sit in a small diner down the block, drinking one coffee cup after another?

"Hello, stranger."

Scully starts at the familiar voice, at once dangerous and welcome at the moment. "Mulder. Were you following me?"

"Not really," he shrugs guiltily, then admits: "Only for the last few minutes."

She takes pity on him. "Want to walk home with me?"

Wordlessly, he falls into step beside her, taming his long strides to accommodate her small feet. Twilight covers the city with a smoky blanket of flickering streetlights and pale stars.

"Were you visiting Sam?"

Scully nods, surprised at his straightforwardness.

"How is she?"

He can't face her while asking the question, as if afraid of betraying what his voice so carefully conceals.

Samantha looks healthier – the angles of her shoulder blades are no longer so protuberant, and her eyes are no longer the most prominent feature of her pale face. She listens attentively to the books that Scully brings. She still spends most of her time looking out the window, but Scully isn't entirely certain that the outside world is what she sees. Whatever distance had been conquered by Samantha's return to the everyday world, and then by her transfer from State Psychiatric Institute of New York to Fairfax hospital in D.C., it couldn't bring her closer to her own family.

"I think she misses you."

His throat moves convulsively, and she regrets the somewhat accusatory tone of her answer. "I'm sorry, Mulder, I didn't..."

The sound of the screeching tires and the protesting moan of the asphalt are unnaturally loud in the quiet suburban street. The red sports car is careening dangerously out of control, finally ending its spin in the opposite lane of traffic, where another car plunges into it headfirst. White bulbs of airbags pop out of all windows, and Scully watches for a moment in stupefied fascination, surveying the magnitude of the damage.

Then, she runs toward the ruined vehicles, forgetting the conversation that seemed of utmost importance just seconds ago. A passenger stumbles out of the undamaged doors, trembling visibly, and she leaves him to his own devices, more concerned with the lack of movement on the driver side of the red car. As the door clicks open easily, Scully finds herself supporting the bloodied head of a young woman, her pupils dilated in shock and pain. Right temple is shattered, and the trained eye of a forensic pathologist recognizes the entrance of the bullet released by a .45 – the real culprit of the accident.

She glances back, expecting to find Mulder right behind her, or tending to the second driver – or dialing nine one one on his cell.

Instead, all that she sees are the faces of spectators – some greedy, some concerned. The city is empty without him.

Twilight hides the rapidly receding shadows across the street.

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