Part I: Walkabout
"In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part." -- Alexander Pope

A heavy air hung over Washington DC, muggy to the point of suffocating the few who were still walking along the city streets. Among them was a solitary figure dressed in a black trench coat, his head hanging down to stare at the broken concrete beneath his feet.

He had long lost track of where he was going, or where he had been. Sometime earlier his world had ceased turning. He watched the street beneath his feet to assure himself that it was indeed still there, not having crumbled away to leave him floating in an empty void. In his heart it felt that way, he was certain that reality would soon follow into a gaping abyss.

Darkness had settled onto the city and her inhabitants. Most were home, tucked away in the warmth and safety that enfolded them there. Home was something he wasn't sure he had ever known. He lived in apartment 42, that much was true. Still, it wasn't a home. Numerous cliches came to mind about what a home was supposed to be, but none held any meaning.

Lights flickered on above his head, and a scant number of cars sped past on the vacant streets. Tonight he sought to lose himself. Thinking had become his enemy. His near perfect photographic memory had become his greatest adversary. There was something to be said for being able to forget, he had to admit. If only he could figure out how.

Flashes of memory assaulted his senses. Mostly they were the same memories that he found himself facing every night. A lifetime after Samantha's abduction, years after Duane Barry had taken Scully away. Haunted visions persisted in plaguing him. That avenue of his life was no different than before.

Scully. Now there was a different story entirely. She had suffered so much loss as a result of her choice to help in his quest for the truth. For some time, his greatest fear had become that she would choose to leave him in his pursuit. Often he had been driven to near despair at the idea of his world without her strength. While he knew it unfair of him to cling to her so, he found himself unable to let her go.

When she left, it was with a piece of his heart. The part that still felt something other than pain and guilt, the last spark of hope that resided within him. The day she'd revealed her decision to leave she didn't give an explanation. In what remained of his soul he knew she didn't need to. For as much as he hated the pain that was to come, he couldn't bring himself to hate her for what he wished he could do himself. If distance would solve his problems, then he would gladly pay the price for airfare. Only he had been born into his personal hell.

Many nights he had found some solace in running aimlessly through the streets of Alexandria. This night he didn't bother going home, he merely walked. He'd once read a quote that said something along the lines of 'in every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.' At the time, he had failed to understand the words, they were trite and silly. With Scully, he understood. The words not only found a sudden meaning, but power as well.

Maybe, if he walked long enough and far enough he would find himself again. His own version of a walkabout. In his world, it felt like anything was possible.

When he realized that he could hear water lapping against a shore, he looked up to find himself standing near the edge of the Potomac. He recognized the park he had unconsciously found his way to. It held memories of his life with Scully so real that it was if he could reach out and touch them. It had been a time lost in shadows, but before darkness fell. When the world had conspired to tear them apart, they had fought the system to remain each a part of the other.

When he neared the bench that encompassed so many feelings and recollections, he was troubled to find it occupied. Paying the occupant little mind, he continued on his walkabout, following the path that ambled along the water. If he had turned, he might have seen lamplight reflecting on familiar red hair. He might have noticed the well-known blue eyes, glistening with tears.

Lost in his own world of confusion and emptiness, he failed to even glance at who might be sitting on his prized bench. How could he have known it was the very soul he might walk the entire earth to find again? So similar to ships passing in the night upon darkened seas, they continued along their individual paths. One unknowing of the opportunity he had been presented. The other too scared to take fate up on her offer.

Part II: The Photograph
"The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when he discovers that someone else believes in him and is willing to trust him." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lying in the dark, she stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was no different that many nights recently in her life. There were many times when she had even gone so far as to pick up the telephone and start to dial his number. Yet she couldn't. She felt he must hate her for what she herself viewed as the ultimate act of betrayal.

There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't feel some pang of regret for leaving him. Life had been spiraling downward for sometime before she'd final given in and tenured her resignation. The look on his face had managed to render her incapable of speech. Still, it was sink or swim time, and she sought to save herself.

Losing Missy had been hard. Having lost Emily had been nearly unbearable. In an effort to avoid losing anyone else, she had quit. In the aftermath, she didn't like the bitter feeling it left within her to know that she had given up. Maybe most of all, because losing Mulder had hurt so much. Years before, she had never dreamt that she would ever be able to tolerate his out-there behavior. How was she to have known that their lives would become interwoven inexplicably?

In the interim of time since she had left the X-Files, she had gone from being initially relieved, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, to increasingly homesick. While she'd always believed that home was where you felt safe and loved, she had grown to believe it was as much with whom you felt safe and loved. It wasn't necessarily a romantic love, something more.

Outside of her immediate family, there had never been anyone who had made her feel more trusted and loved than Fox Mulder. In retrospect, as much as his ditching her infuriated her, it was more an act of overprotection. While she didn't feel the need to be protected from the world by him, it was a touching thought to know he would go so far to keep her from harm. Even if it didn't always work. Toward the end of their partnership, she'd almost managed to break him of his tendency to ditch her when the waters became choppy. Almost.

She knew of the guilt that he carried within his oversized heart. She had never known someone so willing, almost hungry, to take blame. No matter if the fault was his own or another's, he sought to carry the burden. His compassion was an admirable trait, but it was also likely to be a key to what someday would be his undoing.

Giving up on the idea of sleep for the moment, she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. As she walked through the living room, her gaze fell across a photograph. It stuck out among the family photo's that were gathered there. It was of her and Mulder at the Lone Gunmen office. One of them had sent it to her after she had left as a reminder of what had been. While she had sought to break away from what had been her life before, she was uncertain why she framed the picture.

In her mind's eye, she remembered how he had looked earlier that night. She had came so close to speaking to him as he walked by. She wondered if he had felt drawn to that bench the same way she had. In the years since they had sought refuge at that ordinary bench, whenever life grew troublesome or she had grown weary it was the peace at that bench she had sought. Ever stoic Dana Scully found peace in the memories of comradeship amidst the chaos.

Taking the photo down from the shelf, she walked over to the window. From here she could see out across the city. Here and there, lights would flicker and cars would pass noiselessly by. Distractedly, she wondered what kinds of lives those people were living. She wondered if she might had known a normal life such as they did. And she cursed as she realized that it wouldn't have meant as much as the life she had shared with Mulder.

Some believed that each person had a soulmate somewhere in the world. She had never been one to be so gullible as to believe it herself, but if it were possible then without even realizing it, she and Mulder were. Rumors had long circulated among the gossip lines of the Hoover Building as to the true nature of the relationship between the basement duo. Disappointing as it might be to some, what she and Mulder shared had long since evolved beyond the limits of what passion might provide. It was as if each held a part of the other.

Once, while in a college, she had come across a passage that she had firmly believed to be true. 'The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when he discovers that someone else believes in him and is willing to trust him.' She could still quote it, and when she thought about it, it did describe the two of them. The foundations of their relationship had always been belief and trust.

Running her fingers along the oak frame of the picture, she silently admitted it was those qualities that she had crushed with her betrayal. A single tear splashed down onto the picture, obscuring Mulder's face. The photograph was a symbol of two things. The life she had known, and willingly given up; and the life she might have known if she'd seen it through. What she didn't know, was if she wanted that life back or not.

Clutching the photo, she reached for the telephone. Aware of the late hour, she placed the phone back down. Although he was probably awake, it was still best not to call. Not just yet, anyway she convinced herself. Walking back into her bedroom, she placed the photograph on her nightstand. As she climbed back into bed, she sighed. It could wait.

Part III: Sleep
"The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one person." -- Vi Putnam

Sitting on his couch, for once Mulder fought to stay awake. It was more common for him to not sleep than to sleep, but recently any sleep at all only brought nightmares. While they had plagued him all of his life, it had been in the time since Scully's departure that the frequency had become to great a burden to bear.

At one time, he would have called Scully about his nightmares, but not anymore. He had always seen himself as something of a drain on her during their partnership. He would call too often, and lean too hard. He never knew it was possible to need someone so much.

About three a.m., he decided to check his email. His inbox was cluttered with varying messages from online listservers. While he was skimming one of the messages, the signature file caught his attention. 'The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one person.' For a moment, he thought of how much he needed Scully. In his mind, he pictured her, sound asleep and happy with the new life she had started. He could only wish of being needed, by her or anyone else. Mired in the depths of self-pity, he had grown convinced that no one had need of him. Even Samantha had pushed him away.

Rubbing his eyes, he logged off of his email and shut down the computer. It was after four a.m. and he had to be at the office by nine, so he decided that he needed to at least try to get some sleep. However unlikely and however frightening.

By 6:30, Mulder was awake and getting dressed for work. He hadn't gotten much sleep, but at least the dreams were uncommonly generous by their absence. Facing the mirror, he almost couldn't see the darkened smudges that had become permanent features under his eyes. Almost. He did his best to not think about the empty office he was fixing to face, the same as every morning since she walked out. Instead he concentrated on the case he had chosen to work on. Work, he had decided, was what would see him through.

With that, he left his apartment and drove to work. Along the commute he noted that it was fortunate he had left early, because the traffic was slowed due to an accident. Tuning the radio to a rock station, he pounded the steering wheel along with the music. Almost an hour later, he finally reached the Hoover Building.

Part IV: Reunion
"Two are better than one. Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up." -- Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Walking through the Hoover building, she felt on edge and almost like a trespasser. It had been some time since she had moved along the familiar hallways of the FBI building. It was ten a.m. when she neared the office door that had once opened into her sanctuary, yet never bore her name. She recognized the familiar sound of her heels on the tile floor; somehow it always sounded different in that one hallway.

Getting a last minutes substitute at Quantico had been easy compared to the simple act of knocking on that door. For a moment, she just stood in the hallway wondering if he had heard her walking down the hall. Raising her hand up, she felt the wood connect with her knuckles. A couple of moments later, she was beginning to think he might be off on assignment. Still, intuition told her otherwise.

She turned the doorknob gingerly, as if it might explode or fall off. She was relieved when it opened easily. Closing the door behind her, she turned to take in the sight of the small space. It hadn't changed, not that she'd really expected it to. She found that her chair was still where it was the day she had left. As she sat down, she tried to cover in her mind what she was going to say. The main problem being, she had no idea what to say.

When she heard the door open, she thought she might jump out of her skin. If she could judge by the look on Mulder's face, he almost did as well. As she watched, layers of emotions flickered across his features. Shock, disbelief, anger, regret, sadness. A plethora of feeling echoed in his soft hazel eyes, it was something that felt very familiar to her. The difference came when the emotions faded, and the eyes grew glassy and empty. She wondered silently, if her betrayal had destroyed his wellspring of compassion.

What in reality had been only a few seconds, she wondered if the world had upended on it's axis and time had crawled to a halt. She thought to breathe when she watched him walk to his desk and sit down in the worn chair. She couldn't take her gaze off of his eyes, they were the characteristic which defined this man as being different from the man she had known.

After another moment, he spoke. Someone who didn't know him as well, or at least had at one time, might not have seen the glint that flickered across his eyes. The flash of emotion had been so brief, she was left to wonder if she had really seen it at all. Still, it was enough to know that the Mulder she knew and sought was still within him.

"Can I help you, Scully?" The words were chipped and precise. Quickly he averted his gaze, shifting papers on his desk.

For another moment, Scully sat motionless. She had yet to decide what to say, but chose for one once in her life to work without a plan and just wing it. "I wanted to see you. I was wrong, for what I did. I thought I could escape by running. I didn't expect the losses to outweigh the gains when I left." While she was speaking, Mulder had stopped shuffling papers, instead he simply stared at his hands.

Mulder's hostility gave way to something more along the lines of acceptance. "I understand why you left, Scully. All of these years, it was wrong of me to cling to you the way I did." His head bowed, he looked similar to how he'd appeared the night before in the park. Lost and alone.

"I changed my mind. I know that's not enough. I need you in my life." She was interrupted by the look of shock that flashed across his face.

"You need me? That's not the way it works, Scully. You're strong. You've never needed anyone, I'm the one who needs you. Too much obviously. Besides, if you were to come back here, it would only cause you more pain. Because of me, you've lost too much. I would never ask that of you again. I don't want to see you fall."

She could only hope to get through to him, and for a moment, she contemplated what she could say to get through to him. How could she convince him that it was better to fight together than alone. Suddenly a scripture came to mind, it was one she hadn't heard since school.

She barely whispered the words, hoping she was remembering it correctly. "Two are better than one. Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up."

Confusion played across his face when he heard her whispered words, but couldn't make them out. "What Scully?" Looking up into his tired eyes, she repeated the passage. She watched for a reaction after she stopped speaking, but initially found none.

She was considering getting up to leave when he finally responded. His voice a husky imitation of it's usual self, he asked, "Do you really believe that, Scully? Not in general, I mean, about us. Do you think that's actually true about us?"

"Honestly, Mulder, I think it's always been true. I never should have doubted it."

"Really?" His eyes shone with hope, tinged with uncertainty.

She smiled, relief shining in her eyes. "Really."

fin

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