Mulder paced the length of his apartment again. *Relax. You need to relax.*

Although he was anticipating it, the jiggling of the doorknob startled him. With quick strides he reached the door and forced himself to take a slow, deep breath before opening it.

As he had hoped, Scully was standing there. He paused for second, trying not to let his relief show. He thought of the kiss they had shared in the copier room this morning. He had asked her to talk to him, to tell him what she really wanted.

As the day had worn on, he had become afraid that he had pushed her too far. That she would run from him again. He was glad to see that he was wrong. So far, anyway.

"Hi," he said softly. "Come in." As she stepped in, he noticed her laptop case hanging from her shoulder. The large one with the extra compartments for files and notebooks. *Why did she bring that?*

She absentmindedly removed the strap from her shoulder and lowered the case to the floor. He had seen that gesture hundreds of times in hundreds of airports but today something looked different about it.

Suddenly he realized what it was -- the case was much lighter than usual. There was no heavy laptop in that case. *What's in there? A change of clothes?* He needed another deep breath. *Don't think about it. Make her comfortable. Let her talk*

"Can I, uh, get you something to drink?" He hoped he sounded casual. "I have some of that herbal tea that you like."

This had the effect he was looking for. She relaxed and smiled slightly. "Some tea would be nice."

He moved into the kitchen, glad to have something to do with his hands. What he wanted to have was wine. With most of the lights off. Maybe just the lights from the fish tank left on. He had bought the wine. It was in the refrigerator.

Then he had decided she would regard that as pressure. He didn't want to pressure her. She might run away entirely.

Better to stick a mug of water into a microwave like they do every day at work. *Make her comfortable. Let her talk.* Maybe they could have the wine later.

As he pushed the beeping buttons on the microwave, Scully sat down at the kitchen table. She waited until he turned around before she started to talk softly. "Mulder, you know I loved my father." He nodded and sat down at the table across from her. "He had strict rules and regulations about everything."

Mulder noticed Scully's right index finger. It was repeatedly tracing a three-inch square box in the middle of the table. He was glad that he had cleaned that table today. Otherwise the square really would have been visible. "For my father, everything fit inside the box. Neat. Orderly. Things outside the box were not an accepted part of his reality."

Mulder knew what she meant. He thought most people lived their lives that way. It had always felt suffocating to him. He didn't say anything; He just looked at her and nodded again.

"As a child, a teenager, I . . . " She broke off, glancing at the wall. "I rebelled against that structure. Not much. Just enough to know that the walls of the box weren't cemented in place. That I could get some breathing room if I needed it."

Mulder knew from his psychology classes that most teenagers had this experience. Most kids tested the walls of the box on their own. They didn't have the walls shattered for them.

*This is not about you, Mulder. Let her talk. You knew she would start out analytically. She has to get through the rationalism to get to her feelings. Just shut up and listen.*

Scully started tracing another box with her fingers. The walls were about three inches outside the walls of the first box. Mulder could almost see the two concentric squares. "As an adult, I wasn't limited to my father's view of the world so I chose to live in a bigger box."

Continuing to use her finger as one would use a crayon, Scully started shading in the area that was outside the first box but inside the second. "This is where my working for the FBI fits in. It's outside of my father's reality, something that was difficult for him to accept."

Scully was looking at the table, intent on coloring in between the non-existent lines. Mulder nodded again. He wasn't about to disagree with Scully on her perceptions of her father. Besides, what she was saying made sense.

Slowly, Scully drew a large oval, one that took up most of the table, dwarfing the two concentric boxes in its center. "This is your box, Mulder. This is what fits inside your reality."

*Box? That thing doesn't even have corners! Is this what she thinks of me?* Mulder looked at Scully, perplexed and a little indignant, trying to determine if he was being insulted.

Scully placed her flat palms inside the far ends of the oval, stretching her arms out to do so. She looked him straight in the eyes and spoke very gently. "These areas out here, Mulder . . . you call these areas 'extreme possibilities'."

Mulder began to relax. He could hardly take that as an insult. He studied the non-existent drawings. "I guess that's a reasonable geometric interpretation," he conceded as he wondered what her point was.

Scully's finger returned to the larger box, slowly retracing its outline. Her voice got even softer. "Since I joined the FBI, the dimensions of my box have been . . . altered."

*Altered?* Mulder thought incredulously, *you mean assaulted!* He felt the blood drain from his face. She DID mean assaulted. Her entire belief system -- hell, her entire physical body -- had been assaulted repeatedly since he had met her. A lesser person would not have survived the onslaught. Most people would have run for cover years ago. Why was she still here?

He couldn't sit still any longer. He stood up abruptly and started pacing the floor. "Scully, it's not safe for you to be around me." The words came out of him without thinking. He couldn't deal with thinking about them.

Scully just looked at him calmly as she arched her eyebrow. When she spoke, her tone was matter-of-fact. "We've been over this, Mulder. I'm not leaving."

He stopped and pivoted on one foot to look at her. He remembered Krycek's warning earlier this evening. *"But they will kill her, Mulder. If for no other reason than to make you suffer."*

"They want to hurt you, Scully. They want to hurt you to get to me. I can't let that happen." He couldn't disguise the pain in his voice.

Scully remained unruffled. "Would they be able to hurt me any less if I was in Salt Lake City?"

She waited for him to answer. He didn't.

"Or Kansas?" Another pause. Still no answer. "Or Kazahkstan?"

Mulder stared in horror as he realized she was right. They could get to her anywhere. And it would still cause him pain. Even if he hadn't seen her for years. He suddenly found it difficult to locate oxygen. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath.

Scully took a deep breath herself. "The way I see it, Mulder, if they can hurt me no matter where I am, I can't let them be a deciding factor. I might as well be where I want to be, doing what I want to do."

Mulder was still staring at her when he heard a bell go off. He blinked, trying to focus on its source. The microwave. He welcomed the distraction as an opportunity to sort out his conflicting emotions.

As he ripped the cellophane wrap from the box of herbal tea, he wondered how she could be so blasé about it. How could she be so nonchalant about no corner of the planet being safe for her? *Maybe that's the only way she can deal with it. Maybe she is used to the idea by now.* He grimaced at the thought.

He tried to think of some way to counter the logic of her argument. He couldn't. He sloshed the tea bag around the cup in frustration, spilling half-brewed tea onto the counter.

"I hate this, Scully," he hissed through his clenched teeth. "I hate the idea that the world is not a safe place for you just because you know me."

Scully sighed quietly. "It's not because I know you, Mulder. The world isn't a safe place for anyone."

He turned to look at her. She knew damn well what he meant. He didn't have to say it.

Scully continued to speak calmly. "Mulder, I know you hold yourself responsible for everything that goes wrong in the lives of those close to you. I don't. I can't. I can't hold you responsible for someone else's actions. I was taught that we each must be responsible for our own actions."

*That's her father talking again.* Mulder started to calm down. He still blamed himself for the hell that her life had turned into but he was glad to hear that she did not.

She had every right to hate him, to run from him, and yet, there she was, still sitting at his kitchen table. He felt thankful for this. Confused, amazed, and worried, certainly. But thankful nonetheless.

Then her words started to echo in his head. *". . . the lives of those close to you."* She had referred to herself as someone close to him. *"I might as well be where I want to be, doing what I want to do."* He realized that she had finally made a reference to what she wanted. He had missed it.

*Great job, Mulder. Get her relaxed and talking and then start pacing the room and ranting.* He glanced over, trying to read her expression. She appeared to be calmly waiting him out, like his outburst was an expected event, something that would pass with time. *Great. She expects me to rant.*

He needed time to think. He started rooting through the cabinets, looking for a box of crackers. By the time he found them, the clinical corner of his brain was clamoring for attention. He didn't use that corner of his brain much, just for profiling criminals and other job-related activities. Now it was demanding to be heard. *You're a psychologist, you idiot, start acting like one.*

He set the tea and crackers on the table, carefully avoiding the phantom drawings in the center. He returned to the counter to wipe up the spilled tea, still stalling for time. Finally, he turned around and leaned against the counter. He was careful to keep his voice calm.

"These boxes, as you call them, Scully; the current buzzword for them is 'paradigm'. That just means the structure, the viewpoint from which each of us looks at the world. Transforming that structure is called 'paradigm shift'. "

Scully chuckled and raised her eyebrows. "Since when do you care about the current buzzwords, Mulder?" He was relieved to hear the familiar, gentle, mocking tone in her voice.

He grinned back. "I don't. They just kept using them at that seminar last year."

It was part of the red tape they lived with. The Bureau insisted that they keep their credentials current. That meant slogging through the required number of hours of training every year.

As a medical doctor, Scully could fulfill her requirements by attending seminars on the latest advancements in pathology and forensic medicine. The updated training had come in handy during the endless stream of autopsies.

Mulder was required to attend the psychological seminars. New sessions in criminal behavior and profiling could be more difficult to find. Last year, the dearth of new choices had combined with scheduling problems to force him into -- in his words -- "a psycho-babble session, a total waste of time."

He never thought he could use anything from that seminar to bring a smile to Scully's face.

But smile she did. "You hated that seminar, Mulder."

He smiled back. "I hate all seminars." He was pleased to get the conversation back on a more relaxed note. Now he tried to re-focus it on finding out exactly what Scully wanted.

"If I understand what you are saying here, Scully . . ." He gestured towards the middle of the table. His hand returned to his side, resting on the counter top behind him. "You're saying that you wanted to expand your world beyond that which you knew as a child but you, . . . uh, maybe, might have gotten . . . a little more than you bargained for?" He tried to make it sound like a simple question. *Simple. Yeah, right.*

Scully's eyebrows shot up. "You could say that, Mulder," she said wryly. She paused to consider the irony in his understatement.

She sighed. She avoided looking at him. "Sometimes, Mulder . . . well . . . lots of times, actually . . . you know the things that we've seen?" Her eyebrows furrowed together. "I . . . can't always process them at the time that they are happening. I have to set them aside and deal with them later." She blinked several times. "Like . . . when I'm home in bed staring at the ceiling."

Mulder wondered how many sleepless nights she had had over the past five years.

"That way, Mulder, I can let it in a little bit at a time. I don't have to process it all at once."

She swallowed and turned her head to look straight at him. Their eyes locked. The room suddenly seemed very quiet. Neither of them moved.

She spoke softly. "I've gotten so good at it that it can be difficult for me to let things in even when I want to."

It took a few seconds for the words to make their way out of Mulder's throat. He spoke them very softly. "What DO you want, Scully? When you're home in bed staring at the ceiling, what do you want?"

Scully slowly stood and walked over to where he was standing. She reached up and wrapped her right hand behind his neck.

She looked him in the eyes. "When I am at home, in bed, staring at the ceiling, what I want is for you to be there with me."

Mulder's lungs grabbed a quick jolt of air as a tingle crawled down his spine. *Did she just say what I think she said? Can this even be possible?*

He stroked the hair from her face, letting his fingers curl around the back of her head. "Scully." He swallowed. He might regret asking the next question but he had to ask it. "You are a beautiful, smart woman. You could be with any man you choose. Why would you want to be with me?"

Scully smiled softly. "Mulder, even if that were true, how many men would understand me? How many would understand the more, shall we say, dramatic events in my life?" She arched an eyebrow. "How many would even believe that they had happened?"

Her eyes dropped away from his and her voice became softer. "How many would understand why I have nightmares?" Her eyes rose to meet his. "How many could give me the strength to see me through them?" She swallowed. "You've been a great source of strength to me, Mulder. I wouldn't have survived without you. No one could ever take the place you have in my life. You're it for me."

Mulder was still struggling to believe this was real, that she was here saying these things to him. He had been so afraid that she was going to walk out of his life again. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He just wanted to let this moment seep into every fiber of his being.

He pulled back just enough to brush the hair from her face. His hand gently cupped her chin. He leaned down and kissed her gently.

He was surprised to find that her lips were moving more urgently than his own.

Emboldened, he ran a series of soft kisses down the side of her neck. She leaned her head back and he heard a soft intake of breath. Her hands slowly caressed his shoulders.

Still, a small thread of doubt gnawed at him. He couldn't afford to make a mistake now. He lifted his head and kissed her gently on the forehead. He spoke softly, "If you plan to leave any time soon, Scully, I would rather you tell me now."

Scully ran her fingers up his neck and through his hair as she pressed her body against his. A playful grin danced on her lips. Her eyes caught his. "I don't want to leave, Mulder. I like it here."

******************************

Diana and Jeffrey sat in the car. They had just seen Agent Scully enter Mulder's apartment building.

Diana gritted her teeth. "Did you get that on film, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, I did," he said, his boredom evident, "for all the good it's going to do. It doesn't prove a thing."

Diana stared at him like the bug he was. "Walking into the building, carrying an overnight bag, doesn't prove anything?" Sarcasm dripped from every word.

Jeffrey stared at her as if she had two heads. He almost wished she had. Maybe it would help. "What overnight bag? All I saw was a standard-issue laptop case!"

Diana sighed in exasperation. "There was no laptop in that case!"

"And you base that on what?" Jeffrey sneered. "Your x-ray vision? Those cases have three compartments inside, one for the laptop, two for files and notebooks. The A/C adapter goes in the pocket on the end. I have one just like it right here."

He jerked his thumb towards the case that was sitting neatly in the middle of the back seat. "I use it for my case files while I'm away from the office. Everyone at the Bureau has one!" His head thumped against the headrest. *God, I'm giving a lesson in Offices Supplies 101.*

"Everyone at the Bureau doesn't have a laptop." Diana spat out each word separately.

"Oh, like that's really the point," Jeffrey sneered as he slapped the steering wheel.

Diana closed her eyes and tried to remain calm. HOW had she gotten stuck with this twerp as a partner? She opened her eyes quickly. Somehow the smell of Aqua Velva was worse with her eyes closed, even with all of the windows open.

Suddenly, she heard Jeffrey give a short, sharp gasp. She glanced over towards him and saw that the barrel of a gun was pressing against the back of his head, just behind his left ear.

"I want you both to stay very still." The strange voice came from outside the car.

"Diana, he has a gun." Jeffrey's voice was tremulous.

"I can see that, Jeffrey." Her tone of voice put an implied "duh" at the end of the sentence.

Jeffrey opened his eyes just a little, just enough to look into the side view mirror. All he saw was a leather jacket.

A leather jacket with a left arm that was dangling in a unnatural manner. He tried to absorb the details as he was trained to do. *It's not cold enough to be wearing gloves.* The information seemed useless but there were no further facts to gather.

The strange voice proceeded to give orders. "I want you to start the car and get out of here. And don't come back."

Diana rolled her eyes. "Oh, like that's real original! Who do you think you are? We have official business here!"

"Diana," Jeffrey hissed under his breath as the gun barrel dug deeper into his flesh. "Shut up."

The strange voice rumbled ominously. "Your little errand here is endangering the larger plan. We can not permit this. You must leave now."

"Oh, geez," Diana muttered, "this is like being car jacked by Darth Vader. What larger plan? Give me a break!"

A small squeak emitted from Jeffrey's mouth. Nothing more.

The stranger found this funny. "Jesus, Spender, it's hard to believe you're your father's son. You're nothing like him."

Jeffrey jerked upright despite the gun. "My father! What does he have to do with. . . . I don't even know my father! YOU can't know him." Jeffrey sounded indignant at the idea.

The stranger sighed. "You really don't have a clue, do you? After all he's done for you. You wouldn't even have this job without him." Jeffrey's eyebrows knit together as he tried to figure out what that meant.

The stranger spoke as if he was speaking to a small child. "Here is what you need to do. Start the car. Leave. And don't come back here. Tomorrow morning, report to AD Kersch and get your new assignment. You will find that he is no longer interested in this one."

Jeffrey and Diana's eyes met. How did he know they worked for Kersch? They had only reported to him for two days. Something strange was going on.

Jeffrey started the car. "Sure thing. No problem."

Jeffrey drove to the end of the block. As he turned the corner, Diana saw a man in a leather jacket climb into a dark van. Two facts jumped out at her: his left arm was hanging in an odd, lifeless way. And he was extremely good looking. She tried to memorize the fleeting glimpse she got of his face.