"Fade"

by Ann K

Summary: Mulder never returns after his disappearance in "Requiem," 
leaving Scully alone and a single-mother. Years later, fate 
conspires to bring Scully back to the man she has never forgotten. 
Can she accept the truth she finds?

Rating: R (individual chapters may vary, please read carefully)

Keywords: MSR, A, S, Sc/Sk friendship, William, AU

Timeline: After Requiem, although the events of seasons eight and 
nine never happened. Doggett and Reyes do not exist in this story. 
Scully found out she was pregnant at the end of "Requiem," and then 
it all changed.

Feedback: Much appreciated at annhkus@yahoo.com. Read more of my 
stories at http://www.yahoo.com/annhkus.

Distribution: Please let me know, and leave my name and headers 
attached. Thanks. 

Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters of Scully, Mulder and 
Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox.

See author's notes, thanks, etc. at the end of chapter six.

Chapter One (1/6)

I.

How she became the mother of a boy who loved horses, she wasn't 
sure. The horse obsession started simply enough. They had been 
on a summer vacation with Walter near Myrtle Beach, the memories a 
blur of sunburns and squishy sand. But William spotted a pony ride 
set up on the boardwalk, and after she fished around in the bottom 
of her beach bag for a crumpled five dollar bill, he spent the next 
hour in bliss, and cried as the sun set and Scully pulled him off to 
go back to the hotel.

The five dollars fed an obsession that brought her to this place, 
sitting in the battered bleachers near a dusty riding ring, three 
years later. William loved to ride, and she loved to see her son 
happy. So, they made the trek to the stables every other day, a 
short ride from their suburban home. A three-bedroom house, a 
large mortgage, two dogs romping in a fenced in green backyard, a 
SUV in the garage. Life was grossly idealistic, minus the absence 
of a simple figure.

It was that absence that she felt everyday, in the mornings when she 
woke alone in her king-size bed, huddled to one side, unconsciously 
leaving Mulder's space empty. She felt it at lunch, when she rushed 
home to walk the dogs and was greeted by an empty house, when it 
should have been filled with his larger than life presence. It 
caused her to ache at night, when she and Will cuddled on the couch, 
laughing at some inane movie, and the space seemed too big and 
empty. 

It wasn't supposed to be this way, of that she was sure. The plans 
she made for herself when she was William's age never included 
nights of aching loneliness, a loneliness she refused to acknowledge 
in a feeble effort to make it go away. They never included the 
paralyzing uncertainty of a single mother, wanting to do everything 
right, and terrified that it would all come out wrong. They never 
included the heartache of not knowing, of accepting a cruel hand 
dealt by the mistress of fate.

Dana Scully believed in fate, however, just as she believed in 
science and right and wrong, so she sat and watched her son and 
thanked God for his presence in her life.

She held her breath as he jumped over the small oxer, directing the 
gelding effortlessly. The distance between him and the ground seemed 
so large to her earthbound eyes. She exhaled sharply as the two 
landed, and a bright smile crossed William's face. 

She resisted the urge to clap, not wanting to embarrass her son.

He seemed so much older than his eight years, with a maturity that 
often haunted her. It haunted her because he would look at her and, 
at times, she would see his father. A younger Mulder, one that she 
never knew. William shone with innocence, and an intense curiosity 
about the world. Another trait inherited from his father, she was 
sure.

The sun was beginning to set in the horizon, the pinkish hue a 
backdrop to the pine trees lining the riding ring.

She was lucky they had found this stable so close to their house. 
There were endless days of rushing out from work to pick William 
up from school. He would bounce on the car seat the entire way 
there, rattling on about what horse he might get to ride that day. 
It wasn't his words that captivated her as much as his voice, a 
meticulous self-assurance peppering his tone in an echo of times 
long gone by.

The bleachers rattled underneath her, snapping her away from her 
thoughts. 

"I swear, Dana, that boy would be happy if you let him live at the 
stable." She laughed softly, and accepted his outstretched offering 
of coffee, the warm aroma mixing deliciously with the smells in the 
summer air. "There are those days when his room reminds me of the 
stable," she answered grimly, but with a smile lurking behind her 
eyes. "But I know even those moments are precious. We both know 
William is a special child. I am sure he knows it, too."

Walter was quiet. Dana figured he did know how special Will was. 
He had been there for each of William's birthdays, even his first. 
His preschool graduation, his first riding lesson, his school plays. 
He joined them on occasional weeknights, when he could escape from 
work at the Hoover Building and the traffic was cooperative. 

"Busy day?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Since Walter's 
promotion, they had seen him less and less, and she was grateful for 
the time he could steal away to be with them.  "As always," he 
answered, stretching his legs on the bleachers and leaning forward 
onto his elbows. "I had to go down to Quantico today, and then met 
with some agents in Alexandria. Someone asked about you. An Agent 
Campbell?"

She had to think for a moment, willing her thoughts back to her 
tenure with the Bureau. She left after the birth of William, unable 
to continue with work that seemed so different without Mulder's 
presence. It was another lifetime, but she had vague memories of a 
balding ASAC in Virginia. She shrugged noncommittally, and returned 
her gaze to William in the riding ring.

They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment. "It's hard to 
believe you've been gone from the Bureau for such a long time, Dana. 
I miss working with you." Despite their close friendship, such a 
display of emotion was rare from Walter, and she was touched by 
his devotion. Reaching over, she grabbed his hand for a brief 
moment, and then let go. "I appreciate the sentiment. You know I do. 
But things weren't the same for me after everything that happened."

Walter knew what she was thinking, and simply nodded. "It wasn't the 
same for any of us, you know." But it had been hardest on Scully. As 
the search for Mulder waned, and Scully labored under the pressures 
of work, pregnancy and aching uncertainty, a fire in her was 
extinguished, something that terrified Walter. When William was 
born, she had a new purpose, a new reason for living. 

He was eternally grateful that Mulder, and fate, had given her one 
last gift before everything changed.

The sound of a horse near the rail caused him to look up, and he 
saw that William's lesson was over. He stood, as did Scully, and 
they made their way down to the dusty riding ring. William's riding 
lessons were a regular occurrence. They knew the routine. 

"Mom, did you see how we jumped the fence today?" William's voice 
was excited, as were his eyes, and Scully felt her heart clutch for 
a brief moment.

"I did, Will. You looked awfully good up there."

Wherever Will got his riding genes from, it certainly wasn't from 
the Scully side of the family. They were sea-faring stock, she 
thought ruefully, not cowboys, remembering her one and only attempt 
at riding, to make William happy, and how her thigh muscles ached 
for the next week. She wondered vaguely if Mulder had ever been 
interested in horses as a child.

"He is a good kid, Dana. You have done well."

Becoming Will's mother made her own mother's annoying adages so 
true. "You'll understand when you have a child, Dana." "One day, 
you'll have to be the responsible mother." "Life changes when you 
have a child." As blessed as she felt, however, it was sometimes 
like getting a brightly wrapped gift with nothing inside. It felt 
hollow without Mulder, and she had come to the realization that it 
likely would forever.

Will would never know his dad, although she kept pictures of Mulder 
scattered around the house, and Will often sleep with Mulder's old 
Knicks jersey as a makeshift pillowcase. She would stand in his 
doorway, long after he had gone to sleep, when the world had slowed 
from its feverish pace and she could take stock of her day. The 
sight of William's innocent face, his cheeks ruddy and his mouth 
slightly open, nestled against the worn garment she so intimately 
associated with Mulder, was too much at times. For all the progress 
she had made since the day she came home for good, the day she made 
her peace with Mulder and concentrated on raising William the best 
way she could, there were moments when she crumpled, sagging against 
the wall, weeping silently as the moonlight fell across Will's bed.

"Dana? I asked you if you had any dinner plans for tonight. I wanted 
to take you and Will out to eat." He knew where her thoughts had 
been, but there was no cause to speak of them.

They each carried their own heavy burden when it came to Mulder, 
and, while time might heal their wounds, the loneliness was a 
constant reminder of what had been lost.

"Sounds good," she whispered huskily, clearing her throat. Hooking 
her foot on the railing in the stable aisle, she watched as Will 
curried the horse, his strokes strong and confident. He loved this 
part of the lesson, being able to brush the horse and put him up 
for the evening. She still rolled her eyes everytime they got in the 
car to go home, and Will would wave his fingers under her nose, 
exclaiming with glee that they smelled like horse. It was a warm, 
rich aroma, and she found herself intoxicated by it as well.

"Will and I were talking about you last night," she finally said, 
breaking the comfortable silence between them.

"My ears were burning. All good, I hope?"

"We were watching one of those forensic how-to shows on the 
Discovery Channel. He wanted to know, when his dad and I were 
partners, if you were like the man who stood in the back of the 
autopsy lab supervising all the work."

Walter laughed, a deep laugh that brought a smile to Scully's face. 
"Did you tell Will that I don't think I could have supervised you 
and Mulder, even if I tried? The best I could do is try to keep 
some semblance of order. I think we all knew that I wasn't running 
the show."

"Well, I certainly wasn't either. I disavow all responsibility for 
some of the trials and tribulations we all went through. I think we 
all know who to blame for those."

He was quiet a long time, and she turned to look at him when he 
finally muttered, "Yes, we do," a small smile creasing his face. 

"Fast food or fancy tonight?" he asked her, shaking the mood.

"Ah, I get a choice. Somehow I think we might not be allowed in a 
fancy place, with Will's dirty jeans and dusty boots."

"This is true. And it'll take him a couple of hours to stop bouncing 
on the chair, pretending he is still riding. Perhaps fast food might 
be the best bet."

"Hey, what can I say? I'm cheap."

She watched William lead the gelding into the stall, and prepared 
to head out to the car when Walter caught her arm. "Dana, can you do 
me a favor?"

She blinked. "Of course," she responded immediately, trying to 
figure out what this favor might be.

"Do you mind coming by my office on Monday, in the morning? I know 
it's a drive for you, and you'll have to take off work, but I have 
something I need to discuss with you."

Scully wrinkled her forehead, trying to understand the motivations 
behind his peculiar request. She hadn't been to the Hoover Building 
in a very long time. "Is it something we can discuss this weekend?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I'd rather talk in person, and in my 
office." At her quizzical stare, he added hurriedly, "It's nothing 
bad, I promise."

He ran out of words. Why would he want to see her? She ran through 
several different options in her mind, none of them making much 
sense, before she nodded. She trusted him. 

"Of course, Walter. Monday morning. I bring the doughnuts, you 
supply the coffee."

They walked companionably out to Scully's car, Will leaping in 
circle around them, and she filed Walter's request away, thinking 
about dinner and Will's riding lessons and her life as the mother 
off a very special boy.


II. 

She walked briskly down the sidewalk, never looking at the masses of 
people that surrounded her. With her purse tucked under one arm, a 
bag of doughnuts in the other hand, and her heels clicking in a 
steady staccato, she immersed herself in the rhythm of all the days 
she had walked this very road, taken these same steps, and entered 
the cool lobby of the Hoover Building.

Some things on earth would never change, she long ago decided, and 
the Hoover Building was one of them. Its beige concrete walls stood 
as sturdy and unshakable as they did when she first walked the 
hallways as an agent trainee, and she drew comfort from that. The 
comfort wasn't the same, and never would be. Not after all she had 
seen and done, and not after she realized that some men in power 
would contort the truth to fit their own needs.

But there was always the part of Dana Scully that drew comfort from 
right and wrong.

As she made her way to the front desk, presenting her identification 
to the security officer and shifting her feet as he picked up the 
phone, she looked at the agents walking toward the elevator, 
beginning their day's work. Had she ever been that youthful, that 
radiant, with a passionate sense of justice? A young woman with a 
short red hair caught her attention. She was standing by the 
elevator, a small box balanced in her hands, and Scully saw the 
Sig resting comfortably in a side holster, barely covered by the 
woman's black blazer. Their eyes met briefly in the crowded lobby, 
and the woman nodded quickly out of politeness before she stepped 
into the waiting elevator.

What she saw when she looked at the thinning crowd was Mulder. More 
than her own moral compass, her tenure at the Bureau had been guided 
by Mulder's passion, his quest, and his never-ending search for his 
own truth. While once she had been resentful of that, now she 
counted it among her deepest blessings, that she had known and 
loved a man like Mulder. And it was Mulder that she saw reflected 
in the earnest faces of the agents that morning. 

"Miss Scully?" the officer questioned, bringing her attention back 
to the present and letting her drop the curtains on her vision of 
the cloudy past. "Deputy Director Skinner will see you now," he 
curtly informed her, handing her an identification badge which she 
clipped onto her blouse, and sliding her license towards her across 
the gleaming granite desk. "Take the elevator on the right up to the 
sixth floor. The officer there will direct you."

There was no need to tell this man that she knew the Hoover Building 
better than he did, that she had spent most of her career within 
these walls. It was her home, and her family, although, just like 
with any other family, it was her blessing and her curse.

She rode up the elevator in silence, jumping as the signal sounded 
for the sixth floor and the doors slid silently open. The officer 
directed her into Walter's outer office, and she was somewhat 
startled to see a young black man sitting behind the desk. Kimberly 
was long gone, she knew, but she half expected to see her surly 
smile when she walked into the door.

"Go on in, Miss Scully," he informed her, waving towards the open 
door. "Deputy Director Skinner is waiting for you."

She stood for a moment in silence at his open office door. Much had 
changed since Walter's promotion, and his office reflected that. The 
morning sunlight gleamed off the polished wooden floors, partly 
covered by an oriental rug, and she smiled at the few pictures that 
she saw on his side table. 

"Dana," Walter exclaimed, looking up from his paperwork and rising 
quickly from his chair. "I must be slipping. I didn't hear you walk 
in."

She smiled at him, settling into a chair across from his expansive 
wooden desk and putting the doughnuts down beside her. "Must be all 
this cushy office work you have these days," she teased. "Your 
office is lovely," she added, almost as an afterthought. "I am proud 
of you, Walter. You deserve this."

"Thank you," he murmured, and she could by the faint blush spreading 
over his neck that he was embarrassed. "But the Bureau is determined 
to get their mileage out of me, and they certainly do." He 
hesitated, and she could tell he chose his next words carefully. 
"Was it hard for you this morning, Dana? Coming back here, I mean?"

She had only been back to the building a handful of times since 
William's birth. While she was flooded with reminders of her tenure 
as an agent, those memories also seemed like they belonged to 
another person, another Dana Scully who she remembered faintly, 
like an old high school classmate. "It was fine," she finally 
shrugged. "I do have some pleasant memories here."

He nodded, and they sat in silence for a minute longer before she 
spoke. "You know I always enjoy seeing you, Walter, but are you 
going to tell me why you asked me down here on a weekday 
morning?"

"Of course," he answered quickly. "But I'm not sure how." They had 
been friends for years now, and she appreciated his honesty. "Just 
tell me." He pushed himself out of his chair, and paced behind his 
desk. She felt like she was a young agent again, desperately trying 
to cover for Mulder and his latest indiscretion. And just as 
suddenly, just as if someone had turned on the lights in a 
darkened room, she knew. She knew why he had asked her down here, 
and why he was so hesitant to tell her what was going on. It was 
the one thing that would always bind them together. 

A sharp inhale of breath punctuated her surprise. "It's Mulder, 
isn't it?" she asked rhetorically. She knew, by the way he looked 
down for a brief moment, and how his shoulders slumped when she 
said Mulder's name.

The silence was agonizing, so quiet that she could hear the clock on 
Skinner's wall ticking loudly. Or was that her heartbeat? "For god's 
sake, tell me, Walter."

He stuck his hands deep into his trouser pockets and finally nodded, 
an almost imperceptible gesture. Meeting her unwavering gaze, he 
began. "I know you never gave up hope for Mulder after his 
disappearance, Dana. Neither of us did. But you had to retain some 
semblance of a normal life for Will, a family, and I wanted to help 
you with that. I love you, and I love Will, and I only wanted you to 
be happy. So I did what you asked. Whatever hopes we had for Mulder 
we kept in our hearts."

She nodded, impatient. She knew this already. Scully spent months 
driving across the country, following up leads, talking to 
witnesses, all in a desperate effort to find Mulder. She failed. 
The failure haunted her, but not as much as William's face when 
she returned from her searches. He changed overnight, over a 
weekend, over the weeks and months she was gone. He was not 
going to grow up without her. She wouldn't allow that, and she 
knew Mulder would have wanted her to be with their son.

"What are you telling me, Walter?" she pressed, her voice strained.

He took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I am 
telling you, Dana, that while I supported you and William and never 
mentioned Mulder in that context, I never gave up looking for him. 
I have been looking for him for years, unofficially, using Bureau 
contacts and some of my own resources. I couldn't accept the fact 
that he simply vanished from your life, that Will would never know 
his father."

Scully sat perfectly still, her rigid back the only thing that held 
her ragged emotions together. Why was he telling her this? Why now, 
after all these years, after the Mulder she knew and loved was a 
comforting memory in her heart? Her face pale, she stood, desperate 
to hear the words. 

He dropped his eyes from her intense gaze, and continued. "I never 
told you, Dana, because I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to 
tell you that I couldn't find anything, so I never told you I was 
still looking. There were leads, and some sightings, but they were 
never substantiated, Dana. I promised myself I would never tell you 
unless I knew for sure."

His last words took a moment to process. "Unless I knew for sure," 
he had said. And now he was telling her. Her complex emotions slowed 
her rational thought process, but, when her brain clicked, and the 
words connected, she felt her heart begin to race. He was telling 
her because he believed he had found him.

"Mulder?" she whispered, her voice sounding pitiful and desperate. 
She clinched her hands against his desk, her knuckles white.

Walter walked around the desk, holding her loosely by the elbow and 
guiding her back into the chair. His next words were painted too 
broadly on the canvas for her to completely comprehend. "An 
associate of mine in Texas, Dana, called me two weeks ago. I had 
given him a picture of Mulder some time ago, and asked him to 
keep it for reference. He called me, and told me that he ran into 
a man in town that looked exactly like the photograph I had 
given him."

No. Mulder could not be in Texas. If he was ever returned, she 
knew he would somehow find his way home, to her and William. 
He would find someway to let her know he was okay.

"I checked up on him. I ran all his records, checked his 
identification, everything. He has none, Dana. Up until a 
few years ago, there was nothing on this guy. Absolutely nothing, 
a blank slate. But now he's working on a small cattle ranch in 
east Texas, and has been for the past several months."

She knew she should be asking questions, saying something, but her 
mouth refused to open. She could only stare at Walter, her eyes 
wide, panicked and disbelieving. Walter reached over to hold her 
hand, but she didn't feel the physical connection. She felt 
nothing, emotions and facts and sensations flooding over her. 
She was drowning.

"Dana, I went there. I had to see for myself. This man sounded so 
sure, and I trusted him. I had to know if it was Mulder."

Something finally clicked, and she spoke, her voice raspy. "You 
went there? You saw him?" He nodded slightly, and Scully's heart 
skipped a beat. The tears welled up in her eyes, but she remained 
oblivious to her tenuous control on her emotions. She trusted Walter 
like she did few people these days. He was her friend, he cared for 
her and William, and he was her last real connection to Mulder, 
outside of her son. "And?" she asked, knowing the answer, but not 
so sure she wanted to hear the words.

"I didn't speak to him, Dana. I heard him speaking to some other 
man, I saw him. I was close enough to touch him. I watched him for 
two days to make sure. I told the owner of the ranch that I was 
looking into a fertilizer theft. I needed to know, Dana. I had 
to know."

She was frightened to hear him say the words, and he was terrified 
to say them. It was as if they had never left that hospital after 
Walter's return from Oregon, after Mulder's disappearance and the 
discovery of her pregnancy. The conversation had been put on hold, 
indefinitely, and now, after years, she heard Walter say that he 
would find Mulder.

And he did. Without the words being spoken, she knew.

Walter watched as the emotions flashed across her face, but her 
quiet composure never faltered. Her tears did not fall. He grabbed 
the file from the corner of his desk, turning it around methodically 
in his hands for several long moments. "I know what I saw, Dana. I 
believe that man was Mulder. It was him."

And with that proclamation, he dropped the file into her lap, 
quickly getting up from the chair to walk to the window, unable 
to see her face when she opened the file. He knew what he had 
done was right, and that belief sustained him during the long 
years he had continued this search. But he never knew if he would 
really find Mulder. He didn't know what to do now that he felt 
he had.

But Scully knew. She traced the Bureau logo on the top of the 
manila file, a ghost of a smile on her pale face, the paper in her 
hands a comforting sensation. She and Mulder had lived their lives 
by these papers, the files dictating their travels, their beliefs, 
and their very existence. It was fitting, and ironic, that she would 
discover the man who still defined her inside of a beat-up Bureau 
file.

Time stopped. Her heart slowed, and she inhaled slowly, agonizingly, 
as she flipped open the file. And there, staring back at her, were a 
thousand visions of the past. William's quirky smile and moody eyes. 
Long fingers and strong hands that had sustained her for years. A 
lock of brown hair that hung carelessly over the wrinkled forehead, 
the raised brow. The expression on his face that still revealed 
to her everything he was thinking, and everything she was feeling.

It was Mulder. 



III.

"But, Mom. Billy said he was bringing his video games. Why can't I?"

She sighed. "Will, we have discussed this five times already in the 
last hour. The camp rules say no video games allowed. Don't you 
think that you'll be too busy riding the horses and swimming in the 
lake to play a video game?"

Ah, that was low, Dana, but effective. She watched as Will's defiant 
face crumpled just a little, then he finally muttered, "All right," 
tossing the game onto the overstuffed chair behind him. The suitcase 
lay open on the floor, stocked with shorts and socks and all the 
essentials for a week away at summer camp. It was her longest time 
away from Will since right after he was born, and it hurt. But she 
refused to damper Will's excitement by her matronly, bittersweet 
reflections.

"Thanks for your help, Mom. I'm going to take a shower before bed."

He scampered off, aiming a kiss towards her cheek, but kissing the 
air between them instead. She eased herself off the bed, walking 
slowly back into the den, picking up her by now cold mug of tea 
along the way. The manila file folder, highlighted under the single 
desk lamp illuminating the room, drew her eye like a beacon. 

Actually, she had been unable to take her eyes off of it since she 
begged Walter to let her take it home with her after their morning 
meeting. It seduced her from the passenger seat during her drive 
home, and she found herself praying for red lights so she could 
flip open the cover and memorize another detail of the face she 
thought she would never see again.

She grabbed it on her way to the sofa, and settled down against the 
pillows, staring at the well-worn emblem on the cover. Federal 
Bureau of Investigation, it read, in bright, red lettering. That's 
why they put the "I" in FBI, Mulder had said. So why was she so 
frightened to follow her instincts on this one, to go to Texas 
and answer the question for herself?

She knew that she had lost some of her edge after she resigned 
from the Bureau, that her quick responses, while a lasting part 
of her reflexes, had been dulled somewhat. Responding to a milk 
and cereal crisis during Saturday morning cartoons was different 
than reacting to an inbred homicidal maniac chasing after you. 

But that wasn't the point. The point, she finally admitted to 
herself, was that she was scared. What if it wasn't him? More 
than that, what if it was?

"Mom," Will exclaimed from the spot behind her. She jumped 
involuntarily, throwing her hand up over her chest. So much 
for those lasting powers of observation. "Jesus, Will. You 
scared me. You sure are good at sneaking up on people."

He grinned, a smile that reached his eyes. "Oh, Mom. You just 
weren't paying attention," he concluded, moving the blanket 
aside so he could sit next to her on the sofa. She knew that 
other eight-year-old boys were not like this. She knew that, 
one day, she would not be cool, that her "mother" label would 
automatically render her an embarrassment to Will. But, for now, 
she relished in his affection.

She kissed the top of his head, the hair still damp from his shower. 
"That was a record fast time in the shower. Are you in a hurry to 
leave tomorrow?" she teased. He did not answer, and, after another 
quick inhale of his freshly washed red hair, she looked down at his 
face. He was fingering the file laid in her lap, the one she had 
momentarily forgotten was there.

"Did Uncle Walter give you that today?"

Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.

What was she going to say? After the rush of exhilaration she felt 
in Walter's office, looking at the picture of the man she was sure 
was Mulder, and even after staring at it for hours since then, she 
didn't know what she wanted to do. She was even less sure about 
what to tell William. Oh, god. Please don't let me screw this up.

"Yes, he did. It's a case he thought I might be interested in."

Will lifted an eyebrow, a move he acquired honestly, and asked, "Why 
would Uncle Walter ask you to look into a case? You've been gone for 
the FBI for a long time now." Will had never seemed able to connect 
the image of his mother, who baked him chocolate-chip cookies and 
tucked him in at night, to a gun-toting FBI agent, who tracked down 
bad guys. His image of Mulder was even murkier. He understood that 
his father had disappeared in the line of duty, and that he 
investigated paranormal cases, but he could never fully grasp 
the extent of Mulder's lifestyle. 

Oh, god. Her stomach clenched into a tight knot. "It's a case he 
thought I might be interested in."

He stared at her inquisitively, and Scully swore at that moment, she 
was looking into Mulder's face. It was as if he knew her fears, he 
knew the Pandora's box they were possibly opening. And he thought 
she should press forward, for the elusive truth. Mulder may have 
been gone for nine years, but she had lived with his likeliness 
every day.

"It's about Dad, isn't it?"

She only stared at him, nodding dumbly. "It is, Will. Your Uncle 
Walter..." She hesitated, trying to pull the words together from 
thin air to explain this to Will, without getting his hopes up. 
He had long ago accepted that his dad was gone. If this wasn't 
Mulder, if she was wrong ... Oh, god.

She tried again. "Your Uncle Walter thinks he may have found someone 
who has some information about your dad. He thinks I should go."

"Is he going with you?" His face was solemn, and his eyes, wide and 
trusting.

"No, Will. I told him that if I was going to go, I wanted to do 
it on my own." Walter had protested, as she knew he would, but, 
if this indeed was Mulder, she was going to meet him alone, just 
the two of them, the way it had always been.

But now there were three.

"I should go with you," Will said, nodding with intense seriousness. 
"If it's something about Dad, I should be there."

Oh, William. Her heart broke, and she reached out to hold his hand. 
"Will, I'm not sure what I will find. I need to do this alone. You 
need to go to camp. But, whatever I find, I will tell you. If you 
need to be there, I will come and get you."

He blinked at her, unconvinced. "Will, trust me. You can always call 
me on my cell phone, always, or reach me through Grandma. I trust 
your Uncle Walter, and he would not have me go anywhere that would 
potentially be unsafe." That she was sure of, knowing that Walter 
only wanted to accompany her for emotional support.

The reality rushed past her a second later. The decision was made. 
She was going to Texas. She was going to see if this man, this 
Mulder in the photograph, was the same Mulder who haunted her dreams 
at night and peppered her memories during the day. 

Will finally nodded, slowly. "Okay, Mom. But you promise you'll call 
me if you find out anything about Dad. You promise." The inflection 
in his voice as he said "Dad," the only way he knew Mulder, brought 
tears to her eyes, and she cursed her weakness.

Her weakness would cripple her again and again before she would 
cross the border into Texas the next day with the sun rising a 
dewy pink from the hilltops behind her. She wept as she slept that 
night, the file clutched tightly against her chest and the tears 
soaking the edge of the photograph. She wept as she rushed to get 
William ready to ride to camp with his best friend Billy, and 
instead found him with his arms crossed and the tiny suitcase at 
his knees in the back seat of the SUV. 

She wept as they huddled together there for what seemed like hours, 
talking about Mulder and her memories and how much Mulder would have 
loved being a father, and she finally convinced William to get in 
the car with Billy's mother. 

And she wept as she drove away from DC, driving through the day and 
night, and realizing with startling clarity that the careful world 
she had constructed for both herself and William was soon to be 
irrevocably changed.

"Fade" (2/6)

by Ann K

For summary, disclaimers, etc., see chapter one. Author's 
notes at the end of chapter 6.

www.geocities.com/annhkus

Chapter Two

I. 

It was noon when she finally arrived, the heat shimmering off 
the asphalt and creating ripples across the dusty two-lane 
road. She had driven for miles, the ribbon-straight highway 
tracing the tops of the flat hills, surrounded by pastures and 
farmland and large barns set off from the road. This was a 
country with which Scully was unfamiliar, an earthy 
atmosphere, and one driven by the sweat and toil of those that 
labored on the land. She tried, unsuccessfully, to imagine 
Mulder, sweat trickling down his brow, working in the fields, 
a hat propped haphazardly on his head. She saw his face in the 
men who galloped beside her as she drove, rounding up cattle 
from the large pastures dotting the countryside, sitting 
astride horses wet from exertion. She saw his body underneath 
the brimmed hats and plaid shirts, and she saw a Mulder very 
different from the one she held in her memory.

She willed herself to believe that she was not making a 
mistake.

Scully turned into the gas station inside the city limits, 
relieved to be able to walk for a moment and stretch her legs. 
After filling her up car, she walked aimlessly around the 
parking lot, unsure of what to do next. She felt feeble, her 
senses dulled. It had been a long time since she was out on 
her own, and she was unsure of herself.

She thought of all the towns she and Mulder had seen, the 
beige and navy and black rental cars as innocuous as the 
cities that colored her tenure with Mulder. It all seemed so 
long ago, but she clung to it with a desperate ferocity that 
frightened her. It was part of what she shared with Mulder, so 
she strove to make it real and tangible. If he could not be 
with her, then she would make sure their memories, the inane 
and significant and minute, all of them, would exist.

Brushing the dust off her slacks, she sat down on the curb, 
clutching a copy of Walter's file in front of her and taking 
stock of her surroundings. The town was small, at least from 
what she could see from her vantage point. She counted three 
stoplights on what she assumed to be the main street, lined by 
old brick buildings. A faded Coca-Cola sign stared back at her 
from what looked to be the town grocery. A few pick-up trucks 
rolled down the street, the midday heat making even their 
progress slow and lethargic. 

The grass was spotty, and uneven, giving the entire town an 
atmosphere of exhaustion, a place that had outlived its time 
and purpose. She instinctively knew that this was a place of 
hard knocks, broken dreams, all of the descriptions of a worn 
fragment of Americana.

Across from her was the town bank, its single drive-thru empty 
and looking somewhat forlorn. The sun shone off the glass 
windows, but, if she squinted, she could make out the shadowy 
figures moving around inside. Next to the bank, a large 
church, its pillars and staircase sweeping backward from the 
sidewalk. A furniture store, a small coffee shop, the local 
pharmacy, a handful of dress shops. Absolutely nothing 
remarkable. She tried to imagine Mulder walking these streets, 
living his life among these people. She was hard pressed to 
imagine him settling down here. The Mulder she knew would only be 
comfortable settling down with her, and that was a bridge that 
they had just begun to tentatively cross right before he 
disappeared. 

She refused to acknowledge the idea that Mulder did not 
remember her, or who he really was. That idea was better than 
the one that lurked beneath the surface, and mocked her 
insecurities the entire drive to Texas. That he simply did not 
want to be found, especially by her.

She remembered how she clung to him before he left for Oregon. 
She remembered how he turned to look at her as she left, the 
lingering glance speaking volumes when their voices could not. 
She remembered the first night he had come into her bed, the 
night she would always believe they created William. Scully 
refused to believe that he did not want her. If he had been 
returned, if he had been taken and returned somehow, she had 
to find him.

She wanted to believe.

Her cell phone rang, causing her to jump, and the papers in 
the file to shift, spilling out onto the asphalt. She grabbed 
them at the same time she pushed the "talk" button. The 
reception was fuzzy, but she saw Walter's office number 
reflected on the face of the phone. "Hello? Walter?" she 
shouted above the static, shoving the papers back into the 
folder, the photograph resuming its place on top.

"Dana? Are you there?"

She sighed, the sound of Walter's voice bringing a smile to 
her face. It reminded her of why she was here, and that he 
truly believed this man she sought was Mulder. Walter 
believed, and she found strength in that belief. She made it 
her own. "I am," she answered. Clearing her throat, she stood, 
tucking the file under her arm. "I just got here," she 
continued. "The drive was fine, and I slept a little at a rest 
area last night, enough to keep me going. That, and a couple 
of cups of strong coffee." She could still feel the slick 
caffeine pulsing in her veins.

"Have you checked into the motel yet? It's supposed to be in 
the middle of town."

"Not yet, Walter. But I don't think I could miss it. This 
place isn't exactly a sprawling metropolis." That was an 
understatement. 

"Look, Dana. I think you should check into the motel, take a 
hot shower, get some rest, before you start looking for..." He 
couldn't bring himself to say Mulder's name for some reason. 
They both sat in silence for a moment, but there was nothing 
else to be said. She was there, in a place where they believed 
she would find the answers that had eluded them both for 
years. That was enough. Even now, after all this time, they 
both took comfort in the possibility of the truth.

"I will, Walter. I am going to do this right, okay? Don't 
worry. We both have too much at stake here for things to go 
wrong." But I have more than anyone, she thought. I have the 
possibility of losing everything that defines my life. Or 
regaining it. She silently admitted that she wasn't sure what 
would be worse.

"I know, Dana, I know. I am just worried about you. I wish you 
had let me go with you. It would have been better having two 
of us there."

But they both knew this was something she had to do on her 
own. Whatever question lay in this dusty town, she would have 
to be the one to answer it. "Did William call you from camp 
this morning?" she finally asked, leaving his unspoken 
sentiment hanging in the distance between them. "He did," 
Walter answered. "Said he had talked to you twice, and was off 
for the trail ride. He's worried about you, Dana."

"I know he is. But he can call my cell phone anytime, and he 
knows that. I know he is safe there, and you are close by if 
he needs anything." He needs a father, she thought. He needs 
Mulder to be there when he leaves for school in the morning, 
and plays with the dogs at night. He needs his parents to be 
in the audience for his school play, and to be applauding him 
from the battered bleachers at his riding lessons.

Don't screw this up, Dana. Do it right, do everything right, 
for William, for you, for Mulder.

"So, call me and let me know what is going on, okay?" She 
focused again on Walter's voice, listening to the chatter of 
voices and the light static in the background. "I've got to 
go, Dana. But call me. Let me know what is happening."

"I will," she answered, and with the electronic beep echoing 
in her ear, she realized she was alone again. 

Tucking the file under one arm and reaching for her wallet 
with the other, she walked inside the gas station to pay, the 
cool air enveloping her as she pushed open the door. A small 
radio next to the cash register played twangy country music, 
and the smell of fried chicken blanketed the small space. An 
older woman sat behind the counter, her gray hair swept up on 
top of her head, and her glasses perched on the end of her 
nose, a dull silver chain hanging by her neck. "Betty," her 
nametag proclaimed. Betty's eyes reflected the fact that 
Scully was a stranger.

"That'll be eleven-fifty," Betty announced, taking the bills 
from Scully's hands. She pushed the receipt across the counter 
that was covered with a large sticker, peeling at the edges, 
that read, "We card," and pursed her thin lips even closer 
together. "Are you traveling through town?" Her heavily 
accented tone indicated that most strangers she met at the 
Stop N' Go were doing just that.

"Actually, I was looking for the motel. Is it on the main 
street?"

Betty's eyes widened only a fraction before she answered. "It 
is. About a block from here. My sister and her husband run it. 
They bought it from Mr. Simpson about three years ago." Scully 
wondered what to do with this information, and decided 
nothing. She smiled at Betty. "Thank you. I heard it was the 
best motel in the area." Actually, it was the only motel in 
the area, from what she gathered from Walter, but there was no 
harm in being friendly to Betty. 

Betty's eyes warmed a fraction before she answered. "They work 
hard. I'm sure they'll have a room for you." Betty paused a 
minute, considering, and then asked, "Are you staying in town 
long?"

Ah, the million dollar question. Well, you see, Betty, she 
thought, I am in town looking for my partner and the father of 
my son, who I believe was abducted by aliens almost nine years 
ago and now is working as a cattle rancher in some small dot 
on a Texas map. I have no idea why he is in Texas instead of 
home with me and Will, and I have no idea what he'll say to me 
if, and when, I find him.

Instead, she answered, "A few days, at least." Cutting off 
Betty's inevitable next question, she smiled, thanking her and 
walking back into the suffocating heat, driving in the 
direction of the motel.

Paying for the room, her eyes began to blur, and she realized 
that she was exhausted.  Before she could make sense of her 
surroundings, she opened the lime green door, the faded room 
number lopsided on the metal frame, and took off her shoes. 
She lay on the bed, not even bothering to turn back the 
bedspread. The air conditioner on the wall rattled, emanating 
a cold stream of air into the tiny space. Betty was right. The 
motel was clean, but sparse, and she dimly heard a few passing 
trucks from the street as her eyes began to close.

She dreamt, of William riding a cowpony, galloping alongside 
her car as she drove down a road she did not recognize. He was 
smiling, a wide, toothy grin, the kind that graced his face so 
often when he was younger, but had begun to fade with age and 
maturity. "I'm riding, Mom. Look at me. Let's show Dad. We 
have to show Dad how I can ride. Tell him to come see," he 
exclaimed. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell Will that 
she was trying, but no words escaped. 

Walter sat beside her, holding tightly onto her hand as she 
slowed the car down and opened the door. She stood in the 
middle of the road, the sky clear, and the sunlight almost 
unbearable. And Mulder stood in front of her, his eyes dancing 
and a smile on his face. "Where have you been all this time, 
Scully? Why did you take so long?"

When she finally woke, the room was dark, and she pulled the 
bedspread over her body, shivering in the darkness and 
thinking of Mulder. Despite the lingering humidity, she felt 
the sweat chill on her back, and she couldn't stop her 
shaking. Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow, she would go to the 
ranch where Mulder worked, talk to the owner and find Mulder. 
She would know from the moment she saw him if he was really 
the Mulder she remembered, and she would bring him home, to 
Will. She would make everything just right.

She had to make everything right, she decided, trembling 
uncontrollably, because everything without Mulder had been so 
wrong.

II.

Dawn in Texas might be one of the most beautiful sights she 
had ever seen. After a restless night of sleep and vivid 
dreams of Mulder and Will, she woke before the sun, and took a 
long shower, reluctantly turning off the water only when it 
began to run cold. Pulling her hair up in a ponytail, she 
slipped on her slacks, and was surprised by her reflection in 
the small mirror above the sink. Even in the florescent glare, 
and despite the slight circle beneath her eyes that betrayed 
her insomnia, she looked younger than she had in years. She 
was reminded of the image of herself as a young woman, walking 
into Mulder's office for the very first time.

And now she sat on the trunk of her car, parked on the side of 
the motel, and watched the hues of the sun spread from a pink 
to an orange to a faded yellow, until the sun finally made its 
appearance over the horizon and the day began. The day when 
she was to find Mulder, to find all the answers to the 
questions that plagued her for the past nine years. It was a 
lot to ask for just one day, but she would accept nothing 
less. 

"Miss Scully?" She looked up to see Molly, Betty's sister and 
the motel manager, walking up to her. Her hair was swinging in 
a ponytail similar to Scully's, only streaked with gray, and 
Scully saw the weathered lines on Molly's face. A lifetime 
spent in the Texas sun, she decided. "How did you sleep last 
night?"

"The room was just fine. Thank you. I was awfully tired last 
night, so I slept just fine." That wasn't exactly true, but 
there was no need to burden Molly with the truth. Her poor 
night of sleep had nothing to do with the motel room.

"That's good. Robert said you walked by the office this 
morning without picking up any breakfast. I brought you a 
doughnut and some coffee."

Scully smiled, knowing that the last thing she needed was 
another cup of coffee, but she accepted the steaming mug with 
a smile. The day would be long, and she wasn't sure when she 
would have time to eat. Thank goodness for Southern 
hospitality, she thought, taking a small bite of the sweet 
doughnut.

"Big plans for the day?"

Scully choked as she swallowed the doughnut. She supposed they 
could be called big plans. "Something like that. I have some 
things I need to take care of in town."

"Anything I could help you with?"

Instinctively, Scully felt wary, untrusting, but she stared 
into Molly's sincere gaze for a moment, and then let out her 
pent-up breath. She just might need the help. Ask for it, 
Dana. Do this the right way. "Actually, there is. I was 
looking for Battle Creek Ranch. I have it on the map here, but 
wanted to make sure I have the directions right."

Scully could tell Molly was biting her tongue, struggling with 
the conflicts of politeness and curiosity. The question of why 
Scully was going to Battle Creek Ranch never came. Instead, 
Molly leaned over her shoulder, tracing the route with her 
finger. Scully watched the short, stubby nail outline the 
county road leading out of town. "Take a left up the street at 
the first light," Molly said, mimicking her directions with 
her fingers. "You are going to go about twelve miles out of 
town, and you'll see the ranch sign on the left. The house 
sits back a little from the road, but I don't think you should 
have any trouble. Are you going to see Larry?"

Larry Wilkins, the owner of Battle Creek Ranch, Mulder's 
employer, and indeed the man she hoped would be able to answer 
some of her questions. "I am," she confirmed, folding the map 
back into a small rectangle and smoothing the creases. "Thank 
you for breakfast, Molly," she said, pulling the keys out of 
her pocket. 

If Mulder was indeed here, if they were breathing the same air 
and watching the same sunrise, she couldn't wait a minute 
longer to find him. 

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she pulled out of the 
parking lot. The town was beginning to come alive. She sat at 
the red light, watching a young woman fumble with her keys 
before opening the door of a small bakery. Two men dressed in 
orange vests moved methodically down the sidewalk, stopping at 
the randomly placed trashcans to empty the refuse. She was 
entranced by the color, the simplicity and the vibrancy of the 
life here. It was as if she was seeing everything in 
Technicolor, everything magnified. She was so aware of the 
brightness that she winced, slipping on her sunglasses.

As she drove down the two-lane road, her only companions the 
light breeze blowing through her open window and a few passing 
motorists, she struggled to make sense of her thoughts. What 
day was it? She furrowed her brow, and then remembered it was 
Thursday. Three days since she walked into Walter's office and 
her life changed forever. Two days since she packed her son, 
Mulder's son, into her neighbor's car and sent him off to 
summer camp. Less than a day since she arrived in town. Mulder 
had been on her mind every moment of the last three days.

She allowed her mind to wander as she drove a steady fifty-
five, her heartbeat a steady accompaniment to her thoughts. 
What would she say to Mulder? A thousand possibilities ran 
through her mind. Hello. I've missed you. Where in the hell 
have you been? As sure as she was that Mulder was the man 
staring back at her from the well-worn photograph, she was 
also sure he would never knowingly abandon her. The cold grip 
of fear and uncertainty tightened around her chest.

She screeched to a sudden halt, looking out to an open field 
to her left. The steel sign decorating the front gates told 
her in looping cursive that she had indeed arrived at Battle 
Creek Ranch. Time slowed almost to a standstill as she 
surveyed the open land, lined by a ring of trees and a 
straight, white fence. Cattle grazed to her left, and a few 
horses were scattered to her right. A working cattle ranch, 
Walter told her. Mulder was a farmhand.

She desperately tried to put the pieces together in her mind 
as she drove down the dirt driveway to a rambling farmhouse in 
the distance.

The dust had yet to settle in her wake when she turned off the 
car. A wind chime tinkled from the wrap-around porch. Two 
tabby cats lay in the grass, soaking up the morning sun. As if 
on cue, a group of chickens ambled up beside the car, pecking 
the ground.

Mulder could not be here.

The squeak of the screen door caused her to look up. A gray-
haired woman walked out onto the porch, wiping her hands on 
her apron, looking at the unfamiliar car with curiosity. Now 
or never, Scully decided. It had already been too long. "Good 
morning," she offered as she stepped out of the car, her 
steady voice betraying none of her inner turmoil. If she 
stopped to process what was happening, she would falter. After 
all these years, she was so close. She could almost smell 
Mulder's scent in the air.

"Morning," the older woman responded, walking down the steps 
to greet her. "Can I help you with something?" Scully was 
surprised, when the woman neared, to see that she was even 
older than she first thought. She had a matronly, comforting 
air, and Scully was instantly drawn to her. "My name is Dana 
Scully. I was looking for Larry Wilkins. Is he around?"

"He is actually out in the fields this morning, but should be 
returning shortly. Is there some sort of problem?"

She was so close to Mulder, the truth, the answers that she 
craved for so long, that it was almost painful, and she felt 
the blood drain from her face. Her heart pounded mercilessly 
in her ears, and she took a long breath. "There's no problem, 
Mrs...." 

"Wilkins," the woman supplied. "I'm Larry's wife."

Scully nodded. "Mrs. Wilkins, I was looking for a man who is 
an employee of your husband's. I believe he is someone I knew 
from a long time ago, someone who I have searched for many 
years to find."

It was strange, to sum up Mulder so succinctly, but she could 
offer the woman no other words. Her relationship with Mulder 
was unexplainable, even to her, much less to a stranger.

"Ellen? Is something wrong?"

Scully turned to see whom she presumed to be Larry Wilkins, 
walking towards them from the barn in the distance. He was 
much as Walter described him, the quintessential Texas cowboy, 
with his brimmed hat riding low on his tanned face. She felt 
sickly pale in comparison to the people she met here.

"Everything's fine, Larry. Miss Scully was here looking for 
someone she thought you might know."

They both gazed at her expectantly, and she stood stupidly for 
a long moment, unsure of what to do next. She was grasping for 
anything to hold onto in this long side down a treacherous 
slope, and she was failing. "I have a photograph," she finally 
said, reaching down to pull the file folder from the car seat.

Handing them Mulder's photograph, she catalogued their 
expressions, and stopped breathing when she saw recognition 
dawn on their faces. Ellen glanced up at her momentarily, and 
then reached her hand over to her husband's arm. Neither of 
them said a word. Scully was about to speak when Larry thrust 
the photograph towards her and took his wife by the hand. "I'm 
sorry, Miss Scully. I can't help you."

By the time she grabbed the photograph from the ground, the 
couple was halfway to the front door. She began to run, 
catching Larry by the shoulder and turning him around. "What 
do you mean, Mr. Wilkins?" she stammered. "Are you saying you 
don't know this man, that he doesn't work for you?"

He stared at her, his expression blank, but his eyes 
sorrowful. "I'm saying, Miss Scully, that I can't help you."

She could not accept that. "No," she shouted, holding the 
photograph up in front of the couple. "Look again. I was told 
that you knew this man, and that he worked for you. I traveled 
a long distance to find him." She was desperate. "I have to 
find him," she said, her panic causing her voice to rise.

"Dana." Ellen was speaking to her now. "We have many men who 
work on the ranch during the season. We have to respect their 
privacy."

"Then he's here." Her words were not a question. Neither Larry 
nor Ellen would look at her. "He's here, now, working on your 
ranch." Their silence continued, and Scully cursed the tears 
that began to flow down her cheeks. She saw William, sitting 
defiant in the backseat of her car, begging her to take him to 
Texas, his stubborn gaze just like his father's. She could not 
fail him. She wept openly, staring at the couple.

"If you know something," she managed in a painful whisper, 
"you have to tell me."

Larry walked inside the house, silent. But Scully looked into 
Ellen's face and saw a deep sympathy. "I can't tell you 
anything, Dana." Her words were deliberate, and Scully closed 
her eyes against the bright sun, wiping the wetness away with 
a quick swipe of her hand. 

"He is the father of my son," she said, blindly, speaking in a 
monotone. She had failed. "He doesn't even know that he is a 
father. He has been gone for such a long time, and I was told 
he was here. I didn't want to believe, but I came anyway." She 
pinned Ellen with her gaze and her words. "He drew me here. 
Don't you understand? I have to find him. I have to find him 
for Will."

Whatever wall existed crumbled. Ellen gave a visible shake, 
and then reached out to hold her hand. "I can tell you this," 
Ellen said, her voice a stealthy whisper. "Usually all the men 
on the ranch go down to Joe's on Thursday night. It's a pool 
hall not far from here. You just might find what you are 
looking for there."

Scully watched as the older woman followed her husband into 
the house, her footsteps echoing on the wide planks of the 
porch. She wasn't sure what had just happened. She walked back 
to the car, exhausted, and sat behind the steering wheel for 
another half hour, thinking of Mulder and cattle and Joe's 
Pool Hall.  

She was halfway back to the motel before she realized the 
second emotion that crossed the face of the couple as they 
looked at Mulder's photograph. They recognized him, she was 
sure. They were also terribly frightened. 

III.

Will Lyon hated the pool hall. It was smoky, and dirty, and 
generally tended to bring out the worst in people. Guys who 
would ride alongside him day after day, mild-mannered men who 
appreciated a good cigar and a better woman, would turn into 
raving thugs when they entered the pool hall. They would 
drink, they would swagger, and they would dare a guy across 
the room to catch their eye. When someone invariably did, the 
punches would start, and Will Lyon would walk out into the 
parking lot, staring up into the clear evening sky.

He supposed the men considered themselves to be true cowboys, 
but he considered them all to be idiots, at least on Thursday 
nights at Joe's Pool Hall. He wouldn't even be here, except he 
seemed to draw even more attention to himself when he stayed 
away. He hated answering questions, so he avoided them by 
nursing a warm beer and watching the locals sway drunkenly on 
the wooden dance floor.

It was already round two inside, with the boys from Mr. Jim's 
ranch down the road shoving Paul and Shane from his crew and 
generally starting a ruckus. He sat on the sidewalk, 
stretching his long legs out in front of him and leaning back 
against the building. The parking lot was full, mostly of cars 
with license plates from neighboring counties. They all came 
here on a Thursday night, women to find a cowboy and men to 
find a good fuck. That's just the way it went at Joe's Pool 
Hall.

The sky was clear, so clear he swore there were a million 
stars dangling mere inches from his head. He was tempted to 
reach out, try to touch them, but a group of giggling women 
walking by stopped him. For some reason, he felt like he spent 
a lifetime trying to grab onto the stars, gazing into the 
heavens. It was an old habit that was hard for him to break. 
Some men smoked, others drank. Will Lyon would walk out under 
a clear evening sky and spend hours gazing into the darkness.

"Hey, Lyon. Scoot over, wouldja?"

Mark Hagler stood beside him, his eyes dilated with alcohol, 
and his Levis reeking of smoke. Not the companion Lyon wanted, 
but he moved over anyway. Mark sat down heavily beside him. 
"You always seem to cut out when the good stuff starts."

Lyon grunted. "I'm there when you guys need me. This stuff," 
he said, jerking his head back in the direction of the pool 
hall, "is just a waste of time. You should know better."

Lyon did indeed have a reputation among the men who worked 
Larry Wilkins' ranch. He was a loner, an introspective man who 
spoke rarely and smiled less. He had a quick wit that few were 
able to see. But, in a pinch, Lyon was the man you wanted on 
your side. He was loyal. Be it a lost calf in a driving 
rainstorm or a late night call from the drunk tank, Lyon was 
always the levelheaded thinker. Mark supposed that was why the 
men admired him. Liked him, no. Not really. But certainly 
admired him.

"Did you see that blonde by the bar? I wouldn't mind a piece 
of that." They sat in companionable silence before Lyon 
answered. "Did you ask her to dance?" Mark choked on his beer. 
"Hell, no. I don't ask women to dance."

Lyon couldn't help the deep chuckle. "So, you admire them from 
afar, and never know what they would say if you actually got 
up the nerve to ask them to dance."

Mark bristled and squinted his eyes at him. "I don't see you 
in there with all the ladies, Lyon. If you are such a 
goddamned Cassanova, why are you sitting outside here all by 
yourself in the fucking parking lot?"

By choice, he thought, looking away from Mark without 
answering. There had been a few women recently, a few 
tentative dances on the wooden floor inside Joe's. But he just 
wasn't interested, not right now. He was too tired to care, 
and he was too frayed around the edges to ever be able to give 
a woman the love she needed. He accepted that as a part of his 
character. He didn't like it, but he accepted it. 

"No answer, huh?" Mark goaded, drinking the last of his beer, 
crushing the can with one hand and tossing it in the direction 
of the trashcan by the door. It missed, tumbling noisily 
underneath a nearby Ford. "I didn't think so. You talk big, 
Lyon, but I have never seen you with a woman on a Thursday 
night."

He wasn't interested in discussing this, especially not with 
Mark, but he spoke anyway. "I'm no expert, but I know you at 
least have to talk to them before you have a chance."

"Yeah, you're no expert," Mark answered, embarrassment egging 
him on. He knew his own flat face and unruly blond hair were 
not the same as Lyon's dark hair and darker personality. Women 
were attracted to that sort of thing, he thought ruefully, 
feeling sorry for himself. What Mark lacked in looks, he tried 
to make up in attitude. It rarely worked, except with women 
who were as desperate as he was.

He clasped Lyon on the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. "But 
I know neither of us will get lucky tonight staring at dirty 
pickup trucks. C'mon back inside. I'll buy you a beer."

Lyon allowed himself to be pulled back inside, the quiet of 
the evening sky broken by the band playing on the small stage 
and the heavy boots on the dirty floor. Only a few more hours, 
he thought, and then I can go home, to my small room, where 
things are mine. I am answerable only to myself. 

The cigarette smoke hung heavy around him as he settled on an 
empty bar stool, accepting the beer Mark pushed toward him and 
watching as the younger man ambled away, heading in the 
general direction of a petite blonde surrounded by men Lyon 
did not recognize. Leave it to Mark to pick out the woman 
every other man in this place would want. Dumb kid.

He swiveled the stool back around, staring at his reflection 
in the smoky mirror behind the bar. Sometimes, when he caught 
a glimpse of his face passing by a mirror, he didn't recognize 
himself. He was startled, turning quickly to see the stranger 
who was walking so close to him. His own face belonged to a 
stranger. He would stare at himself for hours, cataloguing 
every wrinkle near his dark eyes, the prominent nose, the 
wayward dark hair. 

He tried to remember that face, every detail, so he would quit 
scaring the shit out of himself when he walked by a mirror, 
but it didn't work. 

Lyon took a long sip of the cold beer, wincing as it slid down 
his throat. Alcohol dulled his senses, and he avoided it. At 
the very least, there was an evening sky to look upon, and 
fresh air to breathe. A commotion started behind him near the 
stage, where Mark was standing next to the blonde. Lyon turned 
to look, but instead, was drawn to a woman walking in the 
front door.

Later, he would spend hours trying to recall the way she bit 
her lower lip as she stood in the doorway, the harsh lights 
glinting off her red hair. He would try to remember her 
expressive blue eyes, the way they surveyed the room, 
betraying nothing, yet noting everything. He would close his 
eyes and desperately try to picture the soft swell of her 
breasts and the curve of her hips. 

But, for now, his first thought was that she was lost, and she 
certainly picked the wrong place to go to for directions. She 
stood awkwardly near the door, scanning the crowd. He didn't 
know much, but he knew from the lean cut of her slacks and her 
blouse that her clothes were expensive, and not from any shop 
around here. He watched as she tucked her red hair behind her 
ears, crossing her arms uncertainly.

There was something about her, a vulnerability that made Lyon 
follow her petite figure as she began an uncertain route 
around the crowded room. She was hesitant and desperately 
unsure. Lyon prided himself on his ability to read people, 
their body language and their unspoken words, and this woman 
was sinking in despair.

But there was something else, he realized, watching with 
hooded eyes as she climbed onto the stool at the end of the 
bar, away from him, her feet not touching the floor, and 
motioned to the bartender. He grinned when he decided that 
this woman could probably kick the asses of about half the 
cowboys in this room. She was strong, her sinewy figure only 
one indication, but her eyes the other.

They were desperate, and determined, and he admired that.

Jon, the bartender, pushed what looked to be a soda toward the 
red- head, and she slipped him a few crisp bills. As he turned 
to walk away, she called him, motioning him back to her with 
her hand. Lyon watched, intrigued, trying to figure out what 
the hell this woman was up to. Jon obviously felt the same, a 
quizzical look on his face as he stood in front of her.

She leaned over the bar, trying to make herself heard over the 
loud bass guitar. Lyon was surprised by an irrational rush of 
what he recognized as jealousy when Jon leaned over to speak 
to her, his face mere inches from hers. He wasn't even aware 
when his back stiffened and he unconsciously leaned closer to 
the two, trying to decipher their conversation.

The redhead spoke for a few moments, and then pulled something 
out of her bag. It was a photograph, and Lyon watched with 
interest as she fingered the edge of it absentmindedly as she 
spoke, almost as if she drew comfort from its existence. She 
extended her hand for emphasis, talking heatedly to Jon, and 
then placed the photograph on the bar between them. 

Jon knew whoever was in the photograph. Lyon could tell from 
the way his eyes lifted the instant he saw the image, and the 
way he looked around the crowded bar room. His gaze never 
reached the shadowed end of the bar where Lyon sat huddled on 
the bar stool, but Jon nodded his head earnestly at the woman 
before turning to mix a drink.

So, whoever the woman was looking for was here, in the bar 
tonight. He surveyed the crowd himself, trying to decide which 
lucky bastard this woman could be looking for in a joint like 
this. She didn't belong here, and she sure didn't belong with 
any of the roughnecks who gathered here on Thursday nights. 

"Lyon!"

He watched as Mark stumbled closer to him, his arm draped 
around a plump brunette that he saw here every Thursday. 
Looked like she needed the company tonight, and Mark sure as 
hell did. "Who's the fucking Cassanova now, Lyon?" Mark 
drawled, his words thick from alcohol. "Knock yourself out, 
buddy," Lyon shouted after the pair, watching as they walked 
towards the door, Mark's middle finger extended in his general 
direction.

Prick. 

When he twisted back on his stool, his heart stopped when he 
saw the redhead staring straight at him. Her eyes widened, and 
a manicured hand flew to her mouth. She paled, and Lyon swore, 
even from twenty feet away, he saw tears suddenly glisten in 
her eyes. She looked like she had seen a ghost. He couldn't 
help but glance behind him, to see if someone was standing 
there, returning her gaze, but there was no one. The woman was 
staring at him like she knew him. But he had never seen her 
before tonight, and he sure as hell would have remembered. 

What in god's name was going on here?

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, when it 
only could have been a few seconds before she slid off the bar 
stool and walked towards him. She never took her eyes off him, 
never wavered, in spite of the crowded dance floor. She 
ignored the jostling, moving towards him in a steady line. The 
world slowed down as she stood in front of him, and he 
realized that this woman was absolutely beautiful.

What she said next shocked the hell out of him.

"Mulder?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came to him. He wasn't this 
person, this Mulder she was seeking, but this woman looked at 
him as if she knew him, an absolute certainty in her eyes that 
unnerved him. He instantly decided that Mulder must be one 
lucky son of a bitch. "Mulder?" she asked again, stepping so 
close to him he could smell her perfume. "Is it really you?"

Before he could answer, to tell her that she was mistaken, 
that his name was Will Lyon and he was sorry, he wasn't 
Mulder, whoever the hell that was, the woman closed her eyes 
and swayed in front of him. He barely had time to react before 
she fainted, falling into his arms in front of Jon the 
bartender and half his crew from the ranch and most of the 
population of Blackwood.

He was never going to live this down in the morning.

"Fade" (3/6)

by Ann K

For summary, disclaimers, etc., see chapter one. Author's 
notes at the end of chapter 6.

www.geocities.com/annhkus



Chapter Three

I.

The rain fell steadily against the window, a comforting sound, 
one that brought with it so many memories. She was still, her 
eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain. It 
was soothing, and gently melodic, and she pulled the covers 
closer to her chin. It was not morning yet, she could tell, 
even without opening her eyes. Darkness permeated the room, 
without a hint of dawn.

She knew she was not alone. She could hear his steady 
breathing, but could not summon the energy to open her eyes 
and seek him out in the darkness. Instead, she imagined him, 
just as she saw him last night, after so long apart. His hair 
was longer, traces of gray at the temples. He was thinner, 
which was remarkable given that he had always possessed a 
leanness about him, which she assumed came from the fact that 
his body devoured whatever energy he produced.

When she saw him, sitting on the bar stool, shouting at 
someone walking out the door, she knew it was Mulder before he 
even turned back around. It was the curve of his ear beneath 
his overgrown hair, and the way he sat on the stool, one boot 
hiked over the side, ready to pounce at the slightest notice. 
She catalogued her memories of him, trying to recall a time 
when he was truly relaxed, and she was not surprised to 
realize they were few. He was always looking over his 
shoulder, always waiting. For something, for someone. 

She wondered if he had been waiting on that bar stool for her 
for the past nine years, while she had been raising their son 
alone, never knowing what happened to him.

Scully finally gave in, opening her eyes, and was greeted with 
the sight of Mulder sprawled in the chair by the window, the 
dim of the streetlights coating him in a soft glow, patterned 
by the steady rain. His long legs stretched under the desk 
nearby, and his head rested to the side, on the worn back of 
the chair. She sat up so she could see him better, pulling the 
pillow close to her chest.

He looked older, more tired, even when his face was slack from 
sleep. But he was Mulder. She knew every detail of his face 
better than her own, even after all their time apart.

She did not question why he was here with her in this motel 
room. She knew, somehow, that he figured out to bring her here 
after she fainted at Joe's, just as she knew he would stay 
with her until he was sure she was alright. But what truly 
frightened her was the memory of his face when she said his 
name. Later, it would haunt her nightmares, and dance in her 
daydreams.

He didn't know her.

He wasn't evasive, or ashamed, or happy, or frightened to see 
her. Instead, he was curious, but looked back at her blankly 
when she called to him. It was her worst fear, which now 
stared back at her in six-foot-one reality, sleeping in a 
dingy chair in yet another godforsaken motel room.

She moved toward him, drawn to him, as the rain continued to 
fall. She knelt at his feet and gazed up at him, unable to 
draw her eyes from his face. The room was silent, except for 
rain and the sound of her heartbeat. It was just she and 
Mulder, again, locked away from the insanity of the world 
outside. Despite everything, he was still the most beautiful 
sight she could ever have hoped to see.

"Are you okay?" His voice was gruff from sleep, but she was 
not startled to see him staring back at her, earnestly, his 
eyes clear and shining in the darkness.

"I am. Thank you for bringing me back to my room. I am sorry I 
fainted." She couldn't remember the last time she fainted, not 
counting the moments when she was pregnant with Will. She 
couldn't have picked a worse time, hazily remembering with 
chagrin Mulder's surprise as she fell into his arms. Come to 
think of it, maybe she couldn't have picked a better time.

He only nodded, sitting up to look at her better. "Not a 
problem. You seemed really tired, and I found the motel room 
key in your pocket. I hope it's not a problem that I stayed. I 
wanted to make sure you were feeling okay."

She expected nothing less from him. She nodded, "Of course 
it's okay, Mulder. I have so many questions to ask you."

At the sound of his name, he shook his head. "You called me 
that before, in the pool hall. I was trying to tell you then, 
but that's not my name. You must have me mistaken with someone 
else."

She was not mistaken. It was Mulder, but she bit her lower lip 
uncertainly and asked anyway. "What is your name?"

"It's Will. Will Lyon. But everyone calls me Lyon."

Oh, god. Fate laughed at her, daring her to put together the 
tantalizing pieces. She stared, her eyes wide, at Mulder, who 
said he was not Mulder, but Will, but insisted he be called by 
his last name. She angrily wiped away a wayward tear, refusing 
to lose her composure again. She nodded her head curtly, not 
sure of what to say.

Before she could speak, he slipped down on the floor next to 
her. It was so natural, his lanky frame settling next to her 
body. He was warm, and she instinctively closed her eyes to 
savor his touch. "I'm sorry. I really am. You seemed so 
certain I was this Mulder you were looking for. To be honest, 
I wouldn't mind being that man, if he was that important to 
you. But I'm not. My name is Lyon, not Mulder."

He reached over to touch her chin lightly, turning her face to 
his. His touch crumbled what was left of her resolve, the 
dogged tenacity she was somehow holding together since she 
drove away from Washington now falling apart. To their mutual 
horrors, she began to weep, softly at first, then loud sobs 
which seemed to echo around the room. 

He never flinched. Instead, he gathered her into his strong 
arms and rocked her gently back and forth. She was reminded of 
how she would comfort Will when he awoke from a nightmare, and 
how strange it was to be in his arms again. Her memory served 
her well, but the reality was so much better. And, in that 
instant, her face pressed against the hollow of his neck, the 
pulse of his heartbeat steady beneath her tears, she didn't 
care what he said his name was. She knew who he was.

Scully drew back from him, and, without hesitation, leaned 
forward to kiss him, his lips wet from her tears. He sat very 
still, not moving, accepting her touch, as she deepened the 
kiss, tasting him, the familiar warmth comforting her. She had 
never forgotten. She traced the outline of his face with her 
fingertips, and ran her hands down his neck to rest of his 
chest. He groaned, and then pulled away from her.

"Stop it." It was his voice, but it was not spoken with anger. 
It was tinged with frustration, and regret.

"Mu-," she began, stopping herself. "Lyon," she said instead, 
simply, the strange name feeling foreign on her tongue.

"I am not who you think I am, and I am sorry for that. You are 
beautiful, so beautiful, and I want nothing more than to take 
you into my arms and make you forget this Mulder, whoever he 
is. But it wouldn't be fair to you, or to me." 

She grasped for the words, trying to make him understand. 
"Lyon, you are this man. He has been gone a very long time, 
but I would know you, him, anywhere. Someone gave me your 
picture, and I knew it was you. I never forgot your face, or 
your voice, never-"

He jumped to his feet, abruptly, and she looked up the long 
distance to his shadowed face. "I don't even know your name," 
he said. 

He could have said nothing less to break her heart, and she 
felt his words as a physical pain in her chest.

The rain measured the seconds before she spoke. "It's Dana, 
Lyon. Dana Scully." Another long moment, and then, "Following 
our penchant for last names here, you called me Scully." He 
had to remember. Mulder had spoken her name a million times, 
in anguish, humor, frustration and passion. He spoke it 
uniquely, in his own way, a soft emphasis on the first 
syllable. "Tell me you remember my name."

She walked over to him where he stood by the window, silent. 
"Tell me that you remember my name," she said again, urgently, 
willing him to say the words that would make this all okay, 
that would bring back what she was so frantically searching 
for. He wanted to. She could tell by the deep shadows of his 
eyes, and the way he paused before he answered.

"I'm sorry, Scully. I want so damn badly to say yes, to make 
you happy, but I can't. I never saw you before last tonight, 
before you walked into Joe's."

She was stonewalled, staring at an impasse that she dreaded, 
but never fully expected to materialize. And then he spoke 
again, trying to make things better, but making them that much 
worse. "You know, Scully, had you given me the chance, I might 
have asked you to dance with me last night. I don't normally 
ask women to dance, but there was something about you." He was 
sincere, the slight flush on his cheeks physical evidence of 
what his admission cost him. "I am attracted to you. You have 
to know that," he added. But she couldn't accept his words, 
not when there was so much more at stake here.

"Fox Mulder was my partner," she said, turning to face the 
wall so she would not have to look at him as she spoke. She 
studied the print on the wall, a landscape portrait of the 
Texas hills, probably mass-produced somewhere in China. "We 
worked at the FBI together for seven years, and then he 
disappeared. He was taken while investigating a case in 
Oregon. He's been gone for almost nine years." He walked up 
behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her skin.

Tell me you remember, she silently chanted. Remember me, she 
willed, remember our time together. Remember how much I love 
you. "Right after he disappeared, I found out I was pregnant." 
The sharp inhale of breath was his. 

"His son?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. She 
whirled around, angry, pounding her fists against his chest. 
"You are Mulder. I am not wrong. I have looked for you for 
years, and I can't let you walk out that door. I can't lose 
you again."

It was a stalemate, a no-win situation for them both. His 
tortured eyes reflected his pity, his empathy, his desire for 
her, yet they showed his confusion, his genuine bewilderment 
at her ultimate certainty that he was Mulder. "Will Lyon," she 
finally said, her last defense crumbling, her desire 
extinguished. She felt hollow, an empty shell. "Yes," he 
managed, holding onto her hand as the rain slowed to a drizzle 
and the first hint of dawn emerged. "My name is Lyon, Scully. 
And I am so sorry I couldn't make it what you want. I sure as 
hell have never worked for the FBI. I've never even known 
anyone named Mulder."

She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She couldn't process a 
thought beyond the fact that she had finally found Mulder, and 
she was about to lose him again. He was walking out the door, 
and she couldn't do a thing to stop him. 

"I have to go," he said, his voice heavy with regret and an 
emotion she couldn't identify. She nodded dumbly. She knew she 
should say something, anything to make him stay, but she felt 
lost, paralyzed with defeat. He handed her the folder and the 
bag sitting by the door. "You had these with you last night. 
They seemed important to you." He leaned over, his hands 
tracing the outline of her jaw, wiping away the tears she 
didn't even know she was crying. Hesitating, he kissed her, 
and it was Mulder, and something else. Something new.

As he walked away from her, out into the drizzle, she managed 
to speak the words that were pounding in her head. "Don't go, 
Mulder," she whispered. "Don't go." But he was too far away to 
hear her, and he did not turn around. 

He sat in his truck for some time before he drove away, yet 
Scully remained, standing in the open door, staring as the 
photograph of Mulder, of Lyon, slipped from the folder in her 
hands and fell onto the sidewalk, into the last of the rain.  

II.

Lyon didn't drive to the ranch that gray Friday morning. He 
didn't join the other men for their ritualistic Friday 
breakfast at the town restaurant, nor did he stop in at the 
station for a hot cup of coffee. Instead, he drove, away 
from town, away from the ranch, away from the redheaded 
woman in the motel room whose tears haunted him. She called 
him Mulder, and she was convinced he was that man. 

His life had been simple enough. He was an only child, born 
late in life to older parents. While they were both dead and 
had been for years, they had given him a stable upbringing. 
They instilled in him an appreciation for the land, of hard, 
honest work. His father insisted the entire family was at 
church every Sunday. Lyon still detested wearing a tie and 
sitting still for long periods of time, a remnant of his 
childhood. But he admired his father for his principles and 
his beliefs, and was grateful to be his son.

Adolescence was a blur, flashes of basketball games and 
awkward Friday night socials and drinking beer with the guys 
in the cemetery on the edges of town. He spent most of his 
adult life traveling, working on one ranch or another, until 
he ended up with the Wilkins. It was a small, family ranch, 
but he found the stability he needed. The memories of the last 
few months of his life were the most clear, but he supposed 
that was because, for the first time since the death of his 
parents, he found a comfortable environment, one where he was 
respected. He did his job, and that was always enough for him.

But the death of his parents, while so long ago that the once 
sharp edges had dulled, left him teetering on a dangerous 
abyss. He had no family. He didn't trust himself, so he 
suppressed his emotions. He was withdrawn and reclusive 
because he was frightened of what he could become if he 
wasn't. He was frightened of unleashing his anger because he 
didn't know if he could control it. He was frightened of 
loving someone, anyone, because they might ultimately leave 
him. 

So Will Lyon was a man with acquaintances, not friends. 
Colleagues, not family. One night stands with women whose 
names he soon forgot, not the accepting embrace of a woman who 
truly loved him. 

How could this woman, who seemed to Lyon to be a perfectly 
rational and reasonable human being, be so convinced he was 
someone else? He couldn't come up with an answer for that. 
When he saw her at the bar, it was lust that attracted him, 
for she was beautiful. She was also a strange combination of 
strength and fragility, and he wanted nothing more than to 
protect her. He had sat in his truck in the motel parking lot 
for sometime, watching her figure silhouetted in the door, and 
tried to shake the feeling that leaving her was a mistake. She 
was exquisite, and he wanted her, but her heart obviously 
belonged to someone else. 

He blinked, seeing the familiar pasture rise on his left, 
trying to figure out how he ended up at the ranch. He 
remembered driving away from town, and then shook his head, 
attempting to clear the hazy cobwebs away. Too many memories, 
and those only got you into trouble. He preferred to keep the 
past where it belonged, behind him. Lyon supposed driving to 
the ranch was instinct. It was home, for the time being. Then 
why were all his instincts calling him back to the motel on 
Main Street?

Larry Wilkins' figure appeared from the barn as he drove down 
the driveway. He flagged him over, and Lyon got out of the 
truck, his legs stiff from an awkward night's sleep. In all 
honesty, he didn't think he got much sleep at all. Most of the 
night he spent staring at Scully, the rain-streaked moonlight 
through the blinds casting delicious shadows over her face.

"Morning, Mr. Wilkins," he offered, smoothing out his shirt as 
he walked over to the older man. "Lyon," Wilkins responded, 
throwing a large bag into the back of his pickup truck. Lyon 
frowned, and asked, "Are you leaving for the day?" It was not 
an incredibly busy time on the ranch, the branding and weaning 
seasons in the spring and fall causing them the biggest 
headaches, but it was still unusual for Wilkins to leave 
during the week.

"I am. I am headed down to Austin for the weekend, to take 
care of some business. I was hoping you would be able to bring 
the rest of the herd in from the back field so we can ship 
them out on Monday." He nodded, accustomed to being in charge 
when Mr. Wilkins left town. While most men at the small ranch 
lived a transient lifestyle, one he himself had lived for 
years, Lyon served as a quasi-foreman, living on the ranch 
even during the off season. The stability was a change for 
him. But he was still unsure as to why the boss was leaving in 
the first place.

The screen door slammed shut, and Lyon looked up to see Mrs. 
Wilkins walking down the stairs, a small bag held in her right 
hand. She reminded Lyon of the grandmother he never knew, and 
he felt protective of her. The guys knew not to speak bad 
about the boss' wife when Lyon was around. There was something 
about her, a genuine sweetness that drew Lyon to her. He 
trusted her, and that was saying a lot.

"Good morning, Lyon," she said as she walked up to the truck, 
handing her husband her bag, her slight Southern accent 
charming to Lyon's ears. "I've got to get a few more things 
from the house, Ellen, and then we'll be ready to leave." She 
shooed her husband away. "Fine, fine, Larry. I'll just be 
talking to Lyon."

The humid breeze picked up slightly as they stood by the 
truck, and Lyon was somewhat taken aback by the serious gaze 
he saw in Mrs. Wilkins' eye. "So, Lyon," she asked, "any 
excitement at Joe's last night?" He wrinkled his brow, 
confused as why she would be asking him. They all knew what 
went on at Joe's every Thursday: drinking, dancing, and 
brawling. "The same," he finally offered somewhat tentatively, 
unsure of why she was asking.

"How about you?" she persisted. "Did you meet anyone special?"

The proverbial light bulb went on, and he cocked his head 
slightly to one side, answering her slowly. "Actually, I did. 
A redheaded woman from out of town." That was a simplistic 
explanation, but it seemed to work for Mrs. Wilkins, who only 
nodded her head sagely in response. "You need someone to 
settle down with, Lyon. You need someone who will take care of 
you." He bristled, despite her good intentions, but she cut 
off his protests with a wave of her hand.

"Let me tell you something, Lyon. A piece of advice from a 
very old woman. Real love, true love, only comes along once in 
your lifetime, if you are truly lucky. Many people never get 
that chance at all. I found it with Larry. I know what it is, 
and how special it is. But don't waste it, Lyon. Because it 
won't come back again."

It won't come back again. Her words had an urgency that caught 
him off guard, and he stood, his mouth slightly agape, trying 
to process the moment, when Mr. Wilkins walked up beside them. 
"Did you do everything you needed to do, Ellen?" he asked. She 
nodded knowingly, and then gave Lyon a small squeeze on the 
arm. "I did," she answered, and he almost expected her to give 
him a conspiratorial wink as her husband turned to open the 
door for her. 

"You know how to reach me if you need, Lyon," Wilkins said as 
he slammed the door. Lyon nodded, returning Mrs. Wilkins' 
cheery wave as the truck sped away from him. 

He stood still for a very long time, watching the chickens 
amble down towards the barn, a squirrel try to open an acorn 
from the tree, the cats basking in the emerging sun. His 
awareness was painful, and he was uncertain as to what it 
meant. Scully was drawn to him at the bar because she thought 
he was someone she used to know, someone she loved. Why was he 
drawn to her? Why was he thinking about her, wondering if she 
were still standing in the motel room door, waiting for him to 
come back?

The morning work was a blur, and he performed his tasks with a 
routine, detached efficiency. He led the small group of men 
towards the pasture with an increasing urgency, desperate to 
finish the work for the day before mid-afternoon. The 
longhorns were slow, hesitant, as if they knew the fate that 
awaited them in a few days, so he rode his gelding even 
harder. The urgency was tinged with fear, with the knowledge 
that finding Scully again after she left town might prove 
impossible.

"Hey, Lyon. When is old man Wilkins coming back?" Mark had 
ridden up beside him, a slightly concerned look on his face. 
If Lyon could see himself at that moment, through the eyes of 
the men who rode with him, he would understand why. He had 
drifted away from them, and was there in body alone. He was 
cutting the herd with rote, detached efficiency. His spirit 
was elsewhere, and only Lyon knew where.

"Sunday evening," he answered briskly. "If you guys can handle 
the routine stuff for this weekend, I am going to be busy with 
the paperwork for the Monday shipment." Mark only nodded, and 
then asked, tentatively, "You alright, Lyon?"

He barely acknowledged the question, knowing that he would be, 
as soon as he could get the hell off this horse and back into 
town.

Cantering the horse ahead through the pasture, and watching 
his crew disperse and tackle the few odd jobs remaining for 
the day, he allowed his mind to wander, back to a moonlight 
motel room with a beautiful woman who called him Mulder. It 
won't come back again, Mrs. Wilkins told him, and he knew what 
she was telling him. Whoever this woman was, whatever she 
believed, don't let her leave. 

He didn't question how she knew about Scully, or how she was 
so sure they met at Joe's. It didn't seem particularly 
important. What was important, what was screaming at him in 
his veins, matching the rhythm of the horse's hooves against 
the black Texas soil, was that Scully somehow held the key to 
opening up his reclusive heart, and healing his battered soul.

He'd be a fool to let her go, and, although Will Lyon knew 
that he could be many unpleasant things, he had never been 
known to be a fool. 


III. 

At the age of ten, she began to harbor doubts about the 
existence of God. She told no one, frightened of what her 
parents might think of her, and frightened, if she gave voice 
to her doubts, that would make them all the more real. So she 
played the role of the dutiful Catholic daughter, at least on 
the days where the family celebrated Mass, and as she knelt 
before the priest with her sister beside her, Missy's perfume 
tickling her nose, she prayed to God for a sign she could 
believe in, for something to restore her faith.

She sat in her motel room on that gray Friday morning, 
somewhere in Texas, and prayed again for a sign, to restore 
her faith in life and love, for something to make her whole 
again.

The problem was, even as a child, she never got the sign she 
so desperately prayed for. Nothing came about that convinced 
her there was a benevolent God, one that cared for her and 
watched over her during her times of turmoil. Although she 
continued to practice her faith, the faith of her parents, 
even now, it was with a secret, half-hearted intent, the 
feeling that someone had disappointed her.

Maybe that was why she was sitting here, alone, she mused. 
Because her faith wasn't strong enough. Because, after 
everything she saw, she still couldn't bring herself to truly 
believe. If she truly believed Mulder was standing in her room 
mere hours ago, how could she ever have let him leave?

After he left, she stood in the open doorway for some time, 
seeing nothing, feeling nothing except the light mist of rain 
against her bare arms. When she finally blinked, the sun was 
out, and the last of the clouds had disappeared. She had no 
idea how long she stood there. But then she took a deep 
breath, and time started moving again.

She picked up the photograph from the asphalt, although, by 
now, it was limp at the edges and the black-and-white details 
of his face had begun to fade somewhat. How appropriate, she 
thought. I find him, in this photograph, only to have him 
drift away from me. She didn't look at the photograph again as 
she sat it on the desk to dry.

She was barely aware of turning on the shower, the warm spray 
stinging against her skin. She dried her hair and put on fresh 
clothes, adding the barest hint of makeup, and then sat on the 
edge of the bed, pulling her feet up beneath her. Through the 
open window, she saw the signs of life outside. Yet she 
preferred to remain there, in that moment, in that space where 
she was last with Mulder.

Mulder. Will Lyon. Of all the times she had ever stared in the 
face of question and uncertainty, she was as sure of this 
truth as she had ever been. The two men were the same. 

The melodic tones of her cell phone rang through the room, and 
she stared at it morosely, determined not to have this moment 
taken from her. She was desperate to preserve the tangible 
essence of Mulder that was still in this room, and letting 
anyone else in, even on the telephone, would intrude on that. 
But guilt began to rise a few seconds later, and she pictured 
Walter, or her mother, or William trying to reach her.

"Hello?" she finally answered, her voice raspy from tears.

There was laughter in the background, and she sensed William's 
breathing before she heard his words. "Mom? Can you hear me?"

It was her reminder that she was a good person, she was 
someone's mother, that everything might just turn out to be 
okay. "I can, Will," she shouted, covering her other ear with 
her free hand in an effort to hear him better. "Are you having 
fun? How are things going?"

His voice was rich and warm, and she felt a rush of love and 
affection for her son, the most solid evidence she had that 
Mulder existed. Her tears began anew as he spoke. "Things are 
fine, Mom. Billy and I have been swimming, and I've gotten to 
ride everyday."

She smiled. William could forgo any pleasure in life as long 
as there was a horse for him to ride. "That's wonderful, Will. 
Just be careful." The miles between them only sharpened her 
mothering instincts.

There was a long silence, filled with background chatter and 
what sounded to her like the clanging of a dinner bell, and 
then the question. "Mom? Have you found out anything about 
Dad?"

Of course he would ask. It was her sole purpose for being 
here. But she didn't know how to answer that question. She 
didn't know how to answer it for herself, and she couldn't 
even begin to describe it for her son. How Mulder was here, 
but he didn't remember her, or even what his name was, and 
that she had never felt as defeated or lost as she did when 
she let him walk out the door.

"Not yet," she answered, the lie bitter on her tongue. But it 
was better than the truth, which, in this case, was something 
she couldn't begin to comprehend. "I'm still looking though. I 
haven't given up." She was surprised to realize her last words 
were true, that she hadn't given up.

"Uncle Walter said it might take a few days," Will said. "It 
might," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

And then her son spoke the truest words of all, the ones that 
unleashed the barriers on her tears. "Maybe there's hope, 
Mom," he told her, and he was no longer an eight-year-old boy 
away for his first time at summer camp. He was her voice of 
reason and resolve and resiliency, and she muffled her sobs 
with her hand.

"I've got to go eat now, Mom." She managed something 
intelligible in response. "I love you," she told him, as he 
hung up the phone.

Maybe there's hope after all.

And then, her prayers were answered and hope was renewed as 
she looked up through the open window and saw Mulder standing 
there, looking at her with solemn eyes. He looked tired, and 
sweaty, his jeans worn and dirty. He took the hat off his head 
when their eyes met, and brushed his hair back uncertainly. He 
looked like a little boy, tentative and uncertain, so much 
like his son, and at that moment, she loved him more than she 
ever had.

She didn't remember getting up and opening the door, but then 
he was standing in front of her, and she reached up to put her 
arms around him and kissed him on the brow. He stood 
awkwardly, and then returned her embrace. "I wasn't sure you 
would still be here," he said, breaking the silence.

I couldn't leave you behind again, she thought. "I am," she 
answered instead. "To be honest, I wasn't quite sure where to 
go." The words sounded pitiful even to her own ears, but they 
were true. She could have left that morning for DC, but the 
thought of walking into her empty house was even worse than 
staying in the motel room.

He simply nodded, and she took him by the hand, pulling him 
into the room and closing the door behind them.

He stood there, turning his hat around in his hand. "I don't 
know why I came back here, Scully. I was honest with you when 
I told you I wasn't Mulder. But I have been thinking of you 
all day, and I just couldn't bear the thought of you leaving 
town without seeing you again."

She didn't trust her voice, so she stood silently. "I'm here 
as Will Lyon, and for right now, I hope that's enough for you. 
It's all I have to give you." She didn't let go of her hand, 
but urged him with her eyes to continue. "I've never been very 
good at this, Scully. I've always been too busy with my own 
problems or my work to ever be able to offer a woman what she 
deserves. I don't know that I can do that for you. But I want 
to try."

Oh, god. He was so like the Mulder of old, yet there was a new 
element she couldn't quite define. He was harder, more 
uncertain, more wary. But he had come back to her, for reasons 
neither of them could understand.

And she knew that was enough. She knew he was offering her so 
much more, something that his battered heart couldn't reveal, 
could never put into words. She was being offered the 
opportunity to love again, even if Mulder could not remember 
their first love. She would learn later what had happened, why 
he was so convinced he was someone else. For now, it was 
enough that he had come back to her.

"I'll take it," she said, a small smile on her face, echoing 
the look on his.

"Well, then," he said, clearing his throat, and shifting his 
feet uncertainly. "Not that there is much to do in town, but I 
would like to take you out somewhere, wherever you want to 
go."

He was so charming and endearing that her heart melted, and 
she was filled with love for this man. "Sounds good, Lyon. 
Wherever you want to take me." And it was true. She would 
likely follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked her. 
Indeed, she already had, so many times before, even if she was 
the only one who remembered.

"But I have one favor to ask of you," he added quickly. 
"I came right from work, and we probably would both like for 
me to take a shower first. Do you mind?"

She only nodded, and he went to get a small bag from his 
truck.

Scully sat on the bed, listening to the initial spray of the 
water from his shower, and then the changes as the water hit 
his body before landing on the tile. She imagined him, naked, 
his lean, muscular body standing beneath the water. While it 
was undeniably arousing, knowing he was so close to her, it 
was intimate in the simple act of trust. She breathed in, 
remembering their shower together after that first night, 
the way she tentatively parted the curtains, revealing his 
body, the one that she memorized so extensively the night 
before. The way he smiled at her, never hesitating as he 
extended his hand to pull her into the water, pressing their 
bodies together.

Her heart beat in her chest loudly as she stood, walking to 
the bathroom door. It was closed, the slightest amount of 
steam trickling underneath. She wanted so badly to open the 
door, to walk to him, to take him into her arms under the 
wetness. Instead, she put both her hands on the door, bowing 
her head, as if in prayer, and swore that she would never 
forget that moment. He was there, safe, and she could almost 
feel his essence through the cheap plywood, could feel all the 
wonderful qualities that made him the man she could never live 
without. For that moment, it was enough.


Chapter Four


I.

"I'm a little worried about all this, Lyon. How often do you go 
around wining and dining women?" They sat together on a plaid 
blanket he grabbed from the cab of his truck near the large lake. 
It was late afternoon, and Scully smiled at the handful of children 
who played near the water, their parents sitting a discreet 
distance behind them. It was all so normal, and idyllic, that it 
made her forgot about the uncertainty, the turmoil she felt as she 
glanced at Lyon out of the corner of her eye. At Mulder.

He wrinkled his brow and sighed loudly, making a show of seriously 
considering her question. She couldn't help her laughter at his 
antics. While he was quiet and thoughtful at times, he could also 
be quick-witted and sarcastic. So many of his qualities were the 
same. He made her smile, and she needed someone to do that for her. 
"You might just be the first," he answered, taking the last bite of 
his sandwich and turning to prop himself up on one elbow, looking 
at her with a grin. "Why? Am I doing okay?"

He was doing more than okay. After a few awkward moments when they 
left the motel, when Scully suggested they stop for sandwiches and 
Mulder ordered for her, leaving off the onions and mustard, just 
the way she always liked it, they had settled into a comfortable 
companionship, one where they simply didn't ask awkward questions. 
As they bounced along the road to the town lake, Scully 
unconsciously slid closer to Lyon on the seat. He drove with a 
tranquil assurance, navigating the roads with simple ease, and she 
half-expected him to drape his arm over the seat behind her, like 
they were high school sweethearts without a care in the world. She 
was not surprised to find that she was pressed up against his thigh 
by the time they arrived.

"You are doing quite well, Lyon. That makes me wonder where you 
have gotten to be so good at this, or if I'm just getting lucky." 
The unintentional double meaning of her words caused her to blush, 
and Lyon watched her with a widening grin. "Maybe we are both 
getting lucky," he said, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of 
hair behind her ear. 

Without thinking, she reached for his hand as he pulled away, 
bringing it to her lips and kissing it softly.

He cleared his throat, and sat with his fingers lightly touching 
her cheek for another few seconds before he got to his feet. 
"Actually, I've got one more surprise for you," he said, pulling 
her up to stand next to him. Folding up the blanket as he walked to 
the truck, she laughed to see him turn around with two melting ice 
cream cones in his hand. "I got them at the caf on our way out. 
They are a little soft, but I think we can manage."

Who was this person, who remembered the way she ate her turkey 
sandwiches, but did not remember her name? Who accepted her kisses, 
but could not recall their first embrace? She was confused, and 
felt a little lost in front of this man, who had always been 
complicated and somewhat difficult, but now was even more shrouded 
in mystery.

But rediscovering Mulder as Will Lyon was an emotional journey as 
well. She wondered vaguely about testing his blood, matching his 
fingerprints, doing something so that she could wave hard proof in 
front of his face, evidence that she was right. It didn't seem 
important. She knew, and she clung to that, just as she fell in 
love all over again.

She accepted the outstretched offering of melting vanilla, and they 
began to walk around the lake, settling into an easy stride. Mulder 
had always seemed one step ahead of her, his lanky legs covering 
more ground than she could manage in a single step. It seemed that 
either her legs had gotten longer, or he was simply moving a little 
slower. Life in general seemed to be moving slower. She decided she 
liked it that way.

The landscape was startling in its beauty, even seen with the 
fading afternoon sunlight. The lake was surrounded by fields of 
green, tinged with gold, and beyond them, a scattering of pine 
trees and undergrowth. A barbwire fence marked the property to her 
left, and, beyond that, she saw a crumbling home and the remnants 
of a few small houses.

As they walked further away from the laughter and splashing of the 
children at the lake, Scully became aware of a deceptive stillness, 
a quiet that masked the sounds of nature that surrounded them. She 
decided she liked it here, the easy ambience, the fact that there 
was so little between her and the sky. And the fact that Mulder was 
here to share it with her.

"How long have you lived here, Lyon?" she asked tentatively. The 
question seemed safe, and normal, but she was hoping he would give 
her the answers she was looking for, somehow. She was also hoping 
his voice would distract her from the way he was licking the 
melting ice cream from the cone.

"Only a few months," he answered, reaching with his tongue to snag 
a stray wisp of cream on his upper lip. Her eyes darted to his 
lips, and then she forced them ahead, watching the path in front of 
them. Pay attention, Scully. "I came here to work for the Wilkins. 
They have been very good to me." He looked like he wanted to say 
more, and finally offered, "I'm not a very easy man to get along 
with. I wish I were, but I'm not. For some reason, even when I try, 
I always assume the worst about people."

His statement was stark in its sadness, and she frowned, reaching 
out to hold his free hand with her own. "And what about me, Lyon? 
What did you assume about me?" She was touched by his 
embarrassment, but he admirably stumbled ahead, trying to choose 
the right words. 

"I didn't know what to assume about you, Scully. Maybe that's what 
made you so damn appealing."

God, he was beautiful. How had she lived for the past nine years 
without his companionship? 

"This all used to be part of a ranch," Lyon said, watching as she 
gazed out upon the fields. "That was the main house there, and the 
cabins behind it were for the farmhands." There was an unexpected 
melancholy in his voice, and he saw the question in her eyes. "I 
like the way things are here, Scully. Simple and uncomplicated. 
It's a give and take relationship with the land. You only take so 
much, and then you give back. People can make their lives so 
complicated, searching for an answer, something that doesn't exist, 
when they don't have to." 

She didn't know what to say in response to those words. The Mulder 
she once knew and loved would have argued that the search was all 
that mattered, that the truth defined us. He would never have said 
that a search for the truth was useless. This Mulder, older and 
more disillusioned, if that were possible, was different, wiser, 
wary. She filed the fact away for future use, along with the 
growing stockpile of things she was learning about this new Mulder.

She worried, anxious that the changes in Mulder, however they came 
about, were too great to overcome, that he could never accept her 
and their past. Although he may have forgotten, she remembered 
everything, every single moment they were together. Yet, as she 
stood next to him, holding in his hand in an unstated moment of 
trust, she knew none of it mattered. Not enough to change how much 
she loved him.

"You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Scully," he 
said gently. "You shouldn't be unhappy." 

She shook her head, wanting him to understand. "Not unhappy, Lyon," 
she confessed. "Just overwhelmed. I am just trying to reconcile my 
past with my present. And my future." He watched her, his eyes 
patient, revealing nothing. "It's funny that, in some version, you 
are in all three."

That brought a smile from him, and they continued their walk, 
ambling slowly back towards the truck. She called him Lyon, the 
name he swore by, but in her heart, he was always Mulder. More than 
once during the day, she started to tell him something, stopping 
herself when she realized what name she was about to use. He said 
he was Lyon, and for now, she would bide her time, calling him 
whatever he wished. 

"Tell me about your son, Scully." Her breath caught in her chest, 
and she prayed for guidance, to chose the right words. Will wasn't 
just her son. He was their son. Even if Lyon didn't know it. She 
was struck again by the irony, how this man had a young son miles 
away, a boy that he never knew existed, a boy who adored his 
memory. She vaguely wondered how Will would react to the real 
person, if he would even get the opportunity to find out. She had 
to make sure he did, for both Mulder and Will. 

"William is a wonderful boy," she began. "Smart, curious, 
inquisitive. Respectful, for the time being. He would be in heaven 
here. He loves to ride horses. He's got horse pictures all over his 
wall, and gallops down the hallway to breakfast in the morning. I 
think he would live in a barn if I would let him." The thoughts of 
Will made her sad, and she stopped, picturing him miles away, 
wondering why his mother was traipsing over the country looking for 
his father. He deserved better.

"Is he like his father?" Lyon's question was unexpected, and, as 
she peeked up at his face, he looked away, intently studying the 
tree line in the distance. The question was a weighted one, and she 
didn't know how to respond. He has your eyes, she thought, and your 
pensive stare when he was contemplating a problem. He has your long 
fingers, and your sarcastic wit. He is your son in every way. 

"Yes," she answered instead. "Very much so."   

"And you, Scully? If you don't gallop horses alongside Will for a 
living, what do you do?" He was so curious, and she wanted to 
answer every question for him, so she tried to ignore the surreal 
nature of the moment, telling Mulder all these things he should 
already know.

In truth, she prayed to see a flicker of recognition in his eyes 
after her response.

"Pre-FBI, I was a doctor. Post-FBI, I am a doctor. When I was with 
the Bureau, I carried a gun and chased bad guys." With you by my 
side.

He nodded knowingly. "I can see you as both. Healing the sick, 
righting the wrong. I just"" He shook his head, searching for the 
truck keys in his pocket. 

"What, Lyon?" she urged. Tell me. Say the words I need to hear. 

"I'm trying to imagine being alongside you," he ultimately offered, 
"chasing monsters in the darkness."

Oh, Mulder. You were always by my side.

There was nothing else to say as he opened the door for her, and 
Scully slid into the truck. As he sat beside her, closing the door 
against the darkness, she felt safe. She had the missing piece of 
the puzzle beside her, the one person she needed to make everything 
right. Even if the looks had changed, even if the edges were worn, 
it was still the crucial link.

So she kissed him, and stopped running. Stopped running towards the 
truth, and stopped running away from the loneliness. She found what 
she needed.

"Scully?" he asked, pulling away from her. "Do you trust me?" 

She nodded in response. "Of course I do, Lyon." 

He was pleased with her answer, and turned the key in the ignition. 
"Good. Then let's go riding."


II.

He could tell by the apprehension in her eyes that Scully was 
having second thoughts about her decision. He led Beau out of the 
stall, and tried to see the dapple-grey gelding through Scully's 
eyes. He could imagine the horse looked huge. But she bit her lip 
as the horse walked up beside her, and reached up to stroke the 
short mane. "Big horse," she finally said, and he smiled. How could 
he keep falling more and more in love with this woman at each 
passing moment?

"Hey, Scully," he said, leaning down to kiss her as he led Beau 
outside. Her lips were so soft, and he could have stayed there, 
kissing her for hours, if Beau hadn't thrown his head up and 
snorted into the evening air. "It'll all turn out okay," he finally 
murmured as he pulled away. "I know," she said, and he was amazed. 
That he was loved, that he was trusted, that he had found this 
beautiful woman who cared for him so much.

"How did Will get started riding?" he asked, pulling the saddle and 
blanket off the rack near the front of the barn and tossing them on 
Beau's broad back. "Seems a little unusual for the urban wilderness 
of the East Coast." Scully's expression softened at the mention of 
her son, and he was touched again by her devotion to Will. He 
imagined her as a mother, caring and loving. It wasn't hard to do. 

"It's a long story," she said. "I had no idea what I was getting us 
all into with a five-dollar pony ride."

Scully was a fascinating mixture of power and frailty. It was what 
drew him to her from the moment he first saw her, at Joe's. The 
more time he spent with her that day, time that he savored as 
precious, the more he became aware of a worn quality about her, a 
weariness with the world and its games. He recognized it easily, 
because he wore the same face, the same mask of disinterest in the 
name of self-preservation. 

Had she always been like this, this controlling, this hard, this 
sad? He didn't want to imagine what had caused this change in her, 
because he instinctively knew that Mulder had been a part of it. 
And, although she hadn't said the words, Scully still believed he 
was Mulder. He wasn't Mulder. He simply couldn't be Mulder. But 
there was such a natural connection between he and Scully, things 
that he instinctively knew she liked and that she didn't, phrases 
that she said which caused him to rack his brain, trying to figure 
out when he heard the words before. He never believed in soulmates, 
or reincarnation, or karma. Life was what you saw. 

Scully was beginning to change his outlook, all of it, and that 
frightened him.

"Are you the only one riding tonight, Lyon?" she asked, reining in 
his wavering thoughts. She had an impish smile, one that had 
bestowed upon him often that day. But he had a feeling her smiles 
were rare, probably only reserved for her son. He felt blessed 
everytime she conferred one upon him. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Scully?" he teased, reaching under 
the horse to grab the loose end of the cinch. "Actually, I thought 
you and I would ride together. You might feel safer that way."

He lightly kneed Beau near the cinch, as the stubborn gelding had a 
habit of holding his breath whenever he was saddled, causing the 
saddle to be loose when a rider mounted. Lyon was so focused on his 
task that he missed Scully's response to his words, the way she 
squeezed her eyes shut as he told her he wanted her to feel safe. 
Little did he know that simply by being around her, she was.

"It's easier if you mount first," he said, looping Beau's reins 
over the fence and crouching down, holding his fingers laced 
together for her. Her shoes were practical, but not riding boots. 
They looked like something she would choose: a medium heel, sturdy, 
but somehow still sexy and appealing. He had never given women's 
footwear much thought, but, as Scully placed one shoe in his hand 
and hoisted herself up in the air, swinging her other leg over the 
saddle, he thought he might have been missing out. 

She didn't look frightened alone on top of the horse, nor anxious. 
Not even uncomfortable. Instead, she in some way managed to look 
alluring, peering down at him in the dusk, waiting for him to join 
her. As he did, settling easy into the worn leather, he realized 
this might have been a very bad idea. Not the riding, as he wanted 
to show Scully parts of the land that were best accessed by 
horseback.

While it may have been easier for them both to ride one horse, 
rather than worrying about her on another, her weight pressing 
against his groin was instantly arousing, and he closed his eyes, 
trying to regain control of the moment. As she moved against him in 
an attempt to get comfortable, he almost lost control. "Hold still 
for a minute," he said, his voice short. But it betrayed him, as he 
heard the tone of arousal and need, and knew that she did, too.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked, hesitant, and distinctively 
amused. 

He barked a short laugh. "Damn, Scully, you make a man think some 
very improper thoughts." That seemed please her, even though it was 
nothing but the truth.

Beau walked easy down the dirt road, leading past the Wilkins' 
house and the barn and towards the open fields. The cattle were 
quiet tonight, standing motionless in the darkness, and he saw 
their dark shadows looming on either side of them. He knew they 
were an audience to something very significant, whatever it was 
that was happening between he and Scully. 

Scully's body shifted vaguely in rhythm with the horse's gait, and 
he allowed his hips to rotate slightly against her. "Will would be 
incredibly impressed if he could see me now," she announced. 

"You've ridden with him?" he asked, curious about her son and how 
Scully interacted with him. He was a student of human nature, and 
saw all sorts of mothers, from overprotective and smothering to 
those who simply didn't care. He imagined Scully somewhere in the 
middle, with definite smothering tendencies. 

"Only once," she said, sighing as she moved further against him, 
resting her head against his chest. "I think I held him back, 
because he never asked me to ride with him again." God, could this 
woman be any more spirited? He visualized the determined set of her 
jaw as she rode beside her son, intent on keeping up with him, 
making him happy. 

"I'm sure he was proud of you for trying," he concluded. Lyon 
wondered how hard it had been for her, being a single-mother. He 
imagined that the sacrifices were those that she made willingly.

She thought he was the father.

That idea gave him pause, and for the first time, he allowed 
himself to imagine life as a father, having a son who adored him, 
who respected him. It was a bit unnerving, but not in a frightening 
way. It was much the same as he felt from the moment he met Scully. 
It was a life he did not choose, but was now being offered 
tantalizing glimpses.

A life with a woman who loved him, and who he adored. A son who 
loved to ride, whose sparkling eyes reflected an enchantment with 
the world that Lyon had long ago lost. A permanent, secure home, 
not the transient lifestyle he had known for years. He wasn't sure 
he would fit in.

But it was far away, the house and the little boy, and Scully was 
here with him now, pressed against him in the darkness, and he 
inhaled deeply of her perfume and the saddle leather and the summer 
air. "This is beautiful, Lyon," she said, and he pressed his face 
against her cheek, murmuring into her hair, 

"It is," he thought aloud. "I love it out here. It's quiet. Just 
you and the horse."

They entered one of the pastures now, and he instinctively looked 
up into the stars. "You see that grouping of stars over there?" he 
asked her, pointing one finger into the heavens. The sky was 
impossibly clear, and it looked as if a thousand diamonds had been 
spread across the dark night sky.

She turned, gazing upward and nodded. "I do."
 
"It's the Virgo constellation," he said, bringing Beau to a halt 
near the trees and sliding to the ground, his hand resting on 
Scully's knee. "The brightest star, the one there on top, is Spica. 
It's the alpha star. Two hundred and sixty light years away." She 
stroked his fingers with her own, listening to his words. "It's 
deceiving, though. It looks like one bright star, although it's 
actually two. And it's dying. Even though it is so bright, it's a 
dying giant, slowly burning itself out."

He wasn't sure what he was trying to tell her. That appearances 
could be deceiving, that what we perceive to be true can be a hoax, 
that our hearts and minds can see something that really isn't that.

That he wasn't Mulder, but he loved her, and never wanted her to 
leave his side.    

"You spend a lot of time under the stars, don't you, Lyon?" She 
added a special emphasis to his name, and he knew she understood. 
He began to walk, holding Beau by the reins as they approached a 
small stream. It divided the Wilkins' property from the north, and 
was hidden from view by a low line of brush and trees. 

The sound of the gurgling water in the darkness gave him pause, and 
he prayed to whatever deity might exist to make this moment last. 

Let me be enough for her, he fervently thought. 

He told her the truth, that he could offer her nothing more. Scully 
took his hand, dismounting, and they sat together on the remains of 
a fallen tree near the stream. "I find my horse and the evening sky 
to be better companions than most of the humans I know." One side 
of her mouth twisted upwards as he hastily added, "Present company 
excluded, of course."

"Where are you staying tonight, Lyon?" she asked, startling him. He 
hadn't thought that far ahead, but knew that he wanted to stay with 
her. He couldn't find the words to tell her. "I mean," she said, 
flustered at his silence, "it's late, and after you drive me back 
to the motel, it will be even later." 

Her uncertainty was gently amusing. "Where would you like me to 
stay, Scully?"

Say it, Scully, he willed. I can't, but I'll stay with you if you 
ask. There's no place I'd rather be. 

"C'mon, Lyon. Give me a straight answer," she said, staring 
intently into the water. 

"Ask me a straight question," he responded.

And the distant call of the bird grew quiet, and a cloud crossed 
over the moon, and he swore even the creek became still. She was 
illuminated with the most slender beam of light, and he wanted the 
moment to last forever, just he and Scully, together, away from the 
craziness of the world.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" she asked, in a tiny, hopeful voice. 
And he had never loved a person more than he did this woman at that 
moment. He tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes, and 
kissed her gently before answering. "I'd never let you go," he 
responded, and it was the truth.


III.

"I think you're going to have to help me off here," she managed in 
a shaky voice, and Lyon fought back a smile as he dismounted and 
grabbed Beau by the reins, holding his hat in the opposite hand. It 
was dark now, the only light coming from the barn up ahead and the 
stars above them, beacons in the darkness. Yet he could see her 
smile clearly, and the way her cheeks were flushed, and how her 
hair was gently tousled from the breeze.

He had fallen in love with this woman, and he didn't give a damn 
about the consequences.

"Grab onto my shoulders," he said as he walked up closer to her. He 
let the reins drop as she leaned over slightly, putting both hands 
out to him. So trusting, and he vowed he would never do anything to 
harm her. Of all the things he had learned about Scully, he knew 
instinctively that her trust was not given easily. For some reason, 
Lyon had it, and he treasured it, knowing its immeasurable value.

He pulled her off the horse, and felt her press up against him in 
the darkness, her hands tangled behind his head. Oh, god. He hadn't 
thought of this when he reached up to help her dismount, and he was 
unprepared for the sensations that ran through his body. Scully's 
full length was against his, and he couldn't help the groan that 
escaped from his lips. It was so unexpectedly erotic and intimate 
that he felt her shiver, and he held her even tighter, anchoring 
himself to that moment with her touch.

If he had any doubts, any doubts that he was immersed far over his 
head, that moment confirmed it for him. Scully felt it, too, he 
knew, by the way she stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. 
"Thank you," she sighed, her voice light and airy and full of want. 

"Jesus," he managed, just before he roughly pulled her head back 
and kissed her.

It was not the sweet, gentle caress of the kisses they shared 
earlier in the day. Instead, it was a hard, demanding kiss, one 
that screamed unequivocally of how much he wanted her, of how much 
his body and spirit desired her. Scully never flinched, never 
retreated from his kiss. She parted her mouth under him, touching 
his tongue fleetingly with the tip of her own. He groaned again, 
tightening his hold on her, and he grew bolder, tracing his hands 
down her back and lifting her just slightly, so her body pressed 
against the junction of his thighs.

"Lyon, I want"" He knew what she wanted, for he wanted the same 
thing. He kissed her again, and then let her slide abruptly against 
his body to the ground, setting her on her feet. 

"I do too, Scully," he managed, his voice raw. "Just not right 
here."

He was ready to take her in the middle of the Wilkins' driveway, 
for god's sakes. She deserved better, he thought, looking at her 
guiltily in the hazy twilight. She deserved the best he could give 
her, and he wanted to give her everything. Lyon was ashamed that he 
had so little to offer, but he could certainly do better than the 
hard Texas soil.

It was lust, but it was more. He wanted the best for Scully because 
he loved her. He met her only a day ago, yet he knew with agonizing 
certainty that he loved her. 

The horse gave a low snort, shaking his head, causing both he and 
Scully to jump. "Guess we forgot we had an audience," Scully said, 
and he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was a little 
embarrassed. He kissed her again, lightly, on the forehead, and 
then held on to her hand, perching his hat on top of her head. She 
looked good in his clothes. She would look better without them, 
without any at all.

"I guess we did," he answered her, and they began to walk, slowly, 
letting the gelding cool off and giving them both a moment to 
regain their senses. "I think you could be a good rider, Scully," 
he said, making small talk, trying to bring them back to an even 
keel. 

She rolled her eyes at him. "I don't think so. Will inherited his 
riding abilities from someone other than me."

Her words were unintentionally poignant, and he had a fleeting 
glimpse of a redheaded boy with his own dark eyes, cantering beside 
him in an open field.

"It's not rocket science," he answered, shaking the image away. 
"It's all about balance, a give and take, an understanding of the 
horse." As they started walking, her initial steps had been 
unsteady, and he wanted to think it was due to his kisses, for it 
certainly made his own legs weak. But he knew their brief ride must 
have had some effect, given her admitted lack of riding experience. 

"How long have you ridden, Lyon?" she asked him as they stopped by 
the barn and he began to unsaddle their mount.

He stopped midway through unbuckling the cinch. He couldn't 
remember. "I don't know," he slowly admitted, trying to recall the 
first time his father set him on a pony or how often he rode as a 
child. The memory wasn't there. "I suppose forever, since I can't 
remember ever starting."

She gazed at him steadily, her eyes speaking volumes that she was 
afraid to put into words. They both were, so they let the moment 
escape.

"C'mere," he said as he led the horse into the stall, shutting the 
gate behind him and grabbing her by the hand. "I want to show you 
something." She followed him willingly, only hesitating for a 
moment as he gestured at the ladder up into the hayloft. She 
climbed up first, and he pointedly looked at the gate, the walls, 
the horses, anything to avoid looking at Scully's shapely legs as 
she climbed up the ladder.

He tried to remember that, beneath the rough exterior of a cowboy, 
he was a gentleman. But Scully made it damn hard to keep that fact 
in mind.

She had already settled into the space overlooking the pasture by 
the time he followed her into the loft. "This is beautiful, Lyon," 
she breathed, and he agreed. The loft overlooked the back of the 
Wilkins' land, and, with the sparse trees and the straight line of 
the fence, there was precious little between their bodies and the 
stars.

"I know," he answered, sitting beside her, naturally drawing her 
body to his. He pulled a few blankets from the stack near the wall, 
and spread them out over the hay. "I come up here a lot at night, 
to be by myself, and to look at the stars. To think."

"Why are you such a private man, Lyon? Who hurt you so?" It was the 
unspoken question she had been mulling most of the day, and she 
spoke it so softly, so easily, that he almost missed it beneath the 
quiet summer breeze. "No one," he finally answered. "Everyone. I 
don't know, Scully. I really don't. I only know that I never felt 
like I could trust anyone. I never wanted to."

Oh, god. He was desperately clutching his self-control, hanging 
about him in tatters. "Until you, Scully. I want to trust you." He 
couldn't take back the words when he uttered them, so they hung 
between them, dancing, tantalizing them both. He couldn't move, but 
only watched her as she moved, stopping inches from his lips. 
"Trust me, Lyon."

It didn't matter what she called him. It all felt so right, so 
natural, that the issue of his name was no longer important. 
Reaching down to pull her shirt up from her slacks, he vowed to 
show her with his body what there weren't enough words to express. 
That he trusted her, that he loved her, that he would do most 
anything for her.

As he lifted her shirt up over her head, he stopped, staring at the 
exquisite sight of the moonlight on her pale skin. Her breasts were 
revealed with the single twist of the bra clasp, and she pulled off 
her slacks on her own. It was not her naked body that aroused him 
the most, although the curve of her hips and the dark curls between 
her legs took his breath away.

It was the look on her face, the open, simple expression of a woman 
who loved him. He felt unworthy, and joyous, and wanted to weep and 
shout at the same moment.

"Let me see you," she said, and he could not refuse her gentle 
request. He couldn't refuse her much of anything, he realized, as 
he stood in front of her, facing her, watching as she lay on her 
back on the soft blanket, naked, never taking her eyes from him. 
Her eyes were the color of a turbulent sea, and his last clear 
thought was that they were both far past the point of tangible 
reason.

Scully looked at him, cataloguing him with a lover's eye. But 
instead of making him feel awkward, he was incredibly aroused. He 
was also making a sacrifice for her. Because instead of loving her 
with just his body, as he had other women before, he was loving her 
with his heart.

"You feel exactly like I dreamed you would," she said, as he laid 
next to her, bringing his hand up to the warmth between her thighs, 
the burnished curls tickling his fingertips. "You've dreamt about 
us, Scully?" he asked her, tracing the outline of her nipple with 
the tip of his tongue. She arched her back and purred. "God, yes. 
I've dreamt of you."

Then he was on his back, and she straddled his hips, and he was 
inside of her. And he knew, as long as he would breathe, this 
moment would remain etched in his memory as perfect. Scully above 
him, nude, her head thrown back and her red hair teasing her 
shoulders, and the full Texas moon rising above her, bathing them 
both in twilight.

"Yes, baby," he murmured, urging her on as she settled her body 
into an easy rhythm. He wanted this moment to last forever, he 
realized, and thrust his hips against her, dragging her closer to 
him, slowing the rhythm to a more manageable pace. "Jesus, Scully," 
he whispered, unsure of what he wanted to say, and not able to find 
the words in any case.

She whimpered, and moved just slightly, rotating her hips so the 
friction changed, and he shuddered. He wanted to tell her that this 
was about so much more, so much more than just sex. That he had 
never felt this way, and it frightened him. But that he wanted her 
to know he would never hurt her, and that he would always do his 
best to protect her. 

Scully knew, by the way she brought her hands up to his face, 
lovingly resting them on his shoulders, using the leverage to 
increase her motions above him. She knew, as they both came, and 
the name he cried was hers, and it was said with as much reverence 
and tenderness as the moment would allow. She knew, for as she fell 
on top of him, her body quivering, she let her breathing fall into 
a pattern echoing his own, and they were complete.

The minutes passed, and he could tell Scully was asleep, her body 
limp on top of him, her breathing finally slow and even. He didn't 
want to move, to ever feel her weight leave him, so he reached over 
to one side, stretching as he grabbed a spare blanket with his 
fingertips and pulled it over them. They lay there, cocooned.  

Just as his eyes began to close, and he felt the hazy twinges of 
sleep pass over him, he heard a voice, his own. "You made me a 
whole person, Scully. I owe you everything, and you, you owe me 
nothing." He had never spoken those words to her, not during the 
day they spent together. But they were true, and, as he drifted to 
sleep, the voice continued to echo in his mind. "You saved me, 
Scully. You saved me."


Chapter Five


I.

Her eyes were heavy still, even as the first edges of dawn made 
their way into the loft, rousing her from her sleep. Sometime 
during the night, she had found her discarded shirt and underwear. 
But her legs were bare, and she pulled them beneath the blanket, 
the chill of the morning air giving her pause. As she opened her 
eyes, with regret, hesitant to leave the peaceful world of sleep 
and dreams, and Mulder, she took stock of her surroundings.

Her legs ached only slightly, and her neck was a little stiff from 
falling asleep on Mulder's bare chest. She wasn't sure how long she 
slept there, but, when she awoke, the night was inky black, and she 
could barely make out the features on his face. He had been relaxed, 
his breathing slow and even, and she never wanted her eyes to close. 
He was beautiful, and she had found him, and something seemed right 
again.

Regretfully, she did roll off him, but, even in his sleep, he gave 
a small moan of protest, quickly encircling her with his arms and 
pulling her closer to him. So she slept, with peace.

He wasn't there when she reached to her side. She panicked, sitting 
up straight. He wouldn't have left her, not again, not after 
everything that happened.

And he hadn't. Instead, he was standing by the open loft door, 
leaning against the aged wood, clad only in his worn jeans. One 
bare foot was propped over the other, and he had his hands slung 
low in his pockets. She admired him, her own Greek god, and with 
her eyes, lovingly traced the line of his back, the way his muscles 
stretched and tapered off into his jeans. She knew his body so 
well, and last night she treasured discovering it all over again.

"Lyon?" she said softly, standing unsteadily to her feet and 
wrapping the blanket around her bare legs, unwilling to take 
the time to find her slacks. He didn't turn around. "Aren't 
you cold without your shirt?"

Again he was silent, and then he dropped his head, and she could 
hear a strange emotion in his voice, one she couldn't define. 
"I didn't want to take it off you," he finally answered. 

Confused, she looked down, realizing that, in the black of night, 
she had slipped on his shirt, which now hung down to her knees.

She walked up, reaching her arms around him, draping the blanket 
over them both, and kissed him on the neck. He didn't move, 
didn't react, and after a long moment, she began to get worried. 
What if he was angry with her? What if he had regrets? What if 
he wished he could have left her asleep in the loft this morning, 
so that they both would have had a moment to regroup, to adjust 
to the accelerated pace of their relationship?

"Lyon?" she asked again, more tentatively, her lips brushing against 
his neck.

"Oh, Scully," he said, and there was something different in the way 
he spoke her name. She recognized that he was trembling, and she 
panicked when she realized that they were sobs. Before she could 
speak, he turned quickly in her arms, nearly knocking her off her 
feet, and began to kiss her, worshipping her, showering her face 
with kisses. He brought both hands up to her face, and she could 
feel the wetness on his cheeks, his own tears.

He said her name, over and over again, chanting it with reverence 
and sadness and awe.

"Lyon? Are you okay? What's wrong?" She thought of every 
possibility, and felt the cold fear grip her again. Please, God. 
Please don't let this have been a mistake.

He finally slowed his kisses and simply held her in a loose embrace, 
her face pressed against his bare chest. "I saw you last night, 
Scully." 

She was confused. Of course, he saw her. She revealed herself to him 
with wanton abandon, and nothing had ever felt so right. But slowly 
the pieces came together. "You dreamt of me?" she asked him, unsure 
of why he was so upset, so emotional. Please, God, she prayed again, 
this time with more fervent despair. Don't let him leave me again. 
It was a desperate plea.

And then he spoke the words, the words that changed everything, the 
words that frightened them both. "It wasn't a dream, Scully," he 
said in a low timbre, his breath teasing the hair on her neck. He 
spoke slowly and deliberately, trying to make her understand. "It 
wasn't a dream, Scully," he said again, pulling back to see her, 
tracing his fingers lovingly along her cheek. "It seemed almost 
like a memory."

Memories.

Her eyes widened, and she couldn't think of anything to say. The 
delayed reaction hit her a second later, and the words rushed over 
her, her own tidal wave of awareness. He saw a vision of their 
previous life together. Somehow, he was remembering who she was, 
who he was. Oh, god. 

"What did you see, Lyon?" She had no idea what to call him, and he 
winced at her uncertainty, pulling away from her, pacing along the 
piles of hay stacked against the wall. They were both raw, ultra 
sensitive to the words and emotions that anchored them together, to 
that moment in time. Whatever was happening, whatever happened to 
Mulder during the night, had changed everything for them both.

"I saw you, Scully, standing in long hallway. You looked so tired, 
and so frightened, and all I wanted to do was comfort you, to make 
you somehow whole again. But I knew that I was part of the problem, 
and how could I fix that? I couldn't let you go." His voice dropped 
a few octaves until she could hardly hear him, but she instantly 
knew what he was describing.

Dear god. Mulder was recounting the moment in the hallway outside 
of his apartment, when he nearly kissed her, desperate for her not 
to leave for Salt Lake City. He remembered.

He couldn't stop, the words gushing forth in a torrent of repressed 
fear and anger. "You and I were standing in front of each other, 
and you were crying, and I felt like the biggest bastard in the 
world because I knew I was the one who made you cry. I was so 
scared I was going to lose you again."

He stopped, unsure, and she could only look at him, tears glistening 
in her eyes. He remembered. It wasn't a dream. It was a memory, a 
clear memory of their life together, a memory of Fox Mulder, the man 
who, up until two days ago, was a stranger to Will Lyon. Now the 
unthinkable for him, that they were one and the same.

Mulder saw the fear in her eyes, and walked towards her, holding 
onto her free hand. His voice dropped a fraction, and she swore 
she saw the ghost of a smile float across his face. "Tell me about 
that moment, Scully, because I know it was real. I knew it last 
night, because I could smell your perfume, and felt your tears 
on my hands when I wiped them away."

Her tears fell freely now. Mulder was recounting the night she 
almost left him behind, the night that set forth the dreadful 
course of events where he turned the world upside down to find her. 
It was the night she knew, with amazing clarity, just how much 
he meant to her. And he remembered. Oh, god, Mulder.

She lost track of time, and then she was sitting in his lap, 
his chin resting on her head. "I don't understand, Lyon," she 
said, and she felt him shake his head. 

"I don't either," he answered, tightening his arms around her. "And 
I don't even have to ask you if it was true, if you and Mulder 
shared that moment. I see it in your face." Neither of them 
understood what was happening. You and Mulder, he said, and she 
realized he couldn't put the pieces together, could not fathom 
the unthinkable.

"It wasn't a dream, Scully. It was a memory." A long pause, and she 
wanted so badly to comfort him, to give him the answers he so 
desperately needed. She needed them, too. She needed to understand 
why he was taken from her, and how, in the course of a single day, 
she found him, and he remembered. It was a small moment, a fraction 
of the kaleidoscope of memories they shared, but for now, it was 
enough.

"At first, I thought my mind was deceiving me, that I wanted so 
badly to be Mulder for you that I convinced myself I actually might 
be. I want to be enough for you. But it was so real. I lived it."

He lived it. Just as she did. When she first started working with 
Mulder, when she believed the lies that were told to her as truths, 
she kept a journal, a memoir of sorts about her experiences. As time 
progressed, those experiences became more bizarre, too terrifying to 
make real with words, so she only recorded them in her mind.

She wanted to run through that list, day by day, to see if he 
remembered. But what was their truth? What happened to him? She 
could see the uncertainty in his eyes, and she had no answer, no 
weapon to fight the evil that lurked in the shadows, the evil that 
took Mulder away from her and made him another man. But they, 
whoever they were, couldn't take away the memory of one 
fleetingly perfect moment. 

She only wanted to have Mulder and Will beside her, sitting near a 
gurgling Texas stream, watching the sunrise.

The sound of a car horn in the driveway caused them both to jump. 
Mulder got to his feet, walking a few steps to see who arrived at 
the Wilkins. She was embarrassed, sitting in a stranger's barn 
without any pants on. She quickly changed shirts, lingering over 
Mulder's soft cotton with regret, and found her slacks, crumpled 
beneath a blanket. She slid them on, brushing out the wrinkles and 
picking off the stray wisps of hay. Taking a deep breath, she 
mentally braced herself for the day, for whatever reality she and 
Mulder were to find outside of the loft.

Mulder wore a confused expression as he walked back to her, slipping 
his shirt on and sliding on his boots. "It's the county sheriff," he 
explained as he took her hand, leading her over to the ladder. As he 
stepped aside to help her down, he said her name, and she looked up 
into his dark, expressive eyes. "I love you," he simply said, and 
she nodded. 

"I know," she answered him, and she did know.

"Lyon," the sheriff announced as they walked out of the barn. He was 
standing on the Wilkins' front porch, one hand on his hip, his face 
shadowed by a large cowboy hat. 

"Sheriff Bensimon," Mulder responded, holding her hand tightly as 
they walked up to the house. "Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins aren't here, 
Sheriff. They went down to Austin for the weekend."

The sheriff gave her a curious glance, but said nothing. Instead, 
he took off his hat and walked down the steps, joining them in the 
front yard. Scully held onto Mulder's hand tighter. The sheriff wore 
his law enforcement persona well. His holster hung low on his hips, 
and the badge on his chest glittered in the morning sunlight. She 
had a fleeting moment of fear, that somehow he was here to take 
Mulder away again.

"Actually, I was here looking for you, Lyon. I'm afraid I have some 
bad news for you." At his words, the fear in Scully's heart grew, 
and she vowed that Mulder would never be taken from her again. She 
simply wouldn't allow it.

Mulder showed no reaction to the Sheriff's announcement. He stood 
very still, his expression bland and emotionless. She had not come 
all this way to lose Mulder again. Not just for the two of them, 
but for Will. He needed his father, and she swore she would give 
that to him.

Oblivious to their quiet drama, the Sheriff watched them with a 
steady gaze. "It's about the Wilkins, Lyon. They're dead, killed 
in a car crash late last night near Austin."

Scully closed her eyes, somehow knowing that the proverbial other 
shoe had just dropped.


II.

It never rained this much in Texas, at least during this time 
of year. She learned this from the handful of farmhands who 
gathered at the Wilkins' home that afternoon. Their faces were 
tired, and tanned, and they reminded her of Mulder, with their 
dusty Levis and well-worn boots. Or at least the new incarnation 
of Mulder.

Scully sat alone on the front porch swing, barefoot, tracing the 
worn outline of the cracked wood with her feet. It was afternoon, 
and the ominous clouds which were gathered near the treeline at 
noon had finally erupted, bringing forth a torrent of rain, the 
large drops slapping against the dirt driveway, quickly turning 
it into a river of mud.

Make it real, she willed silently. Make this moment real, the warm 
rain falling from the heavens, the summer breeze, the way the 
trees in the front yard swayed and danced in the wind, the 
rivulets of water streaming off the side of the porch. Make 
Mulder real.

She saw the truth falling together, although she knew that a certain 
element of the truth had died alongside a Texas highway to Austin, 
in the Wilkins' truck. Even if they had no idea how Will Lyon came 
to be, they knew how he walked onto their ranch, how he worked their 
lands and tended to their herds. They knew, but they were gone, 
their answers silent, fading away.

Were they a part of the deception? Did it matter?

The swing swayed gently as Mulder sat down beside her, his eyes 
betraying his exhaustion and sadness.

"You okay?" she asked, not knowing what else to say. Their emotions 
were sensitive, and she wanted nothing more to walk out into the 
rain, into the surrounding pastures, and simply be alone. That would 
have meant leaving Mulder, however, and she wasn't prepared to 
do that.

"I guess so," he roughly replied, staring intently at the floor. 
"I don't know what the hell is going on, Scully. In the past two 
days, my life has been completely turned upside down. I don't 
understand anything anymore." 

She was angry at what had been done to them. Damn angry, and she 
wondered vaguely again if things would ever be the same. "The 
Wilkins were good people, Scully," he continued. "They gave me 
a roof over my head, and respectability. And they helped you 
find me." 

But what part did they play in the deception? The morning she 
stood in the Wilkins' driveway seemed a lifetime ago. She wasn't 
even the same person as she was then, the hopeful, determined 
woman who was so focused on finding Mulder. Now, she found him, 
yet the world was a slippery landscape of jumbled emotions 
and words unsaid.

"They did help me find you, Lyon," she finally answered. She 
wanted him to understand. How much should she say? She wanted 
to tell him that she believed their deaths to be no accident, 
that they died because she came to Texas, that they died because 
he remembered a fleeting moment in a hallway years ago. But he 
wouldn't understand. Not yet, not this soon, not when he still 
lived and breathed life as Will Lyon. 

He didn't meet her eyes. "And now they're gone," he responded, 
and she winced at the barely contained anger in his voice. She 
had heard that tone from him countless times before, always when 
they had their backs against the wall, always when it seemed as 
if their last chance was gone. It was different now, she wanted 
to scream. We have a child, and we have a chance to build a life 
together, one that was taken from us.

Mulder wanted answers, and she had never been able to deny him 
his quest for the truth.

Before she could speak, the front door opened, and Scully saw 
one of the ranch hands emerge. She herself had been in the house 
earlier that day, when the sheriff first arrived. Walking into the 
shadowed foyer, she had crinkled her nose, the smell reminding her 
of the houses of older people. Cooked vegetables, and dust from 
rooms whose doors were rarely, if ever, opened. Mulder didn't 
belong in this place.

The young man walked over to them, and she vaguely remembered his 
name as Mark, in the rush of introductions that had been made in 
the late morning as the Wilkins' crew arrived and heard the news. 
"Lyon," he said, his boots heavy on the wooden porch, "I finished 
up those phone calls. The herd is ready to ship out on Monday, 
and Mr. Wilkins' son finally called back. He's on his way 
down here."

Mulder never moved, his face impassive, and Scully knew he was 
slipping away, away from the joyous cocoon in the loft this 
morning, away from the possibility that he was Mulder, that 
they shared a life together. In his grief, and anger, he shut 
down the realm of the impossible, instead focusing on inhaling 
and exhaling.  

What was once lost was now found, and she could never bear the 
pain of that loss again.

Mark was looking at them expectedly, as if waiting for some 
sort of response. She glanced at Mulder, who sat staring out 
into the afternoon drizzle. "Thank you," she murmured, unsure 
of exactly what to say. "I know the Wilkins would have appreciated 
it." Mark looked at her curiously, as if trying to place her 
face, and then smiled tightly before walking off.

The remainder of the men said their goodbyes, murmuring words 
of half-hearted comfort to each other. They seemed to Scully to 
be expressions people thought they should say at a moment like 
this, when casual conversation seemed inappropriate and no one 
wanted to seem insensitive. 

Her cell phone rang, the sound jarring amidst the drizzle of 
rain and perfunctory gestures. Mulder watched her curiously as 
she searched for the phone in the pocket of her slacks. It was 
Walter, her reminder of the outside world, of the way things 
were just a week ago. Dana Scully, single mother and former FBI 
agent. Somehow, she didn't feel like the same person, much as 
she imagined Mulder felt.

The world would forever be different for the both of them.

"Walter," she said as she answered the phone, and she watched 
Mulder's eyes when he heard Walter's name. Nothing. No moment 
of recognition. She felt her stomach twist, and realized it was 
all too soon for Mulder, too fast. Their intimacy had brought 
forth one memory, but she refused to believe the rest of those 
memories were not still there, behind the floodgates of another 
man's life.

"I was worried, Dana," Walter said. "I tried to call you a few 
times last night, but you didn't answer. Did you find out 
anything? Did you find Mulder?" 

"Yes," was her only response, because she didn't know where to
 begin. There was no possible way she could begin to describe 
the past two days to anyone. What she and Mulder had experienced 
was something that had changed them both.

The static in the background was the only sound for what seemed 
like minutes, neither she nor Walter knowing what to say. Mulder 
only watched her, quiet, his eyes shadowed. She wanted to scream 
at him, to tell him to say something, anything, so she would 
know what he was thinking. It saddened her, to realize that she 
could no longer read his thoughts, that the instinctual reaction 
to his emotions was gone.

"You found him," Walter finally said. It was surreal to hear 
the words, and she knew Walter was disbelieving. "Is he alright? 
Is everything okay? Where the hell has he been?"

"Things are complicated right now," she offered, not wanting 
Walter to think ill of Mulder. That was all she would say, 
knowing the rest would gradually emerge over time. "I'm fine. 
Right now, that's all I can tell you."

Walter was immediately concerned. "Do you need me to come down 
there, Dana?" The protectiveness in her voice brought unexpected 
tears to her eyes. 

"No," she responded immediately, wiping away the wetness as 
Mulder got to his feet, walking away from her, leaning against 
the railing on his elbows. "And don't tell Will," she whispered. 
She wasn't ready for Will to know. She wasn't ready because 
she didn't know what was going to happen in the next hour, 
the next day, the next week. "I'll call him myself," she asserted, 
not giving Walter a chance to protest. "I have to go," she 
said, getting up to stand near Mulder, holding onto his hand.

His hand was intensely warm, and she savored the sensation. It 
was life, and it reminded her that he was here with her. She 
wasn't doing this alone. Disconnecting the phone, she stood in 
silence. The rain was finally beginning to slack off, the 
large drops diminishing to a steady haze. The air smelled clear, 
fresh, dancing over her face with the afternoon breeze. The 
grass, though still damp with rain, glistened beneath the 
emerging sun, and she relished the sight, the fact that Mulder 
was standing beside her to see it.

"I hope everything's okay," he said, nodding vaguely in the 
direction of the phone. If you only knew, she thought, shrugging 
her shoulders in response.

"Things between us will never be simple, will they?" It was 
Mulder's question, but he already knew the answer. She knew 
the connection that brought them together. She knew that Will 
was his child. She knew that the death of the couple who he 
cared for was part of a larger plan, something he could not 
yet process. Something she could not understand herself.

"I need to have things arranged here," he said, "for when Jerry 
gets into town. He's the Wilkins' son. I don't know what he's 
going to want to do. The cattle have to be shipped out, the men 
have to be paid -"

When he paused, she wanted to scream at him about the 
insignificance of the damn cattle, when they were so close to 
the truth. And then she realized she sounded exactly like him, 
back in the days when he was driven by a force even he could 
not define.

"Yes," she finally said. "There will be a lot to do." 

He kissed her suddenly, an unexpected ferocity to his embrace. 
"I haven't forgotten this morning, Scully. I haven't forgotten 
that memory, that feeling." Oh, Mulder. Don't forget, because 
it's all we have for the time being.  

"I'll drive you back to the motel," he announced, pulling away 
from her, turning his face so she would not see his tears. "I 
imagine we would both like a hot shower, a chance to get 
cleaned up."

"Okay," she whispered. They were leaving this place, this spot 
of discovery and heartache and deception, and she was glad. 
They needed time to heal, to lick the wounds of their latest 
escapade. 

He kissed her lightly on the lips, murmuring, "It'll be okay, 
Scully." And she believed him, for what other choice did 
she have?

She should call her mother, who was doubtless worried over 
her impromptu drive to Texas. She should call her son, to let 
him know she was okay and that she was thinking of him. But 
she simply stood there, motionless on a dead man's porch, and 
watched Mulder walk to the barn, through the last of the storm.


III.

He flipped through the telephone book, passing through the 
Albertsons and the Criglers and the Hollidays and the Joneses. 
He stopped at Lyon, recognizing the first entry as that of Larry 
Lyon, who lived in a small house off Main Street. His wife had 
passed away a few months ago, and the handful of times he saw 
Mr. Lyon in the streets, his eyes were rimmed with red and his 
breath smelled distinctly of bourbon. 

Lyon wondered what it would be like to love someone so much that, 
when they were taken from you, life simply didn't seem worth 
living. Reality paled in comparison to the dull numbness of alcohol. 
He thought of Scully, how she searched for Mulder, her strength 
never wavering, and he wondered how this woman, this invincible 
woman, came to be.

And then there was his name. Will Lyon, Rural Route 26. That was 
the Wilkins' address. He never got any mail there, except for 
the odd solicitation or the revival announcement from the local 
Baptist Church. He never cared much, to be honest. Mail and phone 
calls and visits were inconsequential when you didn't give a damn 
about anyone but yourself.

But now he did, a redheaded woman who silently believed he was 
another man, and who loved him beneath the Texas stars. Now there 
was a reason to give a damn, he thought, a shiver dancing down his 
spine, because he was sure the moment he told Scully she was 
everything, that she saved him, was real. He lived it. In that 
moment, he was Mulder.

The door to the room opened, and Scully entered, balancing a drink 
In each hand and a bag of chips under her chin. She shut the door 
with her foot, pushing it extra hard. Lyon wondered absently how 
old the door was, and how many more years it would take for the 
frame to warp completely in the warm Texas humidity. Like so many 
things in this town, time was wearing them away, reshaping them 
into a new form.

He should have gotten up to help her. But he couldn't move from 
his position on the bed, where his legs were stretched out on the 
worn bedspread and the town phone book lay open in his lap. He 
couldn't take his eyes from her, savoring every detail, like a
man dying of thirst who spots a clear stream in the distance.

Leaving her would kill him, but he had to leave her to save 
them both.

She wordlessly handed him his iced tea and they unwrapped their 
sandwiches. "Are you going to be okay, Lyon?" she finally asked 
him. He wanted to laugh at her, to tell her he really had no 
idea if he would ever be okay again. That he wasn't sure who he 
really was, that the couple he once trusted were dead, that he 
felt he was somehow indirectly involved, that he loved her so 
goddamned much it hurt.

But that wouldn't be fair, so he gave her a semblance of a smile 
before he replied. "I think so. You are here, and for the moment, 
that is enough." He was proud of himself for speaking the truth, 
for the right words brought an answering smile from Scully. He 
noticed how the wrinkles near her eyes became more prominent as 
she smiled, and how the weariness, which haunted her expression 
since she came into town, now seemed more noticeable. 

"What did you do, Scully, when you found out Mulder was gone?" 
He tortured himself with conjectures about that time, what she 
went through, finding out she was pregnant with a new life when 
she had no idea if Mulder was dead or alive. But he needed to 
know. The desire in him pulsated, twisted through his body, 
demanded satisfaction. He couldn't explain it, but the thought 
of Scully alone, pregnant and desperate, blinded him.

"I looked for him," she said simply, blinking as if surprised 
by his question, and it was enough. He loved her so impossibly 
much that it nearly crippled him.

Which is why he had come to decision, as they drove the once 
familiar road back to Scully's motel room. The town taunted him, 
laughing in the face of his confusion. He knew every stoplight, 
every business lining the dusty two-lane. But he wasn't sure 
what was real. The memories of his forty-odd years were twisted, 
confused. He tried to understand if it was the normal wear of 
time, the way the wood of the motel creaked and the Wilkins' 
front porch sagged, or if it was something more. If everything 
was fading for a reason.

He had to know. He had to answer the questions for himself, for 
Scully and for Will. And he had to do it alone. 

Scully finished her sandwich, crinkling the paper in her hands, 
and he knew he was a bastard. He had to protect her. She had no 
idea that he was leaving her. That, in a few short hours, he 
would walk out that battered door into the evening darkness in 
a desperate attempt to find the truth. Nothing would be the 
same for them until he knew.

He had to know who he really was, and until then, he refused 
to put Scully and her son in danger, refused to taint their 
life with his uncertain presence. 

"I'm sorry about the Wilkins," she said, and he watched her 
face as she spoke. "I know you found a home there, Lyon, and 
I know how important that was for you."

Home. When he was a child, he would come in from school, and 
his mother would always be there to welcome him, her apron 
sprinkled with flour from whatever project she had going on 
in the kitchen. She would make him a sandwich, and he would 
sit on the back porch. When his parents died, a certain love 
died with him.

He always believed that was why his emotions were a sparse 
landscape, where nothing would take root. He traveled once 
towards the border, to South Texas, picking up some cattle 
with Mr. Wilkins, and he was fascinated with the flat desert 
and the mountains in the background. He saw himself.

And now he wondered if any of it was real, if his barren heart 
was because something was taken from him, something that was 
his and his alone, something he had only chosen to share with 
this beautiful woman who believed he was someone else.

He wondered if he believed it, too.  

"I think I'm going to take a shower now," Scully said, 
grabbing the trash from the bed as she stood. She walked over 
to him, kissing him on the head, and every breath he drew as 
she stood over him was painful. It was a reminder of what might 
have been taken from him. "Do you need anything else?" she 
asked, resting her chin on the top of his head.

I need so much, Scully. I need you, I need answers, I need to 
find the truth that will make everything okay. "I'm fine," he 
lied, and she believed him, because she wanted to do so.

He listened as she took off her clothes in the small bathroom, 
the sound of her slacks and her blouse hitting the tile. Lyon 
heard the water turn on, and he swore he heard a sigh. He 
imagined Scully standing underneath the water, letting it 
cascade down her back, her hair becoming damp. 

A pounding began near his temples as he remembered Scully 
standing in that long hallway, frustration and heartache on 
her face. He knew she never cried. What brought forth those 
tears? Why was she leaving him that day? He was determined to 
remember. He was determined to give her back what she lost. 
But he could only do that by leaving her again. 

Before he could doubt himself, Lyon was standing in the 
bathroom, the steam from the shower already blanketing the 
small space. He unzipped his jeans, adding them to the messy 
pile of Scully's clothes. And he pulled the curtain back, 
and stepped inside.

"I wondered what was taking you so long," she said, and he 
smiled.

"I'm an old man, Scully," he said, intending to tease her, 
but becoming distracted by the way the water ran down her 
back, tracing the curve of her legs before hitting the tile. 
"But I could never turn down an invitation from the woman 
I love." 

"I don't remember inviting you," she began to reply, but he 
cut off her words with his mouth, kissing her with an urgency 
he felt from the moment the Sheriff arrived at the ranch that 
morning, from the moment he realized that he could not rest, 
not yet. She sighed beneath him, bringing her arms around 
him, pulling him under the warm stream.

Scully's hands were everywhere, slick from the remnants of 
soap and shampoo, and, as they caressed him, she whispered 
his name in his ear. "I found you," she said, stopping only 
to kiss him again, her tongue flicking against his teeth. He 
knew what she meant, that he couldn't leave her, that she 
wouldn't allow him to leave her again.

Didn't she understand? Couldn't she see that he wanted her, 
no matter who he might be, no matter who he used to be? There 
was something about this woman that beat in time to the 
rhythm of his heart, so essential to every breath he drew. 

The sex was desperate, tinged with unstated declarations of 
possession and control, of loss and betrayal. Even as he 
turned her around, her hands pressed up against the slick tile, 
her hair hanging wet around her face, and entered her from 
behind, the warmth that was her essence sending a shiver 
through his body, he knew what he must do.

And so, after the water ran cold and their bodies were 
exhausted, after he lay spooned behind her in bed, telling 
how much he loved her and how much he needed her in his life, 
she slept. It was a fitful sleep, Scully's hands clutched 
tightly around a pillow pressed to her naked skin. As much 
as he wanted to go to her, to comfort her, he only watched 
for what seemed to be an eternity, staring at her in the 
little light that came through the blinds.

Who was he? His life as Lyon and Scully's stories of Mulder 
were intertwined, and he couldn't tell where one stopped and 
the other began. He could only hold onto one moment, one 
moment when he knew he told her how much he loved her, and 
that she had saved him.

And then he walked into the darkness, careful to pull the 
door shut, always aware that time causes even the most 
formidable objects to fade away.

Chapter Six (6/6)


  
I. 
  
The summer had become a ritual of marking off great chunks of time. 
The time between breakfast and lunch, the time between Will's riding 
lessons and a weekend barbeque, the minutes between when her alarm 
went off and when she left the house for work, and the hours after 
she ate dinner with Will, before it seemed alright to go to bed.
 
In that time, the signs of summer diminished. Will grew resigned to 
starting school again, not having the endless hours to spend at the 
stable. She watered her lawn less and less, the cooler weather 
decreasing the fears of dead spots of grass. The neighborhood 
children traded their shorts and bicycles for backpacks and the 
school bus. And Scully's impressions of Texas became blurry, a 
mixture of open fields and cattle and miles of fencing along 
the highway. 

But she held the image of Mulder, his hat propped rakishly on his 
head and his worn Levis dusty from his work, close to her, refusing 
to let it wither away with the remains of the summer. 

He was coming back to her. She had run through the gauntlet of 
emotions: overwhelming sadness, when she awoke that gray morning to 
find the room empty; furious anger, that he ditched her once again, 
proving that certain Mulder qualities would never be abated; 
loneliness, sleeping alone at night when she was accustomed to his 
warm body, even after their short time together; and finally, 
acceptance. She found him, and gave him the key to unlock the 
puzzle of his past, his true identity. She did not follow him that 
day, sensing somehow his personal quest. And when he found his 
answers, their answers, he would come home to her. 

Scully held onto that belief as passionately as she did her image 
of Mulder, and it sustained her. 

"Food's ready!" Walter shouted, and she reined in her thoughts to 
the present, her mother and Walter setting the patio table with 
plates. Will ran in large circles in the backyard, flapping his 
arms wildly around him, shouting at the top of his lungs, the 
dogs at his heels. 

Scully told all of them the truth, even Will. That she found 
Mulder. That he was physically okay, but somehow changed. That his 
memories were different. That he would come home to them when he 
could. And, to Will, that he loved the idea of being a father to a 
boy who loved horses. Will smiled at that, a knowing smile, and 
asked surprisingly few questions. 

But he did start sleeping with Mulder's old basketball jersey every 
night, and he moved the picture of Mulder that was on the hallway 
table into his room, on the small bookcase by his bed. Scully would 
stand there long after Will had gone to sleep, when even the dogs 
were snoring in the front hallway, and watch her son. Now, it all 
seemed so real, Mulder watching over him. Instead of bringing 
forth tears, it brought a smile. 

She was ready to call Will to the table when her mother stopped her. 
"Let him play some more, Dana," she said, resting her hand lightly 
on Scully's arm and motioning to the open chair next to Walter. 
"He'll eat when he's hungry. He's fine."

She sat without argument, knowing her mother was right. "Thanks for 
grilling, Walter. It smells delicious." And it did. Walter's 
specialty was grilled chicken, with some sort of sauce that he 
zealously guarded in the kitchen. Scully grinned everytime she saw 
him in there, peeking out from behind the refrigerator as he mixed 
together his secret ingredients. 

"Only the best from Chef Skinner," he said, and she laughed, loving 
him for everything he had done for her family, and for Mulder. 
Especially for Mulder. 

She was blessed, and she knew it. She was loved, and she knew it. 
Just as she knew Mulder would be coming home, and everything just 
might just be okay. 

The conversation was small talk, mindless chatter between bites of 
chicken and potato salad and corn on the cob. When she returned 
from Texas, Walter had endless questions, but she never answered 
them. Not only was she not sure how to answer, but she felt like 
Mulder should be given the opportunity to explain what happened over 
the past nine years. If he even could. 

Giving up that opportunity would be giving up hope, and she wasn't 
willing to do that. 

She had not been able to resist doing some investigation of her own, 
into Will Lyon and his history. Although his records were sparse, 
they seemed legitimate. She finally had to stop looking, because 
everytime she saw Lyon's name, she saw Mulder that morning in the 
loft, standing beside the open door, the sunrise a backdrop to 
their day. The day he remembered something, however small, and the 
day she absolutely knew it was Mulder, the man she always loved. It 
caused an ache inside, one she would rather live without if 
she could. 

"Will starts school next week, huh?" Walter spoke casually between 
bites of her mother's potato salad. 

She nodded in response. "He does," she said. "And he's not too 
happy about it either. Seems that Billy has been assigned to a 
different teacher, so they won't be in the same classroom." Will 
had been temporarily devastated, as Billy was his best friend and 
this was the first year they had not been given the same teacher. 

As she wiped his tears away that night, trying to convince him with 
the argument that Billy only lived right down the road, and Will 
could see him anytime he wanted, her thoughts naturally drifted to 
Mulder. How would he handle Will's crisis? God only knew there were 
enough of them. She tried to imagine Mulder sitting with Will on his 
lap, the two of them with their heads nestled closely together, 
Mulder whispering softly to Will. She was reminded of the way 
Mulder gently saddled his horse, the innate quality in his hands 
and his voice that calmed the gelding. 

As sure as she was that it was Mulder who walked away from her that 
night in the motel, she also saw the changes in the man he had 
become. For his abundance of wariness, he was also tired, and took 
greater comfort in the simple things in life. Sitting in the grass 
with her, eating ice cream. Pointing out constellations in the 
heavens. Kissing her gently in a musty motel room. All of these were 
traits of the man she respected, and she catalogued them with a 
desperate tenacity. 

Just as being a mother had given her the gift of patience, and she 
drew on it daily, every hour, every minute. She saw Mulder 
everywhere: in front of her at the bank, checking out a book from 
the library, throwing a ball to a small black dog in the park. 
Everywhere he couldn't be, yet she saw him. 

"This has been an eventful summer, for everyone," her mother said, 
and she saw her mother and Walter exchange a quick glance across 
the table before looking at her. She wanted to give a sarcastic 
laugh, as "eventful" seemed unable to capture everything that 
had happened. "Yes, it has," she simply answered instead. 

Will galloped up to the table, his face flushed with exertion and 
his red hair sticking to his forehead. "Had enough?" she asked him 
with a laugh. He looked exhausted. He nodded his head and sighed, 
sitting beside her mother, who brushed the hair away from his 
forehead as she fixed his plate. 

"Mom, Billy wants to know if he can go riding with me this weekend," 
he stated, his mouth full of potato salad. 

"Don't talk with your mouth full, please," she gently chided him, 
"and yes, that'll be fine, as long as it's okay with Billy's 
mother." Will spent the past few years trying to convince Billy 
that riding horses might be the greatest pastime on earth. She 
wasn't sure Billy was all that convinced, but he did go riding 
with Will on occasion, mostly, Scully figured, to make her son 
happy. 

The doorbell rang, causing the dogs to bark, looking into the open 
patio door towards the foyer. "I'll get it," Will exclaimed, jumping 
to his feet and nearly toppling the table over. 

"Sit," she simply said, putting her napkin down on the table and 
getting to her feet. If Will got away from the table now, he might 
never finish supper. "I'll get the door." 

The rush of cool air greeted her as she stepped inside, and she was 
aware of a strange sense of calm in the house, the light from the 
front porch window creating hazy shadows in the room. She felt 
almost lightheaded, and decided it must be from the heat outside, 
and Walter's grilling. 

As she opened the front door, she knew it was something else. At 
her feet, there lay a simple white notecard, folded over, with 
no envelope. Picking it up, she felt her stomach churn and the 
hairs on the back of her neck prickle, all the signs that something 
was happening. 

"Come ride with me." 

Oh, god. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she immediately recognized 
the distinctive scrawl. Stepping off the porch, she raised one 
hand to her eyes to block out the last of the afternoon sun, and 
scanned the street, looking for his familiar form. Mrs. Evans was 
knelt over her flowerbeds, her large-brimmed hat hiding her face 
from Scully. She saw two young boys playing basketball in the 
driveway across the street from her. A young child leapt through 
the sprinklers in the lawn next door. 

Everything seemed normal, just as it did when she stepped onto her 
porch and looked out on the street on any other day, but it was 
different. She held the proof in her hands, proof that he had been 
standing on her front steps, proof that he existed. 

She looked closer at the folded notecard, and, below Mulder's 
invite, was an address, written almost as an afterthought, the slant 
making the words harder to decipher than the initial message. But 
she recognized it immediately, having spent the better part of her 
life for the past three years driving to it. It was the stable 
where William rode, not far from their home. Mulder was there, 
waiting to go for a ride. 

"Dana?" It was her mother, holding onto her arm, her eyes anxious 
and concerned. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?" 

She wanted to laugh with joy, to tell her mother that everything, 
for the first time in a very long time, might actually be okay. But 
she didn't. Doing so would waste precious time. "Come ride with me," 
he said. The words danced around her, tantalizing in their promise, 
and she could think of little else. 

"Everything's fine, Mom," she answered, rushing past her mother, 
grabbing her purse and car keys off the table in the foyer. "I've 
got someplace I need to go. Will you and Walter stay with William 
until I get back?" 

Her mother walked back inside, her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Of 
course, Dana. Are you sure there's not a problem?" Her mother was a 
godsend, Scully knew. She loved Will unquestionably, and understood 
so much without being told. How her daughter felt about Mulder, and 
how special their relationship was. How they all believed everything 
could be okay again. 

Yet her mother seemed to feel it was a personal affront that her 
daughter and Mulder were not living under the same roof, that Will 
grew up with a surrogate father in Walter while his biological 
father was missing. Maggie always maintained that Mulder was 
missing. He had not deserted them. He was not dead, nor lost. 
Just missing. 

She stopped only long enough to kiss her mother gently on the cheek. 
Don't think, were the words she chanted in her head. Just go. 
"Everything will be fine, Mom. I promise. Please don't worry." 

And, with that, she pulled on her shoes and ran outside, feeling 
like the young child leaping through the sprinkler in the neighbor's 
yard. She refused to think about what she was doing, about what 
might be happening, only knowing, with overwhelming assurance, that 
Mulder was waiting for her, wanting to go for a ride. 
  
  
II. 
  
He sat on an empty bench near the side of the barn, watching the 
sunset. He felt his age, like a tired, old man who was nearing the 
end of an exhausting ordeal. Lyon knew he was nearing the end of 
something. He hoped the ending would provide him with the courage 
he needed to make his life right again. 
  
Lyon waited for Scully to show. He knew he was a coward, putting 
that note on her doorstep and leaving before she answered the 
doorbell. Like a gawky teenager. He stood beside the garage across 
the street and watched her. When she stepped onto the porch, he felt 
the earth stand still. She looked gorgeous, radiant, like she had 
been waiting behind that door for him all summer.
 
He was such a bastard. A coward and a bastard. She probably had 
been waiting for him. He berated himself over and over again since 
he left her behind, wondering if he made the right decision, 
wondering if she would hate him for abandoning her. But it was the 
only one he could make at the time. 

And it was the only decision he could make until he knew the truth, 
and she accepted him for that truth. 

He recognized the sounds of a SUV rumbling up the stable drive, and 
knew it was Scully. It was late, and most of the other riders had 
gone home. He had struck up a friendship of sorts with the owner 
of the stable, mentioning Will. She rambled on and on about what a 
special boy Will was, about how he loved to ride, and he listened 
with rapt attention to every word. She easily agreed to let him 
rent a horse for an evening ride, provided he stay near the 
well-lit stable area. 

He rose unsteadily to his feet, uncertain, and then he saw her, 
rounding the corner, nearly out of breath. She looked like she ran 
the distance to the barn instead of drove. Her hair was slightly 
disheveled, her lips parted as she drew in an unsteady breath. He 
thought she had never looked more beautiful.
 
"You're here," she said, stopping a few feet in front of him. She 
clasped her hands uncertainly, as if she wasn't sure where she 
wanted to put them. He hoped she wanted to put them around him, 
for that was all he could think about. Holding her, touching her. 

"I am," he answered, and he closed the distance between them in 
a quick step, and held her. He pressed her closely against his 
chest, his chin resting perfectly on her bowed head. Neither of 
them said a word. For the moment, there was nothing to say. 

He had come back to her, just as he silently promised her he 
would that long-ago Texas night, and she met him at the stable, 
forgiving him. 

"Where have you been?" she finally asked, pulling slightly away 
from him. He took advantage of the moment to kiss her, his touches 
frantic. One kiss simply wasn't enough. Her lips were even softer 
than he remembered, and the way she faintly moaned beneath his touch 
made him want to kiss her even more. 

When he was finally able to regain his bearings, he saw that the 
sun had almost slipped beneath the horizon, and they were standing 
beneath the large light on the side of the barn, its glare casting 
an uncertain circle around them. "We need to talk," he said, 
stepping away from her with regret. 

They began to walk, falling into an easy, even stride, and she 
reached over to hold onto his hand. He wasn't sure if she was 
seeking an anchor, or if she was providing one for him. 

He didn't know what to tell her, where to begin. When he left her 
behind that morning, he did so with every intention of finding the 
truth, finding out what happened to him. That fleeting memory with 
Scully was so real, so tangible, that he was determined to uncover
more, along with the truth regarding his life as Will Lyon. 

The problem, he found, was that every memory he had was hazy. He 
couldn't decide if Will Lyon had spent every summer riding on his 
father's ranch, or if that was Mulder. Did he spend time vacationing 
on the East Coast as a child, or was that a moment from another 
man's life? Who suffered the loss of a young girl named Samantha, 
Mulder or Lyon? He was only able to distinguish between the two 
sets of memories by Scully's presence. Looking into her shadowed 
eyes, he wondered how he could tell her that the moments he 
remembered between them, before she walked into Joe's, were 
fleetingly few. 

They continued to walk in silence, as he tried to decipher his 
thoughts. The organized speech he planned for this moment 
disappeared into the haze of emotion upon seeing her again. 
Finally, he spoke. 

"You and I were standing in the cold rain, Scully, surrounded by 
trees. It was so cold, and dark, and we were talking about time, 
how it was a universal element that could never be changed. We 
were dancing, in Memphis, and I twirled you around and pulled 
you back into my arms. You were so sick, so tiny in a hospital 
bed, and all I could do is hold your hand and cry." 

As he spoke, he watched her. She paled, and then held onto 
his hand tighter, her eyes reflecting every emotion. She 
remembered these moments, too. They were real. They had 
shared something between them that was too perfect to be 
taken away. 

"But I only remember a few things, Scully," he admitted, speaking 
the words he dreaded, the words he feared would cause her such 
pain. He knew they did for him. He tried, spending hours staring 
into the evening sky, watching the sunrise from his truck, gazing 
into a black cup of coffee, trying to remember more. He tried to 
put together memories a different life from what he lived, and was
only rewarded by bits and pieces. But all of them, the few he 
could remember, were with Scully. 

"I have tried, Scully, so damn hard. I have tried to remember 
a life as Mulder, with you. But all I can remember are these 
snapshots, memories that are so brief that they are gone in a 
flash. I nearly drove myself crazy." He thought about showing 
her his worn notebook, but then thought better of it. He 
picked it up that morning after he left the motel, and started 
writing, everything he thought, and everything he remembered. 
It was all too important to forget.
 
"What else did you find out?" she asked. It was as if she was 
trying to process everything at once, and understood nothing. 

He valiantly struggled ahead, wanting her to believe. "I went 
through the Wilkins' books after their son arrived, sorting 
through the records for him. Mr. Wilkins received several 
large payments about the time I started working there, from 
a company his son had never heard of before, a company here 
in DC. I did some checking, but couldn't trace down anything 
about them. The address doesn't exist. These payments continued 
until the week you arrived." 

He thought he saw a passing expression of pain on her face. 
"I went back to my hometown, Scully, hoping to find some of 
the friends I had growing up. There were a few, one or two, 
and they seemed to remember me. But it was so damn long ago, 
that I don't know if they really did or were only humoring 
me. I tried to track down people I worked for recently, 
places I stayed before I ended up with the Wilkins." 

She knew what he was telling her. "Let me guess," she said, 
for the first time speaking in the clear tone he recognized 
as belonging to her. "You couldn't find anyone." 

He was surprised, that she didn't seem angry or hurt or 
defeated. He felt all of these things over the past weeks 
he was away from her, the weeks he spent searching for the 
truth, about Will Lyon and Mulder. "No," he confirmed, not 
sure what she wanted to hear. 

"Scully, my life is so fucked up. I have no idea who I am or 
where I really was six months ago, a year ago. But I had to c
come back to you, because you are the only one I give a damn 
about. I don't care about Lyon or Mulder or anyone else, 
but I need to be here with you." 

She was silent for so long that he was scared, uncertain if he 
had said too much, too soon. He knew the connection between 
them, knew her absolute certainty that he was Mulder, but he 
also remembered the way she whispered his name, Lyon, beneath 
the evening sky, and the way she kissed him. 

He was not wrong. Coming here was not a mistake. 

"Who am I to you?" he asked, needing to hear her say the 
words that would make everything okay, that would keep him 
here next to her. Say it, he pleaded, begging her. 

"Say something, Scully," he finally said, unable to stand her 
silence any longer. And then she looked at him, and smiled. 
He was so surprised that he wasn't sure at first if she was 
weeping, and then he recognized the smile on her face, and the 
light in her eyes. 

She was staring at some distant spot over his head, near the 
trees, when she finally spoke. "Mulder and I didn't fall in 
love instantly," she said, speaking with a slow deliberateness, 
as if she were choosing her words with the utmost precision. 
"There was an instant respect, a mutual admiration, but mostly 
there was an incredible friendship. He was my best friend, and, 
as time passed, I loved him in every possible way." 

She paused, and reached out to hold his other hand. 

He had an absurd thought, one that made him almost laugh out 
loud from a combination of joy and fear. Several weeks after 
he left Scully, when he was driving through the farmlands of 
Oklahoma, searching for answers to a question he could not 
ask, he spent the night in a small motel. As he lay in bed 
that night, thinking of Scully and their time together in a 
room very much the same, a black-and-white film began to 
flicker on television. He watched, fascinated, as the hero 
appeared, sweeping the young woman off her feet, and whisked 
her to safety. At the end, they stood with their hands clasped 
together, vowing an eternal devotion, the sort of love that 
would not fade. 

He glanced down at Scully's small hands holding onto his, and 
then looked up again into her eyes. Her tears were finally
beginning to fall, but he could not make himself break their 
embrace to catch them. 

"I love Mulder," she said, one side of her mouth quirking up 
into a sad smile. "I love Lyon," she continued, finally releasing 
his hand to wipe the tears away from her cheek. He didn't know 
what to think, what to say, so he said nothing. "And I love 
you," she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible in the stillness 
of the evening air. 

Somewhere close by, a horse whinnied, and he thought he heard a 
dog bark off in the distance. He processed those sounds, the 
sounds of the world around them, before he could process her 
words. She loved him. Whoever he was, whoever he might become, 
it was enough for her that he was standing here. 

She loved and accepted him, and that was all he needed to know. 

He kissed her with a delicate tenderness, a reverence for this 
beautiful woman who changed his life, who changed him in ways 
he knew he could never understand, could never possibly know. 
And for whatever might happen, it was enough for them both at 
that moment to be standing with each other, creating their 
own version of the truth. 

She found her voice before he could speak. "Didn't you promise 
me a ride?" she asked. He was lost, and he was found, and he 
knew he would never let this woman go.     
  
  
III. 
  
  
It was morning when they awoke in yet another motel, a new day, 
and she felt it as she lay in Mulder's arms. A glorious rebirth, 
a victory over an invisible enemy. Whatever force tried to take 
Mulder from her had failed. Although things would never be the 
same, she found him. Things would be better. 
 
When she met him last night at the stable, she was frightened at 
what he might say. The confusion in his eyes as he haltingly told 
her the truth, that he no longer knew who he was, broke her heart. 
She wanted to scream against the injustice, pursue the ones that 
hurt him. But, for the moment, she suppressed her instinctual 
response, instead finding acceptance in the man who stood before 
her.   

They pulled into her driveway, and, as she turned off the ignition, 
she heard Mulder clear his throat, shifting his feet nervously. 
He always had a nervous habit of bouncing his feet, chewing on a 
pencil, twirling his fingers, any sort of physical outlet for 
his anxiety. His uncertainty was touching, and she leaned over to 
kiss him lightly on the cheek. "This will be okay, Lyon. I promise." 

She made the silent decision sometime during the night that she 
would call him Lyon. In her heart, he was always Mulder, would 
always be Mulder. But she respected the changes in him, and the 
fact that he possessed this new side to his personality. It 
didn't matter what name he was called. She knew who he was, 
and he was home.
 
"So, this is your house," he said, leaning forward as if to get 
a better look. 

"In theory, it is, but it actually belongs to the First National 
Bank. They are kind enough to take a large sum of money every month 
to let me live here." He laughed at her before he spoke. "It looks 
like you, Scully. Neat, orderly. Much how I imagine your life is." 

She knew what he was trying to tell her, as this was so new to him, 
to all of them. How would he fit into her life, into Will's life? 
After so long, after such changes, what would they find when they 
opened the door on their new life together? "Our life, Lyon. I 
hope you don't think I am letting you go back to Texas." 

"I never want to leave you again, Scully," he quickly answered. 
"Once, twice, however many times I've done it, they were enough." 

They walked up to the house, Mulder stopping at the sounds of a 
basketball thumping against the house in the backyard. She had 
called her mother the night before, telling her to get the guest 
bedroom ready for Walter, and asking them both to stay at the 
house, to watch William until the morning. 

"What's going on, Dana?" her mother asked, nervously, and she could 
hear Walter's questions in the background. She smiled before she 
answered. "I'm fine, Mom," she said, meaning it this time. "We're 
fine." 

Now, as they stood in the driveway, she saw Mulder's questioning 
glance. "It's William," she confirmed, nodding her head. "The only 
thing he likes as much as riding horses is playing basketball. He's 
pretty good at it, too." When Will first showed an interest in the 
game, she knew how he inherited that trait. She saw images of Mulder 
in Will's long fingers as he edged the ball towards the basket, the 
self-assured way he threw the ball over his head, his lanky gait as 
he ran around the court. 

Mulder pulled open the squeaky gate, holding it for her, and she 
understood. He wanted to meet Will. 

In the years after Mulder was taken, after Will was born, she 
imagined this scene a dozen times. It changed as Will grew, 
from Mulder returning to see her nursing a small newborn with 
flaming red hair and dark eyes, to Mulder watching his son riding 
from a distance. Now that it was real, that it was actually happening, 
she felt numb. 

So much had changed for them both. "Are you sure?" she asked, not 
knowing why, thinking maybe this was too soon, that another few 
minutes might change things. "It's been long enough," he answered, 
so she walked into the backyard. Will must have started playing ball 
right after breakfast. The dogs were stretched out on the side of 
the garage, watching him with a dull interest, and she could see 
the sweat trickling down his back. "He shoots, he scores," Will 
shouted as she watched him, throwing his arms up in the air, the 
ball swooshing through the hoop. 

Oh, god. Please let this be okay. 

"William?" she called, her voice shaky. He turned in surprise, 
obviously so engrossed in his game that he did not hear her enter 
the yard. "Mom!" he shouted, leaping over to her, letting the 
ball bounce against the ground. She watched as the ball disappeared 
into the grass, re-emerging a few times before stopping by the 
hedge near the fence, as if in slow motion. Everything seemed so 
surreal. 

"I missed you last night, Mom. Uncle Walter and Grandma let me stay 
up late to watch a movie, but not that late. I even got up to let 
the dogs out this morning..." Will's voice trailed off, and she 
could sense Mulder walking up behind her. 

Will's eyes grew large, and he blinked, twice, as if not sure 
that Mulder was standing there, in the backyard. He looked back 
to Mulder, and then to her. "Mom?" he said, a questioning, 
plaintive tone in his voice. Oh, Will, she wanted to say. It's 
so hard to comprehend this when you are only eight years old 
and can't understand why you came into this world without your 
daddy there with you. I can't tell you why, but I can tell you 
he is here. I found him for you, for all of us. 

She didn't say those words, not sure enough in her ability to 
form a coherent sentence. 

Instead, Mulder walked up beside her, and knelt slightly so he 
was eye-level with Will. She stepped backwards, wanting to record 
this moment in her memory, wanting to always remember how green 
the grass was and how red the roses were, and how much Will looked 
like his father with their dark eyes and strong features. 

"Hi, Will," Mulder said, gently, and she realized with a jolt 
what was happening. Even if Mulder could never fully remember, 
could never know with certainty who he was nor what happened to 
him, he wanted to be Will's father. He wanted to be in their life. 

"Dad?" her son said, and she watched, one hand pressed against 
her mouth, as he walked the few steps to Mulder and brought his 
skinny arms up around Mulder's neck. There was no hesitation on 
Will's part, and she saw Mulder's eyes close as he felt Will's 
embrace. 

If she could stop time forever, this might be the moment she 
would chose. This might be the perfect moment of all. 

"I don't understand," William said, looking over towards her with 
wide eyes. "You said that you found Dad in Texas, but now he's 
here. Where have you been?" he asked Mulder, looking over at 
him with faintly accusatory eyes. 

Mulder never flinched. He drew himself up to his full height, 
and tucked his hands into pockets. "There's a lot to explain, 
Will, but a lot that I don't understand myself. All I know is 
that I am so glad your mother found me, and glad to be here 
with you." 

A flicker of movement drew her attention to the back porch, and 
she saw her mother and Walter, watching the scene in the yard 
with quiet emotion. She thought she saw a flicker of recognition 
as Mulder looked at Walter, but she wasn't sure. Scully felt a 
brief moment of panic. This is too much, she wanted to say, too 
soon. She wanted to grab Will, to take Will and Mulder away from 
this life, to allow them time to heal, to discover each other. 

But then she felt Mulder's hand pressing against her own, and 
looked up to see his soft smile. "This will be okay, Scully. 
I'm going to be okay." 

And, as Mulder held Will's hand and walked to the porch, she 
understood that it was going to be all right. We are more than 
the sum of our memories. We are more than the recollections of 
our youth. 

We are a part of the people who love us, and believe in us, 
she thought, watching Mulder, and their son, in the morning light. 
That sort of eternal love, and life, could never fade.

 
 
Author's notes:
 
Thank you to everyone who sent emails and feedback in response 
to "Fade." I was truly touched by the response. If feedback 
sustains the author, I have feasted on this story. When I 
first started writing "Fade," I could hardly imagine the 
story that Scully and Mulder wanted to tell. Writing it was 
an adventure for me, and I hope reading it is one for you.

Thanks as always to my wonderful beta Kayla. Without her initial 
enthusiasm and encouragement, "Fade" might still be languishing 
on my hard drive. A special thanks to my husband and son, who 
always seem to understand why Mommy stays up so late at night, 
wanting to tell a good story.

I'd love to hear what you thought of "Fade." You can email me at 
annhkus@yahoo.com.