For: sallie. It may not meet the requirements of your challenge, but I hope you like it
just the same.

* * *

He walks into his bedroom, the hardwood floor creaking quietly under his steps. It's
dark, save for the moonlight intermittently shining through the window, marred by the
trees swaying in the brisk wind outside. He stops at the foot of his bed, standing still, his
body tired, his mind alert. Slowly, he lifts his arms and extends them over his shoulders,
his fingers grabbing at the black cotton of his shirt, and slides it over his head and
off onto the bed. His skin erupts with gooseflesh and he shivers slightly in response to
the cool night air.

He thinks about his choices, about the paths he has walked down. Life was normal until
Samantha was taken, an even that violently thrust him onto the first significant, and
longest, path of his life. His fixation on finding that ever-elusive "truth" directed him neatly
and easily to an office in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. It was a path he
has no intention of wavering from, a path of truths and lies, of guilt and of frustration, a
path that ripped apart what was left of his family. It opened up a world bigger than himself,
bigger than the abduction of his sister, a world that was dark and sinister. By all accounts
he should be a broken man, weary and defeated, but each setback ultimately fueled his
passion and each breakthrough doubly so.

A partner reinforced that passion along the way, someone who, upon their first meeting,
he nearly dismissed as one more in a long line of faceless barricades he'd have to hurdle
in his quest. Though assigned to him by the Bureau, she could have easily been ditched,
leaving him free to concentrate on the tasks at hand. But she quickly got under his skin.
Now, on this night, as he pictures her sleeping in the next room, he knows just how
grateful he is he decided to continue on his path with her at his side. He knows how
grateful he is that she walked with him then and still walks with him now. 'One wrong
turn…' He knows the fine line she walked in the duration of the past two days. He knows
she was alone on her path, knows she came to her own fork, and knows she considered
going down another road without him. The thought makes him shudder.

"Mulder?"

He turns his head to see her leaning against the doorjamb, only the soft light of his fish
tank illuminating her features. Her hair is mussed some and her jacket is off. Her feet
are covered only in nylons, making her short stature all the more evident. She looks
sleepy still.

"Hey," he says to her. "You taking off?"

"Mmm," she hums, by way of answering. "Sorry I fell asleep."

"It's okay, Scully. I know you think I'm boring."

She smiles at the joke and pushes herself off the doorjamb to approach him slowly, her
eyes still adjusting to the dark. There was a time when her move to embrace him would have
surprised him some, but now it seems natural, another new path of their relationship he
happily walks down. Her body language suggests she needs more than a friendly squeeze as
her arms wrap low around his waist and her head rests firmly against his chest. She feels
delicate in his arms, fragile almost, and his immediate instinct is one of protection. He
holds her to him, his arms tight around her. He feels her breath on the bare skin over
his pectorals and the warm, short bursts send a shiver through his body.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks.

She nods against him, but says nothing, and her arms tighten around him a bit more. He
doesn't say any more and turns his head to rest on top of hers, enjoying the moment,
reveling in the closeness. He isn't blessed with the ability to freely express his feelings for
her, except, perhaps while under the influence of painkillers. His self-doubt and culpability
masterfully keep the words at bay, but his love for her flows through every fiber of his
being; he can only hope she will see it someday, and know how long it's been brewing.

He doesn't know how much time has passed, nor does he care, when she finally shifts her
head and moves it back to look at him. A gentle smile plays across his face at her as her
eyes meet his, the blue of them evident even in the shadows. Her expression is calm and
assured and he takes a moment to savor the idea that maybe she is as content as he is in
their embrace.

"Do you regret any of the choices you've made?" she asks.

"We all have regrets, Scully, but no," he says thoughtfully. "Not if it meant I wouldn't
be here with you right now."

She beams, her eyes shining with tears, at his words. He mirrors her smile and leans to
brush his lips across her forehead. He suppresses his surprise when she tilts her head and
meets his lips with her own in a soft kiss and nearly chokes on it when she opens her
mouth beneath him. The kiss deepens quickly, their tongues caressing against each other
unrestrained, repressed hunger. He feels the panic rise and pulls away for a breath, his
heart fiercely pounding against his chest, his hands trembling even as he holds her to him.
She stays motionless in his arms, her chest heaving with deep breaths, her eyes searching
his face in an array of emotions that embodies confusion and fear, hope and desire.

He opens his mouth to speak, but finds all words escape him. He finds himself unable to
fathom the apparent reality before him, that she may indeed want him just as much as he
wants her.

"I realized something extraordinary today, Mulder. Things have never been so clear to me.
I don't know what tomorrow will, or can, hold for us, but if nothing else, I know that this is
where I belong. And more importantly, this is where I want to be. You have to trust that."

"But…"

"You have to know that," she says quietly, firmly.

He nods. He knows. He dips his head and again captures her mouth with his, finally allowing
himself to release all he feels and finally allowing himself to receive all she has to give.

Their clothing is shed and pools at their feet. They lay together, limbs upon limbs, sinking
and rising into one another. The room fills with the sounds of their breath and the warmth
of their bodies. Their combined years of loneliness makes for moments of awkwardness,
but the intoxication of a union finally realized overshadows any embarrassment. She gasps
beneath him and he cries out above her. He collapses beside her, his head buried safely
against her neck. He inhales her scent deeply, content and consumed. He quickly falls
asleep, deep and undisturbed, while she pulls a cover over them and enters into a fitful
slumber.

She wakes long before he does. She sits up, careful not to disturb him, and stares down
at his sleeping form, silently watching him and savoring the significance of the moment,
for a very long time before rising. She dresses in the bathroom, hoping he doesn't wake.
She knows it will be easier if no words are spoken. She forces the tasks of the upcoming
day into her mind and quietly makes her exit.

For one night, the paths that make up the twisted labyrinth of their lives were finally in
perfect synchronicity. They will undoubtedly wander from each other while searching for
their own truths, perhaps emotionally, perhaps physically, in the harsh reality of daylight,
but always with the knowledge of that night and always with the unwavering belief that
they will indeed find themselves going in the same direction once again.

* * *
end