TITLE: Hearts and Other Strangers II/
A Whole Person
AUTHOR:Kestabrook
E-MAIL: Kestabrook@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION: Archive if you'd like.
Please let me know where.
SPOILERS: "Milagro" and slight mention of
"Never Again"
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT: MSR; S/A
CLASSIFICATION: V
SUMMARY: The original "Hearts..." focused
on Mulder's interpretation of the events
of "Milagro." This sequel immediately 
follows that and focuses on Scully--
will she allow Mulder to persuade her 
to let her heart be opened?
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to 
Chris Carter and the X-Files' gang. If
they were mine, I could buy a cruel green
dress and more Kraft dinners. Right, BNL?
DEDICATION: For LAAdolf, Nicola, Lyra, 
RavenL4, Laine, Clarissa, and Red Tyger 
for great friendship, helpful feedback, 
and super support. Also, for Catbird for 
the same and for letting me use the 
borrowed T-shirt!! 
AUTHOR'S NOTES: To read the original
"Hearts..." please go to Xemplary or to
http://members.xoom.com/PaperDreams (and
click on "Visions"). 
FEEDBACK: Oh yes, please!! But only if
it's positive or helpful.

Hearts and Other Strangers II/A Whole
Person  
by Kestabrook

Loneliness is a choice. Born of
independence and dedication, it becomes a
woman's reality, a woman's vulnerability.
It isolates her being; it imprisons her
heart. It strengthens her yet leads her
to believe in a fallacy--a fallacy that
happiness can be achieved by one, and
that that choice--that loneliness--is a
mere glitch in an otherwise fulfilling
life.

And loneliness had led Dana Scully to
this point. She stood in Fox Mulder's
bathroom, her shaking fingers absently
wringing out a washcloth, her gaze shyly
raising to meet itself in the mirror over
the sink. And what she saw didn't please
her. Make-up streaked her face, and
blood, smeared and drying, covered her
neck and chest and stained her white
blouse.

Images of the bodies she'd seen, the
victims of Padgett's Stranger, flooded
her mind, but the faces of each had now
been replaced by her own. And she
shuddered. 

Phillip Padgett was dead; Mulder had said
so. And she knew it to be true, or she
would have been dead instead. The
Stranger conjured up by the young author
had also tried to kill her by reaching
into her body to extract her heart, but
he had disappeared before completing her
murder.

And she'd fainted, waking to find her
partner staring down at her, grief
overwhelming his eyes as he thought her
dead. Her partner, Fox Mulder, who, in
days previous, had warned her, had
insisted that somehow Padgett and his
character were committing psychic
surgery. But she hadn't believed it.
Nope. Not her. But tonight the Stranger
had proven it to her empirically--just
the way she'd want it to be proven. "Oh
yes, Dana," she now thought angrily to
herself. "Thank God your need for
evidence, for tangible proof, proved
Mulder's theory to be right again. What
would he do without you?"

She'd stopped shaking, though her knees
could still vie with any jello in a bowl. 
And she'd willed an end to her tears.
This was not the first time in her career
that she'd been attacked. And Dana Scully
was a proud woman, a strong woman. Not a
woman who'd gotten a medical degree and a
career as a Special Agent with the FBI by
being emotional, by being--a real woman.
And when Mulder returned from briefing
the D.C. cops in the cellar of his
building about the death of Phillip
Padgett, he would see the Scully he
knew--the Scully who could weather an
attack--not the one who'd clutched him to
her as if his very presence would save
her from death and evil.

Her breath caught in her throat as a
leftover sob escaped. She'd been close to
death before--probably closer than most
people had. But the terror of this
attacker--one inside of whom bullets
wouldn't lodge, wouldn't stop, wouldn't
even slow--continued to chill her.

After Mulder had left for the cellar,
she'd absently packed up the surveillance
equipment they had used to keep watch on
Phillip Padgett. She'd hoped that being
busy would take her mind off the attack,
but it hadn't. She'd played over and over
in her mind what she could have done
differently, what she could have done to
thwart the Stranger. And yet--how did one
fight an illusion--an illusion that could
tear the heart from a person's chest? 

Scully removed her blouse and noted that
magically no blood had touched her black
lace bra. That undergarment sickened her
at the moment. Padgett's novel had given
a detailed, sensual account of its
removal and of his hands and mouth
exploring her breasts. The thought of him
that close to her now made her stomach
lurch. She shamefully had to admit that
she *had* fantasized about someone
seductively removing the garment, but the
remover in her dreams hadn't been Phillip
Padgett. No, the remover had been someone
she knew very well, someone she lov--
someone she respected. Someone with whom
she worked. Padgett had told her and
Mulder that "Agent Scully is already in
love," and fight the idea as she tried,
she now wondered if it might be true. 

When she'd woke and found Mulder staring
at her--his fear nearly tangible and his
presence so necessary to her--she'd
hugged him. She'd so melded into his
wonderful embrace that she'd wanted him
to hold her forever. Well, one part of
her had wanted that. The personal side.
But the professional side had taken over
as it always did, and she'd released him.
There was a case to be closed, after all.
And the last thing she needed was to have
her partner feeling sorry for her,
feeling her too weak to be an agent. As
he'd left his apartment, she'd tried to
close off her mind to her personal
feelings toward him--to close off her
heart. She'd done that for six years, but
it was becoming more difficult. Mulder
had told her she needed to let the
stranger out of herself, but she was
nearly as afraid of that stranger as she
was of Padgett's creation. Feelings got
in the way--would get in the way. To
allow the woman to take control of the
agent would be a mistake.

But she loved Fox Mulder. 

Scully stared open-mouthed into the
mirror. Could that be true?  

She quickly soaped the washcloth and
hurriedly rubbed it over the dried blood
on her chest, and she rinsed as fast. She
examined her skin and found it flawlessly
intact. And except for the after-shocks
of nearly being killed, her heart was
fine, untouched. Unopened--because she'd
chosen loneliness.

"Scully?"

She gasped and turned toward the now open
bathroom door. "Mulder!" she panted,
trying to cover her half-naked torso with
her hands. He'd whispered her name, and
she'd been totally unaware of him easing
the door open. "You scared me. I didn't
know you were back." Despite her resolve
to be professional, and her hopes that
she'd put the Stranger's attack further
back in her mind, she felt tears again
sliding down her cheeks. Seeing blood on
his sweatshirt--her blood--brought it all
back.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he told her quietly.
"I called to you, but when you didn't
answer--I--I didn't know if you were
okay."

She nodded, biting her lower lip as
further emotions threatened to spill. She
saw him reach out, and she gratefully
allowed him to pull her to his body
again, to hold her close, her skin
feeling his warmth and the smooth fabric
of his sweatshirt. And his hands on the
bareness of her lower back and shoulders
as she willingly accepted his comfort.
Where had her professional side gone? She
clutched his shirt over his shoulder
blades and sobbed into his chest, unable
to stop the undoing of her strength.

"Aw, Scully," he whispered into her hair.
She felt him kiss the top of her head
lightly and slowly, and she tightened her
grasp.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm such a wimp
tonight."

She heard him chuckle. "I love wimps."

Scully smiled in spite of her tears. "You
do?"

"Yeah." Again his lips brushed her hair. 

"I--" Why was it so difficult to respond
after he said such a thing? While he held
and kissed her? In her fantasies, she'd
said lots of things to him--as his hands 
had wandered over her skin, his lips
following. But the man holding her now
was her partner, not her fantasy lover. 

"Padgett's dead. For certain. The
Stranger won't be back."

She squeezed her eyes closed. "I know."

"You're okay, Scully, right?"
 
"I'm just--just a bit unnerved, I guess."
She swallowed hard. "I'll get it back
together, Mulder."

"I know you will."

"It was the attack--"

"No. Not just the attack, Scully."

She leaned back to search his eyes. She
could tell he was upset from the evening,
but something else lurked behind his
expression. She had seen his jealousy
since Padgett's slide into their lives.
She'd found it both touching and mad-
dening. She had to admit that Padgett's
attention had flattered her, had made her
feel desirable. To find that the author
had written of sex with her made her
blush even now. To be wanted--even by
Padgett--was a thrill rarely known to
her. And Mulder's jealousy of that gave
her a certain arrogance.

But maybe he hadn't felt jealousy. It
could have been protectiveness--Mulder,
the older brother, still trying to save
his sister vicariously by protecting
Scully. She knew he always endeavored to
keep her safe, and though she cherished
that, she felt disheartened now if that
was all his attitude of the last few days
reflected.

"Not just the attack? I don't know what
you mean," she finally told him.

"Something else is upsetting you."

"Are you my psychologist now, Mulder?"
She watched as he almost winced at the
accusation.

He suddenly pulled away from her. "C'mon.
Come with me."

"Um--" she hesitated, again trying to
cover the tops of her breasts.

He shook his head and smiled at his own
ignorance. "Sorry." Opening a cupboard
behind her, he hauled out a grey T-shirt.
"This'll work." He shook out the folds
and then held the bottom open for her.

Scully wiped away more tears and allowed
him to help her put on the shirt. And she
realized that on any other night than
this, she'd have felt sheer delight when
his palms grazed her bra as he pulled the
shirt's tail down and over her stomach.

"You need a coat?"

"A coat? In here?"

"No," he said, heading from the bathroom.
"We're going for a walk."

"What? Mulder, I'm in no shape to go
out." She was incredulous at his words.
Why go out? A man had died. She'd been
attacked... 

"You're in *great* shape--unless--you
said you weren't injured physically,
right? You--you looked fine to me."

Scully struggled for a reason other than
"I'm too shaken." That wouldn't sound
good for a strong FBI woman. "I've no
make-up on." That sounded *much* better;
she groaned at herself.

"So? Be natural, Scully." He grinned.
"I'm not wearing any either."

"Well, thank God for that." 

"Besides, it's dark. Nobody'll see you,
and nobody will care."

Scully pulled the long T-shirt tail and
tied it around her waist. "And to where
are we walking?"

"Wherever we want. C'mon." He took her
hand, leading her toward the dining room. 

She felt a wave of nausea and paused as
she gazed at the floor where she'd been
attacked. But her concentration was
interrupted when Mulder put a black
hooded sweater around her shoulders. She
stiffened. "Naciamento...he wore a hooded
sweater."

Mulder shrugged. "So do millions of other 
people. And I can almost guarantee you
that most of them have never ripped out
anyone's heart."

She nodded and tried to purge the image
of the Stranger's grey hood from her
mind.

Mulder was ignoring, downplaying her 
reluctance. "It's a little big on you,
but you'll be warmer."

"'Big'?" she chided, trying to get ahold
of herself and noticing the hooded
sweater's tail nearly reached her knees. 

"Okay, over-sized." 

She shook her head, unable to stop a
smile. She wasn't thrilled about going
outside, yet she couldn't stay here with
that spot which now radiated terror.
Maybe--for once--Mulder was right.

Scully slid her arms into the sleeves of,
then zipped the hooded sweater. "Too bad
it's not purple. I could look like a
walking grape." She caught Mulder's grin
and saw it relieve a little of his
tension, but still something lingered in
his eyes. She followed him into the
hallway and to the elevator, and then
they headed down.

She waited for her partner to speak, to
tell her what was on his mind, but when
he didn't, she asked him, "Mulder, why a
walk? You're not tricking me into meeting
with the D.C. police, are you?"

"No." His face had returned to
seriousness. "I told them I'd bring your
statement in tomorrow."

"*You're* not a suspect are you? You were
the last to see Padgett alive."

"No, Scully. It's okay." He allowed his
fingers to pull at his bottom lip.
"Padgett burned most of his novel...and
his heart was out--in his hand."

She stared at him. "What?"

"He made a sacrifice--destroyed himself.
For you, I guess. To save you."

Scully looked away, regretting the young
author's passing, his literal giving of
his heart for her.

As the elevator's doors opened, she and
Mulder exited it and moved down the
stairs of the building's entrance. Mulder
held the door for her as she asked,
"What'd you tell the cops?"

"Told them my theory. They didn't buy the
psychic surgery idea, but that's no
surprise, is it?"

She shook her head, soothed by the
night's cool air. "Something they'd have
to see to believe. I know the feeling."

"You'll have to tell them that--they'll
believe it if it comes from you." 

"Yeah, right." Scully moved along the
sidewalk and looked up at her partner.
"Yeah, no doubt they'd believe 'Mrs.
Spooky'."

"Huh?" Mulder stopped and turned toward
her under the streetlight. His eyes
narrowed in concern. "What'd you call
yourself?"

"'Mrs. Spooky'." She saw the utter
surprise on his face which changed to
disappointment when she told him, "You
know that's what they call me, don't
you?"

"At the Bureau, you mean?"

"Where else?" She searched his face. "My
God, you *didn't* know that?"

"Scully, I'm sor--"

"Don't worry about it, Mulder. It doesn't
bother me."

"But I'll bet it did."

"Once maybe. But no more. I--I've kind
of...grown to like it." She inhaled
quickly, saw the flicker of surprise in
his eyes, and turned away from him, her
hand covering her mouth as she moved onto
the darkened sidewalk and started walking
up the street. She felt totally out of
control. The attack had laid bare all her
emotions. And even though the skin was
intact over it, the attack had laid bare
her heart as well. Her words to Mulder
revealed that; they would never have
escaped her lips otherwise. She hoped
he'd not heard her. But she knew he had.
She suddenly felt him gently pulling at
her arm, and she allowed her hand to come
away from her mouth and to fit snugly--
yet stiffly--into his as he walked beside 
her. Theirs was a slow pace, but they
fell into step easily.

She began to relish the feel of her hand
surrounded by his, and she let it soften
and conform to his grip. She felt herself
start to calm in the warmth of his hooded
sweater, the warmth of his presence.

And she realized what a good idea this
walk was. Out on the dimly lit sidewalk,
hand-in-hand with the man she... It was
helpful. She could forget Phillip
Padgett; she could almost forget being
atta--no, she could not forget that
terror. She intertwined her fingers with
Mulder's, and she felt his hand squeeze
hers. She returned the action.

"I'm sorry about tonight, Scully."

His voice was quiet, sullen. She glanced
over at him. The lights of slowly passing
cars illumined lines of worry streaking
his features.

"I should have been there with you. I
should have seen it coming. I could
have--"

"No, Mulder. Don't do this to yourself."

"I shouldn't have left you alone--"

"No," she told him firmly, aware that he
would beat himself up with guilt over her
attack. "No, you had to--you had no other
choice. And I had more than enough
warning. But I had to be so damned bull-
headed--"

"It's my fault, Scully. You had a lot of
mixed messages. How were you to know--"

"I'm an FBI agent, Mulder. That's how."
She felt the urge to pull her hand away.
She *was* an agent when she was with him,
wasn't she? Not someone who should be
holding his hand while dressed in his
clothes. What *was* she doing?

"Yeah, and you're a woman, too. A woman
who has to have feelings. You're no ice
queen, Scully. A tough, hard-as-nails FBI
agent, yes. But there's more to you than
that."

"No--"

"Yes."

She felt him stop and turn her toward
him. His warm, free hand tilted her chin
till her gaze was forced to meet his. And
even in the dim light, she could see the
tenderness in his eyes, as well as his
shyness and dread over what he was about
to say.

"Scully, last summer I said some things
to you. I said you make me a whole
person. I meant that. Before you--before
you, I was nothing. Just an agent. My
work was all I cared about, all I wanted,
or so I thought."

Scully stared up at him as his voice
became husky.

"You changed all that. I've learned to--
care again. Because of you. And *for*
you." He swallowed hard, his eyes now
filling. "I've come so--so close to
losing you so many times. I've realized
that would be as bad--as losing Samantha
was. Scully, probably even worse."

She let her jaw drop at his words, her
heart twist with his words. Worse than
losing Samantha? 

"I'm a whole person, Scully. Because of
you. You--you have to also let yourself
be a whole person."

She nearly gasped as he pressed his hand
over her heart. 

"Padgett left this here for you to use.
He gave you the chance to love that he
didn't have. You have to bring this heart
out, Scully. You have to open it." He
looked away from her, as if finding the
courage to say his next words. His eyes
shyly returned to hers. His hand remained
pressed against her chest. "Let me in,
Scully."

She looked at their still-joined hands.
She bit her lip and then whispered, "But
Mulder, you're already there."

His hand moved to gently caress her
cheek, to rest there and to again raise
her face and, thereby, her eyes. She saw
relief cross his features, concern
quickly replacing it. "Now that you've
admitted that to me, you've got to admit
it to yourself."

Leaving her hand in his, she started to
walk again. Even with the lateness of the
hour, cars continued to pass them, but
she didn't notice. Her heart felt nothing
more now than heavy. "I think I've done
that, Mulder."

"No, you haven't," he replied softly. "If
you had, then you'd not be so flattered
when somebody like Padgett looks at you."

Though she wanted to dispute that logic,
she refrained. To argue this point could
open doors that needed to stay shut.
Sarcastically, she said, "Okay, then tell
me, Mulder; how do I *admit* to myself
that you're in my heart?"

He laughed lightly at her rebelliousness.
"Same way *you* do everything else,
Scully. Look at the evidence. Prove it to
yourself."

Her eyes closed. The faces of Padgett and
Naciamento floated in her mind. As did
her sweet relief of seeing Mulder when
she'd woken from the attack. "I don't
want--I can't think tonight."

"Yes, you can."

"No--"

"Then let me help you." He'd fallen into
step with her again. "Do you trust me?"

She wished he'd forget this for now.
Maybe forever. What was the sense? She'd
told him, hadn't she? "Mulder, you
know--"

"No, I don't. Not until you say it. Do
you trust me?"

"Yes, of course. More than I could trust
anyone else."

After a few steps, he asked, "Do you
like...being with me?"

"Probably." She sighed heavily, then told
him, "Unless you're being a pain in the
ass--like you are right now."

He chuckled mildly. "I'll take that as a
'yes,' then. I've noticed that you're not
running away from this 'pain in the
ass'."

"Not yet. I'm just trying to be polite."

"Well, there's a first."

"Don't make me hurt you, Mulder."

"Do you want to hurt me, Scully?"

She was stunned by his change in tone,
his voice suddenly naked. "No," she
replied quietly. "Never." //Not again,//
she wanted to say. Some of the time she'd
spent with other men *had* hurt Mulder,
she knew. She'd seen the fleeting
glimpses of dejection or disappointment
in his gaze when she'd mentioned them or
had to refer to them. Just days ago,
after the visit to the church which
housed a painting of the flaming heart
also present on the milagro charm Padgett
had given her, she'd seen Mulder's face
when telling him she did have a "secret
admirer"--Padgett--who'd waited for her
there. She'd seen his face when he'd
found her and Padgett seated on the young
author's bed--when he'd first told her
Padgett had written of doing the "naked
pretzel" with her. Mulder *had* been
hurt, yet he'd been there to hold her, to
comfort her. She vowed not to be
responsible for hurting him again.

Their footsteps against the concrete
sidewalk echoed in the night air. She
hoped he was finished with his questions.
She just wanted to relax. 

"Do you care for me?"

She stopped, tears coming to her eyes
again. Why was he forcing this on her
tonight? How many more attacks could she
take? The first had been physical and had
taken its emotional toll. But Mulder was
exacting that toll again. She wanted him
to leave her alone--to get out of her
heart; it had been hurt too much for one
night.

"Scully?"

"I don't want to talk about this now."

"Do you care for me--about me?"

"Of course I do. I think I've shown that.
Let's go back now."

"I know you have. Give me examples."

"What? Why?"

"I want you to admit it to yourself."

She turned and started back toward his
building, shoving her hands into the
pockets of his hooded sweater.

"Scully, c'mon. Don't shut yourself off
like this."

"I need to."

"No, you don't."

"Yes--"

"No!" He caught up to her in a few quick,
long strides. His hands on her shoulders
stopped her. His eyes pleaded for her to
listen to him. "On the last page of his
novel, Padgett said--I read it tonight
before he burned it--Padgett said you
were trying to get my attention and
didn't realize it. That's what your being
with him in the bedroom was all about.
That's what Ed Jerse was all about.
You've got my attention now, Scully.
You've always had it. Tell me why you
wanted it."

"How--"

"Give me examples. Show me if what
Padgett said is theory or fact."

She'd had enough. She sighed heavily, her
anger and confusion frying behind her
eyes. "I won't. It's redundant."

Mulder's gaze seemed to burn into her.
"You're escaping. Why can't you admit to
yourself how you feel?"

"I have."

"No, Scully. No, you haven't. You do
things and then--you're like a computer.
You file all your feelings under some
little icon, and they only come up if you
click on it."

She felt her throat constrict. How else
could she operate at the FBI? How else
could she have gotten where she was in a
man's world? Men didn't respect an
emotional woman as a colleague. "I have
feelings, Mulder."

"I know that. Just--just tell me what you
feel...for me."

She looked him in the eyes, saw his
pleading, saw the same fear she'd seen
when she'd woken to find him instead of
the Stranger. "This is stupid," she
managed.

He heaved a sigh. "If you can't tell me, 
I'll do it for you." His voice tried to
maintain patience; his gaze wouldn't
allow hers to look away. "You've always
been there to help me or to save me. That
has to mean something, doesn't it? You
were there after John Lee Roche--I'll
never forget that, Scully. You were the
only light for me then. You were there
after the fire. The office--*our* office.
My whole life--gone with the flames. My
whole life--except for you. The only
thing I could feel then was you--touching
me, letting me know you were there. You
got me through that night." He leaned
toward her, kept his voice soft. "How
about six years of partnership? You've
stayed with me through all of it. You've
never given up. You've never told me to
shove it. You've never--you've never even
applied for a transfer. You *stay* with
me, Scully. Doesn't that show you
something about your heart?"

She covered her face with her hands. God,
yes, she cared for him. She'd seen him
near death and felt so hopeless, dying
already inside if he perished. She'd
craved, welcomed, cherished his presence
when she'd been so sick. And tonight,
she'd held him so tightly--he was the
only person she'd have wanted near her,
the only person she'd have allowed near
her. "Mulder," she hoarsely confessed, "I
*do* care about you. You know that."

"Yes, I do. Do you?"

She closed her tear-filled eyes and
nodded. "Yes."

"Do you love--me--Scully?"

She continued to nod as she stepped into
his embrace.

He gently pulled her head to his
shoulder. And he whispered, "I love you,
too."

She once more enjoyed the feel of his
arms around her, of his strength. She
breathed in the scent of his clothing, of
his body, and she reveled in the sound of
his heart as she lay her head against his
chest. Another heart that was no longer a
stranger to her.

She remembered other embraces--after
Donnie Pfaster, after Melissa's death.
Mulder's presence had always strengthened
her. She could depend on him. She could
love him. And Phillip Padgett could fade
into the background as could her attack--
when she was wrapped in Mulder's arms.

She eventually felt him steer her back
toward his apartment, his arm around her
shoulders, her body tucked snugly and
comfortably against his. In the elevator,
she snuggled closer to him, abandoning
all controls, abandoning the FBI agent
and letting the woman come forward. Her
own stranger coming forward to have a
look at this new idea.

And Mulder guided her to number forty-
two and inside, quietly. Once there, he
turned her toward himself, calmly
unzipped the sweater she wore, and
carefully slid his hands inside it,
wrapping around her T-shirted torso, as
his lips slowly descended toward hers.

Slowly.

Giving her time to refuse if she wanted.

But she couldn't. Wouldn't. Padgett had
been correct. She was already in love.
And she did want her partner's attention.
She tilted her mouth upward and met
Mulder's lips, finding their caress 
respectful, tantalizing, needy, and
promising. A light touch, but one in
which she reveled. She put her arms on
his shoulders, her fingers lightly
clawing at his sweatshirt as they had
earlier that evening.

He pulled back slowly, his mouth coming
away from hers gradually. "Enough
evidence?"

She allowed a small smile. "For now." She
saw his hand come up to caress her cheek,
and she leaned her head against his palm.

"You hungry? Need anything?"

She met his eyes. "No...thanks, Mulder."

"Feel--better?"

"Yes, I'm getting there."

His fingertips lightly traced her
jawline. "It's been quite a night. You
need to rest. I'll take the couch, and
you can use the waterbed." 

Scully shook her head. It suddenly
occurred to her that they were standing
on the spot where Naciamento had attacked
her. She made a decision. "I don't want
to be...alone."

As he gave her a small, knowing smile,
she found her hand in his again, and he
led her to the couch.

She sat and then watched as he turned out
all but one light. Nervously, she crossed
her arms. Had he misinterpreted her
actions? Her words? Did he want more than
she could--or would--give him tonight? 

But no. She knew better--she knew him
better.

Mulder joined her on the couch, but he
sat so that his torso was supported by
its back and arm. His features held mixed
concern, relief, and--happiness? He gave
her a slight, reassuring smile.

Scully felt his hand gently pulling her
until her head again rested on his chest.
As she lay against him, she felt
overwhelming exhaustion--and contentment.
He gently tugged the hooded sweater to
cover and keep her warm, and then his
arms settled around her. 

And her senses rippled as he lightly
kissed her forehead. Feeling cozy, as
relaxed as she could this night, safe,
and protected, she raised her head long
enough to taste his kiss--to meet his
lips again, to enjoy, to cherish that
touch.

As she once more lay her head on his
chest, and as security and drowsiness
conquered her fears, she felt at peace
with her feelings for this partner: with
the trust, care, and love she had for
him. Maybe someday he'd be more than a
fantasy lover, but for now, it was enough
to have his attention, to have his heart.
And to have opened her own.

Loneliness is a choice. Born of
independence and dedication, it becomes a
woman's reality, a woman's captor, unless
and until the decision to let someone in
is made. Scully realized she could be a
complete person. And the glitch of
loneliness, like Phillip Padgett,
vanished from her fulfilling life.
**************************
End "Hearts and Other Strangers II/
A Whole Person"