Daniel, it turned out, had a last name -- Reilly, how Irish is that? And that wasn't all he and I had in common; he's an orthopedic surgeon, and he's in the Navy, a lieutenant commander, no less, and on the house staff at Bethesda Naval Hospital.

No wonder Mulder had kept quiet about him: Don't ask, don't tell, and we'll all be okay, right?

Right, and the Easter bunny really brings all those eggs himself.

I'm a Navy brat; I know about how long the "don't ask" part would have lasted if the Navy had thought there was another orthopedic surgeon around willing to take Daniel's place. But live an openly gay lifestyle, and they will ask, and you will either tell or someone else will; either way, you're out of the Navy on your ass.

No, this relationship was a career-breaker in the making for both of them, and it was going to stay in the closet, and that was that.

And that was perhaps the most touching part of the whole thing: While Mulder hadn't rushed to tell me about it, once I found out, he and Daniel had welcomed me into their heart- breaking secret with absolute trust. They hadn't tried to put me off with some bullshit cover story, not that it would have fooled me.

But this lunch invitation, so easily and graciously extended, made me wonder if there were any limits to my partner's trust in me. Daniel had asked first, of course, but he wouldn't have if he didn't think I was to be trusted, and there was only one person who could have told him that I was.

No, Mulder's trust in me was rock solid, despite his long silence. That was comforting, because I knew that my time with him was about to become severely limited.

Daniel and I actually hit it off, though; we compared notes about the Navy, about growing up in an Irish family, about Catholic school and med school, and we laughed a lot, and that was good. The one thing we were completely agreed on -- our love for Fox Mulder -- could have been the cause of an utter disaster if we had gotten into some kind of turf war.

But we got along very well at that first meeting, Daniel and I, and I could see that Mulder was pleased. I could also see how much in love they were. It was in Mulder's eyes, and his voice, whenever he spoke to Daniel.

Once, when they thought I wasn't looking, I saw their hands clasp briefly under the table, and I had to look away quickly so they wouldn't see the tears in my eyes.

They were right for each other. There was no question about it.

Just as there was no question that this was killing me.

~~~~~~~

The toughest moment came when Mulder went to get the car, leaving me and Daniel standing on the sidewalk waiting for him.

We stood there silently for a long time, both of us struck completely dumb with fear by the terrifying task of sketching out the boundaries, defining the space we each would occupy in the life of this man we both loved so much.

Daniel broke the silence first.

"He really has told me a lot about you, Dana," Daniel said, quietly, looking down the street, watching for his lover to return. "I know how much he cares for you; and I know it's mutual."

"Yes, it is," I said, very softly. "I owe him my life, Daniel. He's my best friend -- really, he's my only friend."

"There's no one else in your life?"

I shrugged. "There's my family, and there's my job, and between the two of them, that's all the time I have," I said, noncommittally. "That doesn't leave much time for romance."

"No," Daniel said, thoughtfully. "It doesn't."

I knew what he was getting at. And I knew what I had to do.

"Daniel, Mulder and I have spent a lot of time together in the past three years," I said. "He's taken up most of my free time, one way or the other, and there really isn't anyone else in my life. But now that he doesn't have to keep you a secret from me anymore, I know he won't be coming by my apartment like he used to; I think he's been doing that lately just to keep up appearances, but that's over. He should be with you; that's where he belongs."

He smiled at me then, so kindly that I began to see why Mulder loved him so much. "Even though he's all you've got?" he asked, very gently.

I nodded my head, firmly.

"Even so," I said, and I meant it. "I'll miss him, Daniel; but I love him, and I want him to be happy."

"That's just one more thing we've got in common, Dana," he said, as he put one arm around my shoulder and pulled me close, just the way Mulder would have done.

His kindness undid me; I felt shaky, and there were tears in my eyes, and I decided that I needed to accept the support I was being offered. I put my arms around Daniel and rested my head on his strong, comforting shoulder.

We were still standing like that when Mulder drove up. The gratitude and the happiness in his eyes when he saw us together were payment enough for what I'd just given up.

~~~~~

Things went along fairly well for the next few months. Mulder didn't come by at night anymore, and he seemed much less eager to do any field work, so I spent more and more nights alone with the ever-increasing paperwork that Mulder no longer had time for.

When we did go into the field, Mulder spent every evening on the phone with Daniel, and he was always anxious to get back home as quickly as possible. Our evenings of pleasant dinners and long movies were over.

But I told myself that I was adjusting to it just fine.

And I believed it -- sort of.

That was before our lives were struck by the thunderbolt that was Robert Patrick Modell.

I've told that story before, in part, but I've never told anyone the whole truth of what happened that day at Fairfax Mercy Hospital.

Mulder was completely under Modell's power, ready to shoot himself, ready -- almost -- to shoot me. He has always said it was my quick thinking that stopped him, but that isn't true. Mulder summoned up the strength of will to resist Modell all by himself.

"Scully, run," he'd said, barely able to get the words out, but he gave me the time I needed; just enough time to run into the hallway and pull the fire alarm, breaking Modell's concentration.

That gave Mulder all the time _he_ needed to point that gun at Modell's head and fire.

And then the room was full of SWAT officers, and medical personnel, all clustering around Modell. It was chaos. In the middle of it was my partner, slumped into the chair he'd been sitting in throughout Modell's ghastly Russian roulette game.

Mulder gave me the gun, and covered his face with his hands.

Later, as we stood by Modell's hospital bed, I had taken Mulder's hand briefly to comfort him.

When it was all over, I went home and flopped down on my couch. I wanted to sleep, but I kept remembering the look in Mulder's eyes in the SWAT van as he'd handed me his own gun, leaving himself unprotected as he went in to try to catch Modell. He had put the gun in my lap, and I put my hands over his.

We stayed like that for only a moment, but it was a thing of wonder, at once sweet and terrifying, to see the love in Mulder's eyes, and to know that it was only the very real possibility that he would be killed that had let him feel free to show his love for me so plainly, with the SWAT officer watching us.

It was a painful moment, too, because I knew that while he was silently saying goodbye to me, he was also hurting because he couldn't say goodbye to Daniel. Because of the SWAT officer's presence, he couldn't even ask me to take Daniel a message.

But I knew what he wanted to say. And if it had been necessary, I would have told Daniel with a clear conscience that Mulder's last thoughts were of him. It would have been true, too.

And yet ...

All that night, I replayed the whole scene in my mind -- the farewell, Mulder's eyes, the gun, Mulder's eyes ...

Modell hadn't yet died of his injuries, but it was only a matter of time until he would. Mulder had killed him, just as surely as if Modell had died on the spot. The FBI shooting board later ruled it a justifiable use of deadly force, a shooting that went down right by the book.

But it wasn't, and Mulder knew it. And so did I.

That's what I have never told anyone.

The truth is that Mulder broke free of Modell's power long enough to speak only one complete sentence: "I'm gonna kill you, Modell."

And he did. When the alarm began to ring, Mulder pointed that gun at Modell's head and shot him down deliberately, shot an apparently unarmed man in cold blood, with no legal justification whatsoever. Yes, Modell was a powerful psychic, if there is such a thing, and a homicidal mind-bender, but he was nearly exhausted; Mulder could have taken him without firing a shot, but he didn't.

Where I come from, they call that premeditated murder.

I should have been horrified, but I wasn't. I wasn't, because I knew that Mulder shot Modell not for what he'd done to Mulder, but for what he'd forced Mulder to do to me. It had nothing to do with Daniel or anyone else; Mulder had committed murder for my sake.

And I was glad.

I am a horrible person, I suppose. But it is how I felt. I couldn't help it.

That night, as I lay there on my couch, I began to cry. I cried my heart out, cried for Mulder and for what he'd been forced to do, cried for myself because my partner almost killed me, cried for Daniel because if Mulder hadn't made it out alive, he wouldn't even have had the comfort of a final message.

Most of all, I cried because I wanted Mulder. I needed his love, right then. I needed him to leave Daniel at home and come take care of me, to love me -- for that one night -- more than he loved Daniel.

That wasn't going to be. There was no contest: Mulder loved Daniel more than his own life, and with a love that was fortified and strengthened and nourished by the physical passion they shared.

I knew all that.

But still, on that night, I cried because I wanted more. I wanted Mulder to express his love for me that way. I wanted to lie in bed with him and touch him and give him pleasure; I wanted to see his face alight with passion; I wanted to hear him call out my name in a moment of ecstasy.

It was absolutely impossible. I knew that.

But I needed him, and this time, by God, I was going to have him. To hell with the Ms. Nice Guy routine; I picked up the phone and dialed his cell phone.

Mulder answered, and when I heard his voice, I began to cry again. I could barely speak, I was crying so hard.

In less than half an hour, Mulder was there, sitting on the sofa with his arms around me, comforting me, whispering in my ear -- and let me tell you, no matter how upsetting the day had been, for that moment, I was in heaven. For the first time in months, I had him all to myself, and he was holding me, kissing my cheek, telling me that he loved me, that it was all going to be all right.

If he had shot me then, I would have died happy.

When I stopped crying, Mulder made me a cup of tea and brought it to me. I sipped at it -- it was scalding hot, but that's the only way to make it strong enough -- and we sat there, saying nothing until I had finished drinking it.

"Come on now, Dana," Mulder said, gently, as he took the cup away. "You need to get to bed. You're exhausted."

"So are you," I said. "You ought to get some sleep, too, Mulder."

"Well," he said, with a rueful smile, "I don't think I'll be seeing Daniel tonight after all. Maybe I'll just sleep here on your couch."

Right away, I knew something wasn't right. No matter how much he cared for me, Mulder wasn't going to pass up a chance to spend the night with Daniel. They didn't live together, obviously, and between Mulder's travels and Daniel's hospital on-call schedule, nights alone together were rare things for them.

"Mulder," I said, "tell me what's wrong."

And he told me.

It seems that when I called, he and Daniel were on their way out for a drink, then out to dinner and back to Daniel's apartment for ... well, it was none of my business what for, and I didn't ask, but I was sure I knew.

It was Daniel's idea; he'd gotten another doctor to take his calls so he could try to wash that miserable day out of Mulder's tormented mind.

And I had called.

Daniel, obviously, hadn't liked being ditched, certainly not on a night when he had gone out of his way to be with and to comfort his lover. I couldn't blame him; but I could have told him, if he'd asked, that Fox Mulder was capable of ditching anyone, at any time, if he got an idea in his head.

The idea tonight, it seemed, was Comfort Scully.

It made me feel bad; it made me feel good. It made me feel wicked, and horrible, and selfish, and infinitely loved.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have called."

He shook his head. "Yes, you should," he said, firmly. "You're my partner. This is one of the reasons people have partners, Scully -- so they don't have to face these things alone."

"It's also one of the reasons they have lovers," I said, still whispering.

"Maybe," he said, and his voice was softer. "But you don't have a lover, Scully; and I know that part of the reason is that there isn't time for you to meet anyone. And that's my fault."

"No," I began, but he interrupted me.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. You spend all your time working or running around the country with me, chasing aliens, and you're never in one place long enough to meet anyone. And I know you, Scully -- you're not a one-night stand. You need time to develop a relationship, and I haven't given you that time."

"I'm not complaining," I said, but that didn't make him smile as I'd hoped it would.

"Well, you should complain," was all he said, quietly, looking down at his hands.

I reached over and took one of his hands in mine, held it tightly; after a minute, he raised my fingers to his lips and gave me a gentle kiss.

For a while, we just sat there holding hands; we didn't talk.

"Mulder," I said, breaking the silence, "I am glad you're here. It means more to me than I can tell you. But I don't want to cause trouble between you and Daniel."

Mulder was silent for a moment, thinking.

"Scully, I love Daniel," he said, finally. "You know that. He's the first man I've ever had any kind of long-term relationship with. But I'm still your partner, and if I need to be here with you, I'll be here with you. Daniel's not a kid; he'll deal with it. He knows you, and he likes you a lot; he knows you've never abused the privilege."

I did tonight, I thought, but when I tried to tell him that, I just burst into tears again.

And again, he put his arms around me, and held me. When I stopped crying, he kissed me.

Not on the cheek, you understand. He really kissed me -- very softly, yes, very briefly, but also very, very sweetly, and with so much love ...

And I moaned. God help me, I moaned.

And he jumped away from me as though he'd been burned, sat there staring at me in horror.

Oh, God, if I could only do it over again, I would not make a sound ...

No, that's a lie, an utter and complete falsehood. The truth is that if I had it to do over a thousand times, I would still make that soft sound of desire when his lips met mine.

And he would still be just as horrified by it.

Mulder was looking at me that night as though I'd suddenly turned into something straight out of an X File. I don't believe I've ever seen him look so -- dumbfounded, flabbergasted, thunderstruck, I don't know -- there are no words for how he looked.

"Jesus," was all he could say.

And I started crying all over again, harder than before. My carefully guarded secret was out in the open now; he knew. He knew, and he was horrified.

I hoped he would just get up and leave so I could go in to work tomorrow, go straight to Skinner's office and request an immediate transfer to Fargo, North Dakota or some such place and never, ever have to see that look of disgust in Mulder's eyes that I was certain must be there.

Fag hag. The words seemed to hang in the air between us.

And then I felt his arms go around me again, his hand at the back of my neck, pulling my head toward his shoulder, and I collapsed against him. I was sobbing.

There is no other word for it.

He held me so tenderly, let me cry and cry and cry until I could not imagine how any more tears could possibly fall, and yet they did, and he continued to hold me, whispering to me that it was all right, he was here, he wasn't going anywhere.

I don't know how long it was before I stopped crying. Little by little, the sobs got further apart, trailed away to sniffles and hitching breaths, and it was then that I realized that we were lying on my couch, and that I was in Mulder's arms, lying on top of him.

Time seemed to stop; I felt almost as though I were dreaming, everything was moving so slowly. I lay there quietly, listening to his heart beating, steady and regular, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing.

I put my hand on his neck, just below his ear; I felt his arms tighten around me, just slightly. I wanted to stay like that forever; I wanted to memorize everything about it quickly, because I knew it would never happen again.

It could have been hours before he spoke; it might have been only a few minutes. I swear I do not know. All I know is that he spoke first.

"Scully," he said, very, very quietly, "Let's get you to bed. We'll talk about this later."

I couldn't answer him; I just nodded, swallowing hard to keep the tears from starting again. I felt heavy as lead as I pushed myself off him and struggled to my feet. I was so exhausted. I couldn't remember having ever felt this tired, this wiped-out, in my entire life.

And then he got up, and took my hand in his, so carefully, and led me to my bedroom. He helped me out of my clothes, and I just stood there, naked, as he found my pajamas and helped me into them. He buttoned up the top for me and led me to my bed; I climbed in, and he sat down on the edge of the bed beside me and took my hand.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," was all I could say.

He shook his head. "You don't have anything to be sorry about, Scully," he said, in a low voice. "It's my fault. I should have realized ..."

"I didn't want you to," I interrupted him, shaking my head. "I didn't want you to know."

He smiled, that soft, sad smile that I had hoped was gone forever. "You can't hide what you are, or what you feel, forever, Dana," he said, gently. "Sooner or later, it comes out, remember? You are what you are, and you can't change that even if you think people are going to hate you for it."

"Do you hate me now?" I whispered.

"Jesus, no, Scully," he burst out. He sounded almost ... exasperated. "That's not what I meant. What makes you think I could ever hate you?"

"Because I'm in love with you," I said, and I could feel the tears trying to come back. "I have been for a long time. And you don't want me to be."

"Oh, God," he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He ran his hand through his hair, which I recognized as a sign of how completely flummoxed he was.

"What I want -- sexually, anyway -- has nothing to do with how I feel about you, Dana," he said, earnestly, opening his eyes again and letting his hand fall into his lap. "You know I love you. You're my partner; you've been by my side and protected my back through things that most people wouldn't dream up in their worst nightmares, like today. You know I would do anything in the world for you if I could. But what you want from me now is something I can't give you. That doesn't make me angry, though, just sad. I hate to hurt you this way."

"You didn't do it, Mulder," I said, my voice beginning to break again. "I did this to myself."

"No, you didn't," he said, more quietly, taking my hand again. "I told you, Scully; you can't stop being who and what you are. And what you are is straight. I know that; I know you're attracted to men. I just forgot that I'm included in that category. I don't think of myself as attractive to women." "Well, you are, you know," I said, smiling just a little. "You can't help it."

He smiled back. "It's just my incredible good looks and devastating charm," he said, then turned serious again. "Scully, you've stood by me for three years, through some of the worst times in my life. You've given up -- I don't know how many evenings -- just because I didn't want to be alone, and you've never asked for anything in return. Not once in all that time have you let my sexual orientation come between us, and I'm not going to let yours come between us now. I don't know exactly how we're going to deal with this, but I know I don't want to lose you. I want you in my life, as my friend and as my partner. Can you live with that?"

I couldn't speak; all I could do was nod, mutely, and try not to cry again.

"All right, then," he said, very quietly, and bent to kiss my forehead. "Go to sleep now; I'm going to crash on your couch."

"No," I said. "You can sleep here. You know my couch is too short for you."He looked at me keenly. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea," he said, slowly.

"Why not?" I said. "It's not as if anything's going to happen."

"No," he said, still slowly. "But I'd hate to disappoint you again, and anyway, I'm not entirely certain Daniel would understand."

I closed my eyes. He was right, of course. It was just one last desperate attempt on my part to have him close to me. Strange that it would seem so important, when I'd barely noticed his undressing me ... because he hadn't noticed it either. My nudity had touched him not at all.

And never would.

I nodded, and opened my eyes again to look at him. "There's a blanket in the linen closet," I said.

He smiled. "I know that, Scully," he said, teasingly. "It's not my first night on your couch, after all."

He bent over to kiss me one more time, and I was about to offer him my cheek, when -- to my surprise -- he put one hand gently on my face and turned me to him, kissed me on the lips again.

His kiss was still sweet, and still loving, and I still responded to it, but he had decided he could live with that, I guess.

I hoped that I could.