I got to the restaurant in less than the 30 minutes we'd agreed on, so I took a table where I could see the door and waited for the mysterious Dr. Scully to appear.

I hadn't been there more than five minutes when she came in. At first, I didn't think it was her -- this woman was, to put it plainly, gorgeous. She didn't look like the type who'd be hanging around with a gay man.

But then, maybe I didn't either.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room. When she saw me, I could have sworn there was just a brief look of pain in her eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to be sure. She walked over to the table confidently enough.

"Mrs. Reilly," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Dana Scully."

"Jill Reilly," I said, taking her hand briefly as the waitress walked over with her pad. "I ate not too long ago," I said. "I hope you don't mind if I just have coffee."

"Make that two," she said to the waitress, but her eyes were still fixed on me. "You look very much like your photograph," she said as the waitress walked away.

"Thank you -- I think," I said. "How do you know Daniel?"

Right, Jill, cut out the preliminaries. Let's just get right to it. Dr. Scully raised one eyebrow, as though she was a little offended by my abruptness, but she stayed cool. Damn, is she like that all the time?

"I met him through my partner," she said. And she just left it hanging there. No explanation.

None needed, actually.

"Your partner is ... " I said, then I stopped and moistened my lips. "He and Daniel are ..."

"Involved," she said, simply. "They have been for a while."

I was expecting it. Still, it felt like a bowling ball had just dropped into my stomach. I just nodded and looked down at the table. "And you want to go visit Daniel," I said.

"Yes, I do," she said, and her voice was so much softer that I had to look up. Her facial expression hadn't changed -- not much, anyway -- but there was a look in her eyes that told me that somehow, she knew I was upset and trying not to show it.

"But it's not just me, Mrs. Reilly," she said, more quietly. "It's my partner -- his name is Fox Mulder. He hasn't seen Daniel since this happened. I know this is difficult for you ..."

"You have no idea," I said, and I could hear the bitter note in my voice. "You cannot begin to imagine how difficult."

"Maybe I can," she said, and her voice was softer still, even a little ... sympathetic. "I understand better than you think, Mrs. Reilly. I haven't been through what you've been through, but I do have some idea of how you must feel."

"I doubt it," I said, and then I sat back as the waitress brought the coffee and a handful of those little plastic containers of fake cream. I hate that stuff; I'd rather drink motor oil. Dr. Scully put two of them in her coffee, no sugar, and for a minute we sat there in silence as she stirred her coffee.

"Mrs. Reilly," she said, finally, "you're right. I don't know what you've been through. I can only imagine, and I'm sure my imagination isn't up to anything as painful as the way your marriage to Daniel ended."

"With all due respect, Dr. Scully, you don't have a goddamn clue," I said. "I don't know what Daniel's told you about me, but whatever it is, it's probably not true. He always treated me as though I was just this side of being an angel -- right up until the time he told me he wanted a divorce. Well, I'm no angel -- and I still haven't forgiven him for lying to me and cheating on me. I'm not sure I ever will."

I could really feel myself getting angry now. Why this had angered me so much, I don't know; perhaps it was just seeing this woman -- this woman who, to all appearances, was as straight as an arrow -- who had a relationship of some kind with Daniel. Somehow, it had been decided that she could be with him and I couldn't.

It just wasn't fair.

I stopped, and took a couple of sips of coffee, trying to give myself time to calm down. "Dr. Scully," I said, after a while, "please forgive me. I shouldn't have said that; I really don't want to reopen that particular wound right now. Why don't you just tell me what it is you want me to do."

"Of course," she said, but I saw the sympathy flash through her eyes again, and it nettled me. I didn't want her pity. "Your mother- in-law gave orders that no one except family was to visit Daniel in the ICU. Dr. Montgomery said someone -- he doesn't know who -- has Daniel's power of attorney and could overrule those instructions. I'm guessing that someone is you."

"I did have, but I'm sure it was invalidated by our divorce," I said in surprise. "I have no legal standing where Daniel's concerned; not anymore, anyway."

"My understanding -- and I'm not a lawyer, of course -- is that a durable power of attorney remains in force until it's canceled," Dr. Scully said. "Do you have those documents with you?"

I shook my head. "I never did have them," I said. "They're probably in Daniel's safe-deposit box. But even if I do have them, Dr. Scully, I'm not sure I'm going to overrule Mom on this."

That surprised her. It showed very clearly. "I'm sorry?" she said, seeming confused by my answer.

"I said I'm not sure I'm going to overrule my mother-in-law -- former mother-in-law," I said, looking her right in the eye. "I understand that your partner has some feelings for Daniel, and I am sympathetic to that, but I have to be sympathetic to Mom's feelings, too. She's been through a lot, and I'm not sure she could take seeing Daniel with another man."

"They're not planning to have sex in the ICU," she said, a little sharply. "Mulder just wants to see him. Surely that's not too much to ask."

"Right now, it is, actually," I said, finishing my coffee. I took a couple of dollars out of my purse and laid the bills on the table as I stood up. "I'm sorry, Dr. Scully," I said, as firmly as I could. "I think your partner will just have to wait a little while."

"Is there nothing I can say to you that might change your decision?" she said, and her eyes were cold now. She was furious; she was just doing a better job than I was of hiding it.

"No, I don't think there is," I said, my voice equally cold. "If you'll excuse me now, I'm going to take my mother-in-law to the hospital to visit her son."

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

Mom was awake when I got back to the hotel. She was ready to go see Daniel, so although I would have preferred to wait for a while and calm myself down, I agreed that we would go back.

I almost told her about my visit with Dr. Scully, but I decided not to say anything. It would have upset her, and there was no good reason to do that right now. Besides, I was already feeling ashamed of myself for having taken so much of my anger and frustration out on Dr. Scully the way I did, but damn it, it humiliated me that she knew how I'd been rejected and she hadn't. That she felt sorry for me only made it worse.

No. There would be time to deal with Daniel's friend, and his friend's friend, once Daniel was more stable and Mom was feeling a little stronger.

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

As Scully Saw It

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

My meeting with Jill Reilly was a huge disappointment, to say the very least.

I recognized her immediately from a photograph that Daniel keeps in a drawer. I came across it while I was staying there with him; he was at work, I was cold and I was out of clean socks, so I thought I'd borrow some of his.

And there it was, tucked under a pile of neatly rolled socks. I recognized Daniel, naturally; he was lying in a hammock with a lovely, blond-haired woman lying next to him. Her left hand was resting on his chest, and there was no mistaking who she was; she was wearing a thin gold wedding band. They were smiling and they looked very comfortable with each other: the very picture of a happily married couple.

Yet judging by Daniel's appearance, the picture couldn't have been made more than a few months before their divorce.

I looked at that picture for a long, long time. It was heartbreaking to see Jill Reilly so much in love with her handsome husband, knowing as I did what was about to happen to her. It was heartbreaking, too, to know that Daniel still loved her enough to keep that photograph where he would see it every day, to know that even now, when he was so happy with Mulder, Daniel was still grieving for what he'd lost.

I wondered if Mulder knew about the photograph. I decided that he probably did; I didn't think he and Daniel kept many secrets from each other anymore.

And I decided that Jill Reilly must be a very special woman indeed.

But when I met her, that impression faltered just a little. I don't know what I'd expected her to do, but I know I wasn't expecting to be turned down so flatly. I felt almost as though she'd betrayed me personally, and I was angry -- although not as angry as she was, to judge by her expression.

Mom had called Admiral Thorsby, and Jim Reilly was reported to be on his way to Bethesda. I called Skinner and told him that Mulder and I were more stressed out by the Schnauz case than we'd thought, and asked him if his earlier offer of a few days off was still open. He said it was; he didn't ask any more questions, just said he'd see us on Tuesday.

And that, friends, was that. There was nothing else I could do.

Mulder didn't go to the hospital again; he stayed with me at my mother's house, waiting and hoping that Jill might change her mind.

The really sad part was knowing that if it had been me lying in that hospital bed, he would simply have charged in there and demanded to be allowed to see me. He's done it. In this case, however, the risk of outing Daniel and getting him kicked out of the Navy was just too great. The love that made him want to risk everything to go see Daniel was the same love that kept him away.

A couple of times, I called my med-school friend to get updates on Daniel's condition. What he told me worried me so much that I found myself giving Mulder the "there, there" treatment, withholding the worst of the information and sugar-coating the rest.

Normally, he's too good an investigator to let that pass, but he was so worried and tense that he seemed not to have his antennae on full power; at any rate, he didn't challenge my assertion that Daniel continued to do as well as could be expected.

Which was good, because nothing could have been further from the truth.

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

I woke up before sunrise Saturday, roused from sleep by the unconscious awareness that I was alone, although Mulder had slept with me again the night before.

I got up, threw on a robe and slippers and headed downstairs to the kitchen. There was coffee -- fairly fresh, from the aroma -- but no other signs that anyone was up but me. I poured myself some coffee and stuck my head out the back door.

There was Mulder, sitting on the step, drinking his coffee and staring off into space.

"Hey," I said, stepping outside. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Is this a private party, or can anyone join in the misery?"

Okay, so it was a weak joke. I'm not much of a comedian.

Still, he laughed -- almost. "It's invitation only," he said, scooting over to make room for me. "Fortunately, you're invited."

"Thanks," I said, sitting down next to him and pulling the robe around me. Not for modesty's sake -- we're way past that point. It was just a little chilly, and the air was damp. "Is there something new wrong? You seem more preoccupied than you did."

Mulder shook his head. "Just another aspect of the same thing, I guess," he said, slowly. "Your mom left a note in the kitchen saying Jim Reilly will be here Monday. I was trying to decide how to approach him."

"I wish I could tell you," I said, sipping at the coffee. "I don't even know much about him, except that he's a bubblehead."

"What the hell is a bubblehead?" Mulder asked, with a dubious expression.

"A submariner," I said. "Don't look at me like that; they use the word themselves, or so I'm told. Anyway, what else do you know about Jim Reilly?"

"I don't know much more than that," Mulder said, his eyes still fixed on something in the distance that was invisible to everyone but him. "He's four years younger than Daniel, which makes him about your age ..."

"Gee, thanks," I said, dryly. "I'm so glad you're keeping track."

He smiled a little. "Sorry," he said. "Anyway, you already know he's in the Navy and he's the only member of the family still speaking to Daniel. I don't know how much else there is to know."

"Oh, I don't know," I said, still trying to keep my tone light. "You could try telling me whether he's married ... and if he looks like Daniel."

That did it. He really laughed. "I've only seen his pictures, but yes, I'd say he looks like his brother," Mulder said. "He's younger, of course, and his hair's not as dark. I think his eyes are blue. Nice build."

"Mmm," I said, approvingly. "Sounds cute. Bet he looks good in his uniform."

"He sure as hell does in his picture," Mulder said, nodding. "He's attractive, all right -- although not as attractive as Daniel, of course."

"Oh, of course not," I said, smiling. "That's a given."

"So do I dare ask you why you're inquiring about young Mr. Reilly?" Mulder asked.

"I'm just curious," I said. "What about the married part?"

"Divorced," Mulder said, looking at me and shaking his head. "What is it with you heterosexuals -- can't you ever commit?"

"Ha, ha, ha," I said, but actually I was pleased that he was making an attempt to joke. That seemed like a good omen. "We can commit. We just have to keep getting married until we find the right person to stay married to."

"Must get expensive," Mulder said, smiling just a little.

"I wouldn't know," I said, taking another sip of coffee. "I rejected the only serious marriage proposal I ever got."

"Jack Willis?" he asked, and I nodded. "Was that what you two broke up over? You've never told me much about that relationship," he said.

"There's not much to tell," I said, with a shrug. "I loved him, but I didn't want to settle down with him. Eventually, we broke up."

"I'm sorry," Mulder said.

"I'm not," I said, laying my head briefly on his shoulder. "If I'd stayed with Jack, I'd never have met you."

"At least Jack was straight," he said, but without that sad, slightly guilty smile that he often wears when making such self-punishing pronouncements. I'm not the only one who's learning to adjust to this situation.

"Mulder, if straight was all I was looking for, I wouldn't be here now," I said, nudging his shoulder slightly. Smile or no smile, he was venturing onto dangerous turf here, and that was one of my many "stop it" signals. "By my count, there are about 5,000 straight men working at the Hoover."

"Constituting what Daniel's fly-boy friends would call a 'target-rich' environment," Mulder said. "I see your point. Although I'm not sure I'd put the number that high."

"Well, it's just an estimate, Mulder," I said. "I only know of a few agents who are out ..."

"Most of whom have lived to regret it," Mulder noted, "and the rest of us took the hint. Your estimate is high. Trust me."

"I'm not going to ask you how you know that," I said, although in truth, I was dying to.

"I haven't slept with any of them, if that's what you're asking," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I know better than to get involved with anybody on the job."

"Present company ..."

"Excepted, of course," he said, and he put his arm around me. "Depending on your definitions."

"Mulder, our relationship is anything but easily defined," I said, snuggling up to him. "I'm not even going to try. But seriously, I've always wondered: Is it really true that you learn to spot other gay men?"

"Not always, but probably better than 90 percent of the time," he said. "It's known in the community as 'gaydar,' and it usually works -- thank God."

"How long does it take to develop?" I asked. I know, I was being intrusive, but I was anxious to keep him talking, to keep him from sinking into one of those deep depressions that come over him sometimes. This could so easily have become one of those times.

And I was curious. I admit it.

"I don't know," he said. "I almost think I had it to some degree before I was ever active, although I didn't really start to trust it until several years later."

"So -- pardon my asking -- but how did you ever manage to meet anybody in the first place?" I said, and then stopped when I caught Mulder looking at me with that quizzical expression he gets sometimes. I could feel myself blushing. "I'm sorry," I said. "That's really none of my business."

"I don't mind," he said. "Scully, you can ask me anything you want to. You ought to know that by now."

"That doesn't mean I'll always get an answer," I said.

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, with a little laugh. "And what's sauce for the goose ..."

"You've made your point, Mulder," I said. "Consider the question withdrawn."

"No, it's all right, I don't mind telling you," he said. "I met him at Oxford. He was a student at my college. End of story."

"Were you in love with him?" I asked, softly.

Mulder shook his head. "Not in the least," he said. "I never really fell in love until I met Daniel."

"I think you almost did once, though," I said. "Didn't you?"

That got me his attention -- all of it. "With whom?" he said, his brows knitted. "Not Phoebe. You know better than that."

"Yes, I do. I was talking about Max Fenig," I said, and I knew immediately that I'd hit the target.

"I didn't think you knew about Max," he said, softly.

"I didn't, really; not until just now," I said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry. It's just that ... you used to get a sad kind of look in your eyes when you talked about him. I thought maybe something had happened between you two."

"It was stupid," he said, taking his arm from my shoulders and wrapping his hands around his coffee mug. "He was a witness in an investigation. I had no business getting involved with him. That was about as careless as I've ever gotten."

"Did you love him?" I asked, putting my hand on his arm.

"I could have, in time, I guess," he said. "He was ... Scully, he was just a really sweet guy, you know?"

"Yes, he was," I said, stroking his arm gently. "And he practically worshipped the ground you walk on. I'm sorry, Mulder."

He shrugged then, and looked at me. "It couldn't have worked," he said. "Max did have a couple of screws loose. Not that I don't," he added, quickly, but with a flash of his usual humor. "But Max had problems I'm not qualified to deal with."

"I remember," I said. "But he was, as you said, a really sweet guy. I liked him."

"So did I," he said, and he put his arm back around me, around my waist. "But then, if I'd stayed with him, I'd never have met Daniel, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't have," I agreed, leaning against him again. "And that, my friend, would have been a very, very great loss -- for both of us."

Mulder didn't answer that time, just held me a little closer. I stayed where I was for a moment, hoping he could take some comfort in my presence; when I felt him relax a little, I turned my head and kissed him softly.

"I'm going to go take a shower," I said. "Then let's get dressed and go get some breakfast."

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

Mulder and I spent most of that day together. We walked around the park near my mom's house, spent a few hours reading at Barnes and Noble, went to a movie -- essentially, doing anything I could think of to keep him busy.

I kept him busy, all right; but there was no way to keep his mind off Daniel. He didn't say much, but I could see the tension building in him minute by minute, and there was nothing I could do about that.

By nightfall, Mulder said he was tired and needed to get home to do some laundry and feed his fish. Mom protested, but Mulder told her he thought he'd like to be closer to the hospital in case Jill or Mrs. Reilly changed their minds, and Mom couldn't exactly argue with that. So I took him to the Hoover to get his car and then went back to my own apartment.

I slept fitfully that night. After just two nights, I had gotten used to the warmth of Mulder's body next to mine and I missed him. I was also getting more and more worried about Daniel. My friend told me Daniel was still on the ventilator and still deeply sedated, and that really worried me. He needed to be up and moving around as soon as possible to prevent a whole host of complications.

Around 2 a.m., I finally fell asleep, only to be awakened about three hours later when my telephone rang. I wasn't startled; I fully expected it to be Mulder.

But it wasn't. It was Skinner, telling me to get my ass out to Bosher's Run Park in Manassas, Virginia, and find out why my hare-brained partner had ordered a forensic exhumation.

"The two of you are off duty, Agent Scully," Skinner said in that tense voice that means he's thoroughly pissed. "If there's some official federal investigation ongoing that either you or Agent Mulder is involved in, I'd like to be informed by someone other than the Manassas police."

"Yes, sir, of course," I said. I promised to make a full report just as soon as I had a chance to speak to Mulder.

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

I don't suppose there's any need to rehash the events of those few days. Anyone on the Eastern Seaboard who read a newspaper or watched the evening news knows how serial killer John Lee Roche escaped from federal custody, and that the escape ended when Special Agent Fox Mulder blew Roche's brains out with a .22 he kept in his leg holster.

What no one knows, because Skinner was successful in covering it up, is the role Mulder had in allowing Roche to escape. No one ever will know if I have anything to say about it, either, because Mulder was, of all those involved, the least to blame for what happened.

No, if there was blame to be laid, it belonged to me. I should have realized the intensity of the strain he was under and what it was doing to his judgment. I should never have let him out of my sight. I should have brought him to my apartment and made him spend the night with me instead of sending him home with instructions to go home and "get some sleep."

The shooting board would clear him. I wasn't concerned about that. There might be some questions about how Roche got Mulder's gun and badge, but there was no question that it was a justifiable use of deadly force in the defense of another. My only real worry was that someone would start inquiring as to why Agent Mulder would have behaved so erratically during those two days.

And any such inquiry might lead them straight to Lt. Cmdr. Daniel Reilly, who was at this moment lying in the intensive care unit at the Naval Research Hospital, unable to do anything to defend himself or his lover who was now, despite my best efforts, falling completely apart.