I stood up. Time to stop this nonsense before it went any further. "I'm fine," I said. "Let's go."

Jim stood, too. "Before we go, can I ask you one more question?" he said.

"I suppose," I said. "What's the question?"

"Well, it begins with a question, goes to a statement, and then, if all is in order, we get to the question I really want to ask," Jim said, and there was that twinkle in his eyes again.

"You must have majored in engineering, Mr. Reilly," I said, wrinkling my nose at him. "No one else would even attempt to construct a sentence like that one."

"Nuclear physics, actually," he said, smiling.

"I should have known," I said. "All right, what's your question?"

"It's an easy one -- are you seeing anyone right now?" Jim said, casually.

"Dare I respond with another question?" I said, a little nettled. "Such as 'why do you need to know?'"

"No, because that gets to the final question and I'm not ready to ask that yet," Jim said, firmly, but he was smiling. "So are you?"

I almost didn't answer, because I could see where this was going. I didn't need this kind of complication in my life.

On the other hand, Jim Reilly would be returning to his submarine before long ... there was no way this could become dangerous. I decided I could let myself enjoy the delicious tension of physical attraction between man and woman for just a few minutes longer. Surely that couldn't cause any harm, could it?

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not seeing anyone. Now -- the statement."

"All right," Jim said, putting one foot up on the bench and resting his arms on his knee. "The statement, Dr. Dana, is that you're a very smart, very pretty lady and I think I could learn to like you one hell of a lot."

He stopped, apparently to catch his breath, because he started right back again. "Which brings me," he said, his head tilted in that Irish way, "to my final question. May I have the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight?"

Did I know this was coming? Oh, yes. I most certainly did. And there was no question that it was a very, very bad idea, for reasons I could never expect him to understand.

"Jim," I said, "that's ... that's really a very lovely offer, and you're very kind to ask me, but ..."

"No, no, no," he interrupted me. "Belay that, doctor -- it's the wrong answer."

"The wrong answer?" I said, smiling again in spite of myself. "All right, lieutenant, what's the right answer?"

"The right answer, Dr. Scully," Jim said, looking entirely too sure of himself, "is, 'Jim Reilly, there's nothing I would like better than to get acquainted with you over dinner.'"

"I see," I said, arching an eyebrow at him. "What if I told you I don't have room in my life for anything like that right now?"

"Damn," he said, straightening up. "And here I was ready to resign my commission and devote myself to you full time. I guess I'll just have to stay in the Navy after all."

I didn't know whether to laugh or slap him. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had my leg pulled so firmly ... or been flirted with so delightfully.

"All right, I get the message," I said, as the laughter won out again. "Neither of us has time for anything serious."

"Not now, maybe," Jim said, with that delightful twinkle in his eye again. "But who the hell knows what's ahead?"

"Not I," I said. "Seriously, though, Jim, I'm not sure I have even as much of myself to offer as you do. My work takes up so much of my time, and there aren't any days in port, so to speak."

"And there's also your partner and my brother to consider, right?" he said, easily, folding his arms over his chest. "Or are you going to try to tell me that they're not part of this?"

"That's personal," I said -- rather curtly, I suppose. Jim wasn't the least bit fazed, though.

"Yes, it is," he said, "and I wouldn't even mention it if it hadn't been so damn obvious from the first moment I laid eyes on you. Anyway, if Daniel _is_ that important to you, if your partner is that important to you, I think that's great. Maybe all I want is to horn in on that a little bit. I could use a friend sometimes."

"I don't have anything against being friends," I said, still a little coolly. "As long as we both understand that's all it is."

"Spoken like a woman who's been burned once too often," Jim said. "Or is that too personal, too?"

I sighed. "I'm just not looking for anyone to date right now, not even casually," I said.

"Because your last relationship was an utter disaster?" he said. He didn't even wait for an answer. "I thought so," he said, nodding. "I understand that, believe me. My last relationship was a disaster, too -- and I was married to her."

I sat there silently for a minute, wondering whether to get up and walk away or to smile brightly and accept. If I were any other woman in any other situation, it might be simple. But it hadn't been that long ago that I'd put my life and my health at risk by sleeping with almost any man I could find who reminded me of Mulder ... or Daniel.

Josh Larrimore was most definitely included in that group, too.

And Jim -- Jim didn't just remind me of Daniel, he practically _was_ Daniel, with the same eyes, the same smile, the same voice. If I accepted, how could I ever know if it was for the right reason?

I shook my head, trying to clear it, but Jim must have taken it as a prelude to a rejection.

"Look," he said, quickly, "I'm not trying to rush you. All I'm asking you is if I can spend some time with you tonight. Then, if it suits you, maybe you'll see me again the next time I'm back on dry land. That's all I want, honestly. Don't let it be more than you can give."

I looked up at him again. There was that kindness, that compassion that I'd come to know so well in two years of knowing Daniel. It was hard to resist -- especially when I knew that I didn't really want to.

"What's on your mind, Dana?" Jim said, quietly.

"You," I said. "You're so much like Daniel."

"So they tell me," he said. "I wish it were true. Is that what's worrying you?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted. "I don't want to use you as some kind of substitute for your brother."

"Not even if I beg you to?" he said, grinning. "I mean, if the job's vacant, I'll take it. I'm not proud."

I laughed again. When was the last time I'd laughed this much? I couldn't remember.

"You know," I said, still laughing, "most men wouldn't be so calm at the prospect of sharing a woman with two other men."

"Most women wouldn't be so calm at the prospect of sharing a man with the Navy," Jim said with a shrug. "Who knows -- maybe we're made for each other."

His tone said he was joking, but his eyes -- eyes the color of the deep waters he sailed -- suggested that maybe he wasn't joking after all.

I answered him exactly the same way.

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe we are."

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

Jim left for a minute when we got back inside, saying he needed to get word to his CO that Daniel was recovering and he'd be back aboard soon.

I walked back to the ICU waiting room alone, where I found Mulder standing by the door, looking down the hallway in the other direction.

"Mulder?" I said, and he turned around. When he saw me, he smiled.

"Scully, where have you been?" he said, and he sounded so relieved that I felt a little ashamed. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"We just went for coffee," I said. "Why, is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just that it's visiting time and ... Scully, they said Daniel's awake."

"Oh, thank God," I said, closing my eyes briefly. "So I suppose you and Jill are going in there now?"

He gave me a funny look. "Jill's already been in. I was waiting for you."

"Why?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. "Why didn't you go in with her? This is the last visiting period today -- you might have missed seeing him."

"I know that," he said, quietly. "I waited because I want you with me, Scully. That's the way it's always been."

"I thought ... maybe you and Jill," I began, but I couldn't come up with the right words.

Then I felt Mulder's hand wrap around mine.

"Jill's all right," he said. "She's a nice lady. With any luck at all, maybe we'll even be friends some day. But Scully -- I mean, Jesus Christ, Scully, if Daniel couldn't take your place in my life, what makes you think anyone else is going to?"

I didn't answer him.

"You can be such a damn dope sometimes, Dana," Mulder said, gently, and he kissed my forehead.

For a minute I just leaned against him, loving the feeling of his lips against my skin. Then, with a deep sigh, I looked up at him.

"I should think that's fairly obvious, Mulder," I said, as firmly as I could manage, "since I've been hanging around with you for almost four years."

He smiled at me. "Obviously," he said, brushing my hair back from my face. "Come on, let's go see Daniel."

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

As Daniel Saw It

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

"Fox," I said, "I'm not helpless, for Christ's sake. Will you please not hover over me?"

All right, I admit it. I was a little testy. But like most physicians, I'm a rotten patient. I hate being in the hospital -- as a patient, I mean. I'd much rather be on the other end of the scalpel.

In some ways I felt like I was still in the hospital, although of course that wasn't Fox's fault. I was staying at Dana's place, since of our three apartments, that's the closest one to Bethesda.

Jill was staying, too, which sounded like a great idea to me at first. That, of course, was before Dr. Dana and Nurse Jill began devoting themselves 24/7 to, and I quote, "looking after me." When Dana was at work, I was at Jill's mercy; when Dana got home, it was the other way around.

This was what they called "taking care of me" and I called "hovering around, giving me endless orders and driving me nuts."

All right, enough griping. I don't really mean it anyway; I know I'm the luckiest man on earth, and not just because I'm getting the best, most loving care any man ever got. No, it goes far beyond that, starting with the fact that some maniac put two rounds into my chest while I was driving along at something like 65 miles an hour and he still didn't manage to kill me or even maim me sufficiently to end my military career.

But waking up from a barbiturate coma, slowly realizing that I was alive, and that Fox was there, holding my hand -- in a Navy hospital, no less -- and that Jill was waiting outside, crying with relief ... that was an even greater miracle, and one I never would have believed could happen.

My God, just finding out that Jill didn't hate me anymore would have been miracle enough for one lifetime.

Jill really came through for me, even though I don't deserve it after everything I've done to her. Dana did, too, and Jim -- and, most of all, of course, Fox. They all went far above and beyond the call of duty.

Even when I was unconscious, I think I knew somehow that Fox wasn't there at first. Dana says she told me. I don't remember that; but I remember very clearly hearing him speak to me for the first time after what seemed like forever.

I don't remember exactly what he said. I just remember that he was there, and that when I heard him speak I wanted more than anything to wake up and be with him. His voice was like a lifeline I could hold onto, a way to pull myself slowly back to reality.

And when, in time, I woke up, I found that I had been watched over and wept over by my mother -- even if she didn't stick around -- by my brother and Dana, and by Jill and Fox, the two people I have loved best in this life.

But that was then, and this was now, and I was ready to get back in shape and back on duty, whereas Fox and everyone else seemed to believe that I was still incapable of anything more strenuous than lifting a glass to my lips. I think they would have helped me with that if I'd let them.

Which, I suppose, is why I was snapping at him now.

I'd been following Dana's orders; honest I had. Every day, I'd get up and move around until I started to get tired, and then I'd rest. When I felt rested, I'd get up and move again. It was essentially what I would have ordered any of my patients to do.

It was a Friday, and I'd been hoping Dana would bring Fox home with her for the weekend, but when she got home -- dead tired, too -- she told me he was still at work, that he was trying to prepare for a disciplinary hearing involving a case he'd just been in.

I didn't ask for details. I knew he'd tell me sooner or later, when he got ready. But I'd been up a good part of the day and I was tired as hell, and I didn't want go to bed because I missed him so much that the thought of waiting until morning to see him was agony.

So I was resting on Dana's bed, which she had as usual insisted I had to occupy, and I got thirsty. Jill and Dana had gone out to get groceries, so I started to get up, but I guess I was more tired than I thought; I got to a sitting position, but I had to stop there to catch my breath.

Naturally, Fox chose that moment to arrive.

I hadn't heard him come in -- I guess he used his key -- so I didn't even know he was there until I saw him standing over me, asking me what I wanted and telling me to lie back down, that he'd get whatever it was.

And it annoyed me. There were enough people babying me already. I sure didn't need it from him.

So I snapped at him.

And it really hurt his feelings. Of course it did -- he'd gone through so much to be with me in the hospital, he was clearly having a hell of a bad time at work so of course as soon as I saw him, I bit his head off.

And there we were, both wondering how to back out of this one without serious loss of face.

But it was my fault, and I knew it, so I blinked first -- metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Sorry," I said, flopping back down. "Just a little tired, I guess."

"Yeah, well," he said, and shrugged. But he just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor. We were both being so Martian about it, saying nothing and waiting for it to blow over.

Sometimes there's just a little too much testosterone in our relationship, you know?

Enough.

"Fox" I said, reaching for him, "for God's sake, come here, please?"

And he smiled, and sat on the bed next to me. I pulled him down beside me and finally, finally, after so damn long and so much horror, he was in my arms again and I was kissing him.

Well, actually, it was more like devouring than kissing. But it was mutual, I promise you.

Finally, we came up for air and he laid his head on my shoulder. "I've missed you," he said, so quietly I could barely hear him.

"I missed you, too," I whispered back, and I held him as close as I could, given that my right arm wasn't completely back to normal yet. For a minute we just lay there together, enjoying each other's presence, until a random thought made me laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?" Fox asked, looking up at me.

"You know, I'd love to think you're just happy to see me," I said, still snickering, "but knowing you, G-man, you probably _do_ have a pistol in your pocket."

He laughed at that, weak as it was, and the laughter took years off him. Thank God -- he'd looked so tired and haunted when he arrived.

"It's in my holster, not in my pocket, asshole," he said, still laughing as he sat up. He gave me another quick kiss and stood.

"I'll put it away," he said. "Wouldn't want you to get shot again."

He got up, took off the holster and laid the whole damn thing on the night stand. "I think I'm going to change while I'm up," he said, reaching into Dana's closet for the extra clothes he keeps here -- what I call his "real clothes" -- faded jeans, untucked T-shirt, sneaks.

I lay there watching as he dressed, admiring his body, thinking -- for what must be the ten-thousandth time -- how much happier he always is when he can shed the standard G-man uniform. That's a joke we have -- he tells me I look good in my uniform, and I tell him he looks good in his uniform, too, which may be a joke but it's true anyway.

Still, he's always happier when he can leave the coat-and-tie world behind him for a while.

"Can I get you anything while I'm up?" he asked as he pulled the T- shirt over his head.

"The only thing I want you to do," I said, "is to get your ass back over here."

"Just my ass?" he asked, with totally false innocence. "Is that all you want?"

"Not by a long shot," I said, scooting over to give him room. "But I promise I'll get to it eventually."

"Daniel," he said, then hesitated. He sat on the edge of the bed again and put his hand on my cheek.

"What is it now?" I said, putting my hand over his. "Don't tell me it really was just the pistol after all."

"You know it wasn't," he said, his thumb gently stroking my face. "But, Daniel, as much as I want to ... baby, you're just not strong enough yet."

God, how this man touches my heart sometimes.

I knew what he was worried about. You'd never know it from that tough G-man exterior, but a lot of the time, when we make love, Fox wants to be on the bottom. It's what he seems to need; even more, he needs it to be understood, accepted as the norm for us, something to be changed only if I say so.

I used to worry about that when we first got together, before I ever knew much about his job -- or his heart -- but now I just accept it as part of what he needs from me, part of what it takes to love a man whose job means he has to run toward danger when everyone around him is running away.

So it's all right. If he needs my permission to be on top, he's got it. If he needs to know that he can be stronger than me and I won't stop taking care of him, then fine, that's what I'll give him. Whatever he wants from me, he can have.

"Maybe I'm not strong enough," I said, and I took his hand to my lips and kissed his palm. "But _you_ are, lover. And I know you'll be careful with me."

I was right. That was what he wanted to hear. I could tell by the way he closed his eyes, and by the ragged intake of his breath and -- of course -- by the way his jeans were suddenly way too tight around the zipper.

I have to admit, the idea was having a similar effect on me. Yeah, we were definitely going to have to lock the bedroom door ASAP.

I started to get up, but he put one hand on my chest to stop me.

"Come on, Daniel," he said, as though he was going to protest again, but I didn't want to hear it. I put my fingers gently over his mouth. His mouth ... God, I love that mouth, the way it tastes, the way it feels ... he really needed to stop talking and put it to better use.

"Don't try to tell me you don't want to, Fox," I said as I took my hand away. "I know that look in your eye."

"I'm not going to tell you that, because you know better," he said, stroking my face again. "I do want to. I can't tell you how much I want to just ... lose myself in you. I just don't want to do anything that'll hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me," I said. "And you think too damn much." With that, I put one hand on the back of his neck, pulled him back into my arms and kissed him, slowly but very, very thoroughly.

That did it for him. He shivered and groaned into my mouth, taking my head between his hands and crushing his lips against mine, grinding his body against me so hard I thought he might come right then and there.

You can't imagine what it does to me to see him like that, to know that I can do that to him, to watch my strong, beautiful lover writhing and moaning helplessly in my arms just because I touched him ... it's almost too much.

It was too much now. I wasn't just on fire, I was burning out of control, plundering his mouth with my tongue, thrusting against him, running my hands over every inch of him, over his clothes, under his clothes ... everywhere.

If one of us didn't stop long enough to shut the damn door, we were going to be putting on a hell of a show for Dana and Jill and God and everybody else. I was pulling at his clothes, trying to get them off, trying desperately to get more of that body I love so much ... we were definitely going to be on display, and at that point I didn't much care, either.

At the last possible moment, I managed to tear myself away from him long enough to speak. "Fox," I said, my voice husky with lust and my lips still touching his, "for God's sake go lock the door."

He nodded, wordlessly, and got up, locked the door and then stood at the end of the bed where I could see him, pulling off his clothes and then coming back to help me out of mine, carefully so as not to disturb the still-healing wounds on my chest and leg.

I didn't actually realize that he hadn't seen my wounds before until he lay down next to me and ran his finger across the angry red scar near my shoulder, and I saw the cold fury in his eyes. The police hadn't yet found the man who shot me, not even with all the FBI's resources laid at their feet, and it was making Fox damn near insane.

I wasn't worried. I was alive; that was enough for me right now.

I took his hand and laid his fingers on my lips, kissed them quickly, then put his hand on my chest.

"The scars are going to fade, Fox," I said, quietly. "And sooner or later, the guy that did this is going to turn up, and when he does, you'll get him."

"If recent experience is any guide, I won't find him any time soon," he said, but he rested his forehead against mine as he spoke. "Lately, I don't seem to be able to figure anything out until it's too late to solve it with anything except a bullet."

Shit. I should have realized something was wrong. "You want to tell me about it?" I asked, in as level a tone as I could manage, because now I _was_ worried.

"No," he said, quickly, shaking his head. He looked into my eyes then. "All I want to do right now is forget about it. I want to forget about everything except making love with you."

"All right," I whispered, and then his mouth descended on mine again, and ... after that, I couldn't tell you. Everything blended together seamlessly, from the warmth of his mouth to the touch of his hands ... the way he handled me so carefully, so lovingly, surrounded me, taking me higher and higher until I couldn't stand it another second and I came, I fucking exploded into his mouth.

There seemed to be nothing real in the entire universe except him and the almost unbearable need I had to spend myself, to feel him taking me in, accepting me in his body as he had always accepted me into his soul.

Before I even came back to myself, he was in me ... at last, at long last, he was there where I wanted him, where I needed him to be. After so much time apart, I could look up and see him above me, see his muscles tensed with the strain of holding himself over me, his skin gleaming with sweat, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he struggled to hold off, to make it last longer ...

And then to hear my name on his lips as the last of his control slipped away, as he emptied himself helplessly into me and then collapsed, exhausted, into my arms.

I don't know how long we lay there like that. I held him as close as I could, so tightly that as strong as he is, I doubt he could have made me let him go until I was ready.

I don't think he minded. I'm not even sure he was that aware of himself yet. So I just lay there, holding him, breathing in the rich, heady scent of sex and maleness that lingered around him.

After a while, though, he raised his head and kissed me. "That felt pretty good," he said, softly, smiling down at me.

"Just pretty good, huh?" I said, running my hand through his hair. "Is that what you tell all your boyfriends?"

He laughed. "No, asshole, it's what I tell all _your_ boyfriends," he said. He rolled off me then, got up and pulled on his jeans. "Want a towel?"

I shook my head. "I'm all right," I said. "Just don't be gone long, okay?"

"I won't be," he said, bending over to kiss me again quickly.

I rolled over on my side and laid my head on the pillow. I must have been tired; I think I was already half asleep when he came back. He knew it, too, because he moved more quietly than usual as he pulled on his shorts and climbed into the bed beside me.

I was just awake enough to crawl into his arms. I think that surprised him; for just a second, he seemed to stiffen, then he relaxed and moved so that my head was on his shoulder.

"Hey, Daniel?" he said, so quietly I almost couldn't hear him.

"Mmm?" I replied, not terribly articulately.

There was a long silence before he spoke again, even more quietly.

"I love you," he said.

Now _that_ woke me up. He'd never said that to me before, never. I mean, he didn't have to -- I knew it. I knew it like I know my own name.

But evidently he needed to say it.

Fine. Like I said, whatever he needs from me, he can have.

"You do, huh?" I said.

"Yeah," he said, and he actually sounded a little nervous. "I do."

There were a million things I wanted to say to him, but only one that really seemed appropriate right now. I held him a little tighter, nestling my head a little more firmly against him.

"Fox," I said, sleepily, "you are _such_ an asshole."