"I did not wish for another you, Mulder." Before the dejection could fully develop in his eyes, she added, "The one I have is just the way I like him."

He smiled warmly, then frowned. "Yet you had some thought to that effect."

She shrugged, feigning ignorance. All the prodding in the world couldn't make her admit how the second Mulder appeared in her mind--both in content and appearance. "Look. It's done. Does it say how to get rid of him?" Good grief, what was she saying? "Assuming he exists at all."

Mulder looked startled, then disappointed; he stared into her eyes. "For a second there, you had me worried that you might believe."

"For a second there, I did."

His eyes were full of wonder, and she felt a little giddy that she'd been the one to put it there.

"So, does it say how to get rid of it?"

He shook his head. "No. It only explains its abilities in the broadest of terms, so that practically anything could be construed as a 'wish coming true.'"

"But another whole person? Shouldn't that be beyond the capabilities of your local occult purchase?"

"Oh, it is. This..." He held the medallion by the loop. "...has gone seriously astray."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, there's the obvious: look at what it's done. And I can 'feel' it. It almost feels like it's breathing in my hand." He looked at her. "Did you experience anything like that?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing. And I held it in my hand for a few minutes."

"Hm." He rubbed a knuckle across his chin. "How about when you made your..." He caught himself before she had a chance to glare at him. "...thought?"

"I didn't touch it until I got back here. I had my... thought... back in the store."

His eyebrows raised. "Really." After studying her for a moment, he laid the medallion back in its box. "Yet you didn't handle it until you were back at the office."

"Right."

"That means that your wish was still in your mind when you held the medallion."

"It wasn't!" she denied, a little more forcefully than she'd intended.

"Are you sure, Scully?" he asked, and because his tone held no teasing in it, she answered honestly.

"No." Closing her eyes, she slumped into her chair.

"No? Really?" She could almost feel the heat from the grin she just knew was lighting up his face.

"No," she said, softly.

"What were you thinking about, Scully?" He laid a hand, as gentle as his voice, upon her cheek.

"I don't want to tell you."

"It could be important." His fingertips were tickling the fine hairs on her cheek; she could barely concentrate enough to answer.

"It's not."

"Why were you thinking of me, Scully? Why would you think of another me?" She could feel his breath on her face now.

This was a dream. It had to be. She was at home. She'd fallen asleep in the middle of a Cary Grant romance. A very vivid Cary Grant romance. If she opened her eyes now, he'd be gone and she'd be on her living room couch in her pajamas.

"Scully?"

Her eyes popped open, and she stared into his eyes, mere inches above her own, absolutely shocked to find him there. "Mulder."

He regarded her with wonder for a few moments, then a rarely-seen expression of self-consciousness crept into his eyes. "You fell asleep. We were in the middle of a conversation, I was employing what I thought was my honed-to-perfection Scully-seduction technique and you fell asleep. I have to tell you, this doesn't help my self-esteem much." As he started to back away, her hand shot out and clasped the back of his neck, effectively cutting off his flight.

"Your self-esteem doesn't need any help. And it worked." At his look of confusion, she elaborated: "Your honed-to-perfection Scully-seduction technique. It worked." She drew his head closer. "Really well."

"Excuse me?"

It was Mulder's voice, but his mouth hadn't moved, and the question had most definitely not come from the man whose lips were a hairsbreadth from her own. "Mulder, tell me you've been taking ventriloquism lessons, and I won't even question you as to why."

He sighed, and she saw her own frustration reflected in his eyes. "Sorry, Scully," he said, straightening up.

She scrambled out of her chair and stood beside him, her eyes wide at the sight of the second Mulder. The figment of what must be her fevered imagination looked like it was about to cry. "Why are you doing this to me?" it asked.

Mulder took a step forward, shielding her from the apparition. "Doing what?"

"Why are you making me come here?"

It sounded so like a mortally-wounded Mulder that any fear she may have harbored toward the--whatever it was--evaporated. She stepped from behind Mulder, closer to the doppleganger. "I'm sorry. It was an accident. But where did you come from? And what are you?"

The doppleganger gave a bitter laugh. "I'm him," it said, pointing at Mulder, "five years ago. When you died in that operating room in Alaska," it addressed her partner.

Mulder's mouth dropped open. "You're my ghost?"

The ghost nodded. "In a manner of speaking, and only because I'm here. I'm not supposed to be here," it said, heart-breakingly softly. "After five years, she finally came, and you made me leave!"

"Who?" Scully asked. "Who finally came?"

"You," it choked out. "After I thought I'd never see you again, you came."

"Antarctica," she heard Mulder say beside her. "In Antarctica when you stopped breathing. Oh, Jesus." He sank down onto the top of his desk. "You were dead, Scully."

The ghost Mulder smiled. "For less than a minute. But enough to bring you to me."

"Bring me where?" Scully asked, wondering how high a temperature she must be running to be having this dream about carrying on a conversation with a ghost Mulder about a ghost Scully.

"It doesn't have a name," ghostMulder said, "but there are millions of us there: People who have died and then recovered, our spirits separated and then trapped between heaven and earth. Forever."

"How sad," Scully said.

"It was up until a few months ago." GhostMulder smiled at her. "It would have been the worst possible existence if you hadn't come. It had been the worst possible existence, living without the one person I truly loved, and expecting to do so for all eternity." The ghost looked at Mulder. "Do you still feel the same toward her?"

Mulder turned to Scully. He shook his head, and Scully's heart dropped.

"I love her more."

From somewhere off to the side came the ghost's/Mulder's voice. "That's not possible."

Mulder smiled at her. "Yeah. It is. I do."

Her eyes were glued to Mulder's; she was afraid that if she broke contact, her dream would disintegrate around her, that Mulder wouldn't love her.

"I need to go back," the ghost said, quietly, pleadingly, and Scully suddenly felt exceedingly selfish. She had forgotten that her happiness wasn't the only one in the balance. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her gaze to the specter of her partner of five years ago.

"We don't know how to send you back." Scully felt her heart breaking for this non-existent being.

"I do," Mulder said.

"You do?" Scully stared at him. "How?"

"He's your wish, Scully. I still have mine."

"Do it, then," the ghost demanded. "Now. It's been becoming harder and harder to go back."

"One thing," Mulder said to the ghost. "My sister?"

"Not there," the ghost said, shaking his head. "I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when I found out she wasn't there." It looked hard at her partner. "But don't forget that this isn't for permanent deaths."

Mulder nodded mutely.

"I'll tell you who is there, though," it said, and Scully's attention focused on the ghost. "Skinner. And he's younger than me. A lot younger."

Out the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder nodding. "Vietnam?"

"Yeah," the ghost answered. "It's funny, you know. Skinner had no reason to know who I was when I arrived. After all, it would be years before our paths would cross. But he came to me. I was so alone when I got there, and he became my friend." He looked balefully at Mulder. "It was the worst five years I've ever been through, but he made it a little less bleak. Here he was, this kid, and he was years older than me." GhostMulder smiled. "He still is."

The ghost looked at Scully. "He knew you, too, Dana, and he was almost as ecstatic as I was to see you." Scully didn't think a ghost could be embarrassed, but this one gave a fairly good impression. "His wife arrived a couple of years ago. I think I was beginning to get a bit underfoot."

Scully exchanged a smile with Mulder, and the ghost's wistful air suddenly deflated.

"Will you send me back?" he asked Mulder.

"I'm gonna try," her partner said, standing. He reached into the box and drew out the medallion. "Ready?" he asked it.

The ghost nodded. "Thanks." It looked at Mulder. "I'm glad she came back to you. If she hadn't, she wouldn't be with either one of us."

Mulder nodded solemnly, then closed his eyes. And, as Scully watched, his face full of pure joy, the ghost went back.

"Mulder..."

His eyes sprang open to find Scully's lovely face invitingly close to his. "Did it work?"

She nodded. "He's gone."

He shook his head. "I still can't believe you conjured up my ghost."

She just looked at him. "You can't believe it?"

He laughed. "You must be in some heavy-duty denial."

"I'm asleep on my couch. This is still that dream. The medallion, the ghost, you saying you love me--"

"I do love you."

"See? This is one great dream." She threw her arms around him. "I don't want to wake up, Mulder. Don't let me wake up. Don't let this all be a dream."

He hugged her to him. "Even the ghost part?"

She laid her head on his shoulder. "I'll have to give that some thought."

"How about me? What I said? If you want to give that some thought, I'll understand."

Was he being silly? His arms were around her, her warm breath was tickling the hairs on his neck, and he was having doubts about how she felt? Still, she kept insisting this was a dream. Maybe that was her way of letting him down gently. Giving him an out. Affording him an opportunity to rescind his words without further damage to their partnership.

He held her tighter. If this was to be the only opportunity he was to be given, if she was allowing it as an indulgence this one time, he would accept it for as long as she would let it last. He began cataloguing every sensation, every thought, every feeling. Any part of his body that was in contact with any part of hers was analyzed and memorized and absorbed.

"Mulder? Are you okay?"

That was it. End of the line. Scully's signal to stop. He released her immediately.

His eyes started to tear, and he tried to blink the wetness away. "Fine," he said, avoiding her gaze, keeping his face turned away from her. "It's safe to wake up now," he mumbled to her form behind him.

Silence.

Then she was flat against his back, her arms around his waist. "Unh uh. You don't get off that easily, bud."

Once the shock wore off, he relaxed against her. "I take it that you've decided to accept that this--ghost and all--is real?"

"I have to," she said, " if I want to accept that what you said is real."

He turned around to face her. "And do you?"

The smile that creased her face was the most wondrous thing he had ever seen.

"Do you suppose he's made it back to her yet?"

His response wasn't at all what she'd expected. Granted, she wasn't quite ready for Mulder performing a victory dance atop his desk, but she'd anticipated at least a smile. She was wholly unprepared for the the uncertainty she saw in his eyes. "What is it, Mulder?"

His arms hung by his sides, and he looked down at his shoes. "The ghost... he loves her." His head raised, and he brought his eyes up to meet hers. "But does she love him?"

She studied him, confused. Lack of confidence was not something she had ever associated with her partner, yet there it was. "Do you think she does?" she asked.

"I think so," he said. "I hope so." He gazed into her eyes, all the trust he had in him pleading with her to answer him truthfully. "Does she?"

"Yes," she said simply, unwilling to allow him to suffer any longer. "For a long time now."

He smiled and let out a shaky breath, then ran a hand over his brow. "Thank God," he whispered.

She captured his hand and laid it face up in her palm, surprised to find it wet. When she looked up and found his forehead covered with sweat, she knew something was amiss. "Okay, Mulder, what's going on? I haven't seen you this unsettled since your issue of Celebrity Skin got waylaid."

That earned her a smile, however small. "Sorry," he said. "It's just that so much is at stake here. I don't want to misinterpret any signals. I needed to have it spelled out for me." His voice lowered almost to a whisper. "I needed to hear you say you loved me."

God, she hoped he'd always be this open and easy to read and hopelessly in love with her. "Mulder."

"Yeah?" He looked at her, in his eyes the same blind faith a child gives to a parent.

She'd been planning to tease him a little. Scold him for doubting her. For doubting himself.

She couldn't do it.

She held her arms out to him. "Come here."

He folded himself into her arms, letting her hold him. She pressed her lips to his head and clutched him tightly. "Still have doubts, G-Man?"

He shuddered and held her tighter. "I'll always have doubts, Scully. That I'm good enough for you. That I'm good for you. But about you? No. None."

She released him so she could see his eyes. "That's quite an about-face from the Mulder of a few minutes ago."

His fingers stroked her cheek delicately. "A few minutes ago, I didn't know you loved me."

"And that's all it took?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a pushover."

She laughed. "Oh, yeah. That's so obvious."

She was positively delighted when his cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

"Mulder, I don't think I've ever seen you blush before."

"That's because I've never cared what anyone thought before."

She was a little taken aback by that proclamation. "Not even me?"

He shook his head. "Not in this way. I wasn't looking for your approval before."

"And now you are?"

He smiled. "Now you love me. Now I want to be the best person I can be."

She wasn't certain whether she should be touched or offended. "And you think this is what I want? Mulder, I--"

His fingers brushed her lips very lightly. "Sh. No, Scully. I realize that you love me, warts and all. I also know that you could do better than me--much better. I'm just doing what I can to improve my chances."

"Oh. Well. Okay." She nodded her approval.

His eyes widened in surprise--just the reaction she'd planned on.

"You know what, Mulder? You're right. You are a pushover."

"Hey, Scully, take a look at this!" Mulder slid the newspaper around so that she could see the picture. He tapped on it with his finger. "Look what we missed out on."

Her eyes moved from his face down to the paper lying flat on the kitchen table, and he saw her eyes go big. "Oh, my, God," she uttered, staring at the photo. "Did you know about this?" She looked up, and when her eyes met his, they burst out laughing.

"No more short jokes, I promise. You saved us from..." He let his gaze drift downward. "...that."

"Do those... ensembles... meet the dress code?" Her voice shook; she had it barely under control.

"It does if you're working undercover." He looked at the picture. "On the beach." His eyes met hers once again. "In 1929."

Her lower lip quivered. "In winter."

"On Mars."

She looked at him quizzically. "Is that what they're wearing on Mars?"

His gaze shifted down to the photo and then back up to her. "I wouldn't be at all surprised."

Suddenly, she gasped, and Mulder had to work hard at keeping his face straight. "I see you recognize one of our models."

Her hand covered her mouth, and then lowered slowly. "Colton. He's wearing that... frock."

Mulder smiled happily. "And looking very fetching in it."

She chuckled, stretching a hand across the table and slipping it into her partner's. "Now there's something I couldn't even have imagined in a million years."

Mulder squeezed her hand and fingered the medallion in his pants pocket. He smiled innocently.

"I could."

The End

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