A/N: Signs was originally planned to be a oneshot, but Scully all but demanded her voice to be heard, and so this second part came to be. As of now I don't plan to continue beyond these two parts, but who knows! I'm not making any promises now. Big thank you once more to The White Masque for helping me bring this second part to life. Happy reading! Feedback is love!

Part II – Scully

The road stretches ahead of her, thankfully not as clogged with traffic as it has surely been half an hour before during rush hour. Nonetheless, in her current state of mind, even the hour drive ahead of her seems endless. She turns on the radio only to turn it off a moment later, not finding anything to her liking. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, smiling inwardly at her giddiness. She's grateful to Assistant Director Skinner for sending her on a series of consultations at Quantico. Unbeknownst to him, today even the morgue is a blessed distraction as far as she's concerned.

She thinks back of what has occurred in the office a short while ago, and her smile breaks into the surface. She was such a fool, fleeing from his apartment the way she had. She should have known it would throw him into a frenzy of misery and guilt, make him doubt himself. Thinking back of it now, she isn't sure what has made her want to leave. Fear of dealing with the aftermath, or rather pure logic and the need to shower and change before work? What has she expected him to make of her hasty flight, whatever her motive? Like she has told him, she doesn't know. The only thing she knows for certain is that she doesn't regret what's happened the previous night.

It's not as if it has come as a big surprise. It had been years in the making, after all, beginning to push to the surface after he kissed her on New Year. To this day, she remembers everything leading to that kiss, every detail of it; the softness of his lips, the glint in his eyes, the warmth spreading through her. She had never been a believer in that kind of stuff – no; that had always been always Melissa's forte – but right after it happened, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was some sort of a sign. Of what she wasn't quite sure yet, nor did she care. She could make sense of it later.

He kissed her again as she dropped him off at home that night. It was barely a kiss, not very different than the more traditional one they had shared an hour or so earlier. He was obviously testing his limits (and hers), and from reasons she couldn't quite name, she went along with it. She didn't exactly kiss him back, but she didn't reject him either. As he pulled away a few seconds later, he smiled sheepishly. "Okay?" he asked, and she knew he wasn't going to say anything further. In seven years, they had come to master wordless communication; she knew exactly the questions embodied in that one single word. She nodded, returning his shy smile. And that was how it began.

It was hardly a fiery romance or anything that came close. They just sort of found more and more excuses to spend time with one another outside the line of work. They went out for drinks several times after work. He introduced her to his favorite bar downtown. During a random conversation they had there, she was shocked to discover he had never watched Cheers, her favorite show of all time. He had never got the chance, he claimed, and she took it unto herself to educate him on the subject. Those evenings by the television, watching Cheers reruns and taking turns in introducing their favorite films to one another, turned out to be their favorite pastime. For the most part, she fell asleep halfway through the films he had chosen, and he teased her endlessly about it. One time he took her to a football game, telling her he owed her one for the Vikings vs. Redskins they had missed years ago while on a case. Not caring for the sport itself in the slightest, she let him buy her hot dogs and cheap beer and tried to follow the rules of the game as he laid them out to her, as patiently as if he was speaking to a child. She was astonished to realize she was actually enjoying herself.

Slowly but assuredly, she was unraveling a whole new side to him, one she believed had been long gone, dimmed by years of gloom and paranoia, and she liked what she had uncovered. As her partner, he'd always been protective of her, but now there was this tenderness to him as well. She assumed it was his way of making up for the time he couldn't spend with Samantha. It hadn't slipped her mind that she and his sister could have been of similar age. As he let his defenses drop, she found herself opening up to him like she had rarely done with another person, let alone with him. They never discussed the shift in their relationship or questioned it. They sort of just… let things unfold. It didn't really amount to anything – cuddling, hand holding, the occasional kiss good night by the door.

That is, until the night she returned from her meeting with Dr. Parenti, devastated to learn that she would never be able to bear children. She managed to remain calm and collected on the way home, somehow convincing herself this wasn't the end of the world. It was only upon seeing him, the pure hope reflected in his enquiring gaze, that she finally broke down. Never give up on a miracle, he contradicted her when she lamented her loss. His optimism couldn't fool her, though. She noticed the way the light in his eyes dimmed, the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly as he held her. Despite his initial fear that the procedure and its consequences would come between them, he had become so invested in it. As she sobbed in his arms, she couldn't help but wonder if the idea of becoming a father hadn't grown on him in the meantime. Not that it mattered. It would never be, now.

When she kissed him that night, he wasn't the only one caught off guard. For the most part, he had initiated any sort of physical contact between them thus far. It seemed to always have been the case, not just in the passing weeks. She didn't really know what came over her. Well, actually, she kind of did. Suddenly the soft kiss he'd laid against her forehead wasn't comforting enough. She needed more. Despite what he once told her, what he believed, he got it all completely wrong. He was the one making her a whole person. He was her constant, her touchstone, and not the other way around. He was the only solid thing remaining as everything else was collapsing around her. He seemed taken aback as she clung to him ardently, but was obviously more than willing to oblige. She knew he would deny her nothing.

Gone were the chaste, gentle kisses she had come to know and cherish. That kiss had a different edge that frightened her. If they were ever able to finish that broken kiss from his hallway, it would taste much like this one, dark and desperate and wrong. It felt as if anything magical they had meticulously constructed in the past few weeks was crushed by the intensity of this one fervent kiss. She knew this was not how she wanted to go about this.

With this realization now echoing within her, she pulled away abruptly. "I can't do this," she breathed. She touched her thumb to his bottom lip and looked up at him imploringly, trying once more to speak to him without words, to explain to him why this could not be. He never questioned her sudden change of heart, nor did he seem to resent her for it. He sat vigil by her bedside that night without her having to ask him to, and she returned the grim gesture a few weeks later when his mother took her own life, but they had never mentioned what could have happened that night at her apartment, what would have happened if she hadn't stopped it.

She was in a very dark place following the failing procedure. She mostly kept to herself, pushing him away although he was clearly distraught as well. Whether his somberness was the result of his grief over his mother's death or frustration at his inability to comfort her, she couldn't say, and she was too wrapped up in her own darkness to care. There was certain irony to the situation. While the IVF brought them closer together, its aftermath made them drift further apart. There was this constant tension between them now, one which culminated after she had gone on a ride with the cigarette smoking bastard. His apparent inability to forgive her this one indiscretion frustrated her more than it enraged her. The least he could do was put equal amount of trust in her as he'd expected her to put in him all these times he had ditched her for similar purposes.

He couldn't for the life of him understand how come she had agreed so willingly to go on a road trip with the man who, for all they knew, was the very reason of her bareness, and yet so adamant on not joining him on his trip to England to investigate crop circles. She, on her end, thought he was being unnecessarily harsh, and so she was twice as stubborn and rebellious, knowing it would infuriate him. Having done this before once or twice, she knew just which buttons to push. She wanted to spite him. It felt empowering. She was glad he was going. They could use the distance. They were at each other's throats too often these days; maybe now she would be able to breathe more easily.

Little did she know what she would face in his absence. The biggest sign of all – an alternative. Her short encounter with Daniel Waterston was an affirmation that the path she was on had indeed been the right one, despite her hesitations and the resentment of her loved ones. Once reassured, everything else became incredibly lucid, like pieces of an intricate puzzle finally falling into place.

It was tricky, nighttime. Darkness brought dangerous thoughts to the surface, changed perspectives, intensified desires. Or maybe it was just easier to blame it on the moonlight. Maybe it was her. She was in a strange mood ever since he had left for England. Those three days without him were… interesting was one way to put it. And then, strange serenity at the sight of him; completion. Apprehension shifted into absolution. From thereon in, everything was mostly a blur: tea and a late night conversation, confession and comfort, waking up alone but not lonely. And finally, the thing she had yearned to do and the thing she ended up doing became one and the same, at last.

By the time she arrived at the office, her head was throbbing with changes and lack of sleep. She didn't expect him to show up there barely half an hour later. She had honestly believed he was exhausted enough to stay home. He wasn't due back from England for at least two days anyway as far as anyone else was concerned. She should have known he would be as restless as she had become as soon as she left his side. Needless to say, having him there made what little left of her self control fly out the window. Somewhere between the previous night and that morning, it was as if the dark time had never existed, as if they picked up right where they had left off all these weeks before. Both free of ghosts and personal demons, they were finally ready to face whatever this was.

Everything looks so different on daylight. It offers a certain amount of clarity, a rude awakening of sorts. Everything seems safer with no monsters lurking in the darkness. It is easier now to be completely honest with herself and surmise that it was fear that drove her away like a thief in the night. She knew him better than he'd known himself. She knew his relentlessness, his passion – all those traits that made her fall for him in the first place. She knew he would throw himself into their new circumstances entirely, but she couldn't. Her head just didn't work that way. It feels foolish now, this dread, because she has never felt so confident about any decision in her life. While second guessing has become second nature, a necessary means of survival while working on the X Files, there's none of it this time. She almost feels like a new person. She could tell it caught him off guard as well; he kept looking at her as though he'd expected her to laugh in his face and take it all back. She chuckles softly at the thought. Not a chance. In the solitude of her car she admits to herself what she already knows in her heart; that there's nothing else she wants, no one else she wants.

Her day at Quantico is unsurprisingly busy. When she next checks her watch it's suddenly fifteen to four. She makes an excuse – a rarity in all her years with the bureau – and heads home to start on dinner. She's ridiculously excited and scorns herself for it. It won't be the first time of him coming over to dinner; she's long made it her goal to feed him, and used to stock his fridge from time to time. Nonetheless, it is to be the first time he'll be there as... She isn't entirely sure of their new status. Are they boyfriend and girlfriend now? Do people their age use such terminology? She sighs. Just one of many things they need to discuss. She hates to go all analytical about this, but they need to set some ground rules or they can kiss their careers goodbye. Well, she should be the one setting those rules because if it's up to him, well... He's never given much thought about what other people are thinking. And she'll have to be adamant, because if she lets him affect her like he has at the office that morning, standing too close, his eyes smoldering... Well, she has a feeling they won't get far. But with everything they've been through over the past seven years, she knows it's vital for them to be wary of the consequences.

Once she's showered she stands in front of her dresser wrapped in a towel, deliberating. She isn't sure what to wear, what would be appropriate. After all these years together it feels silly to fret over such a meaningless thing, but she does. She doesn't want to overdo it, but at the same time she wants to look her best. It's been too long since she's even come close to similar scenario and she wants to make the best of it.

She settles on black slacks and a dark purple cashmere sweater whose cleavage was slightly too deep to wear for work. She frowns as she looks herself over in the mirror. It's too bleak, she thinks, but it's comfortable and she likes the way the cashmere feels against her skin. That settles it. She slips into flats, a pair she's owned for years but rarely wears, and sprays some perfume behind her ears and into her cleavage. She doesn't bother with makeup. It seems pointless since they're not going anywhere. She runs a hand through her hair, glad it got the chance to grow a little. Then she leaves her bedroom to check on the oven.

She cooked chicken with potatoes and vegetables because it was the best she could do under such short notice. A bottle of wine is already chilling in the fridge. She finds a few lavender-scented candles in the cupboard and lights them, then settles on her sofa with an Edith Wharton novel she has started the previous week.

Only as she stares at the printed words on the page, she realizes how nervous she is. She shakes her head, laughing softly. Thirty six years old and she's as fidgety as a teenager on prom night. It's ridiculous. She knows it's not as simple as it may be at the moment – it never is when it comes to the two of them – but for the time being she just wants to savor the newness of things. They will have plenty of time to face reality later on.

When there's a soft knock on her door she jumps with a start, realizing she must have been dozing off for a while. She shakes her head and lays her book aside, then walks to the door. She takes a deep breath and opens it just when he's about to knock again. His hand freezes halfway and he grins sheepishly at her.

"For a second I thought you were gone," he says. There's a hint of fear in the comment, as if he's actually thought it possible.

"No, I was just in the kitchen," she fibs, not wishing to give him the satisfaction of knowing she's fallen asleep again.

His relief is instant. His smile widens an inch; he hesitates, then leans closer and softly kisses her cheek. He lingers slightly longer than is probably appropriate for a supposedly innocent kiss like this. "Sorry, I still don't..." his voice trails as he slowly pulls away from her. His boyish uncertainty is endearing. "I'm not entirely sure how to go about this."

She flashes an encouraging smile at him before turning away to lock the door. When she turns back to him, he's looking around her living room as if he's never been there. It's funny. She was so sure that of the two of them, he would be one hundred per cent certain about this. Instead she needs to reassure him. It feels strange to be on the other end of things. She isn't used to playing the believer to his skeptic.

He clears his throat; she blinks, realizing she's been staring at him. "Any, umm... constructive criticism?" he asks her.

"Just one," she replies calmly as she walks over to him. She brushes her hand against his cheek and locks her gaze with his. Her other hand she brings around his wrist, gently rearranging his arm to wrap around her waist. She slips her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and brings his head down. When his lips meet hers halfway, she knows he gets where she's been going with this.

She remembers the wonder she's felt the previous night at how well they fit together, the concern upon leaving his apartment that nothing would ever come close, but she realizes how much she's wrong, now. The room is suddenly three times hotter. She's getting dizzier with each second their tongues battle, with every brush of his fingers against her face; fireworks all but explode inside her head. When they finally pull away they stare at each other breathlessly, and a similar expression of awe is gracing his face.

"Wow," he utters softly, and once again she's taken by how candid he is. He doesn't try to look cool or nonchalant about this. He shakes his head before she manages to point it out. "And there I was, looking for signs all morning." Then he chuckles and she's already anticipating his next quip. "Of course, it might still be jet lag."

She shakes her head, laughing softly. "No, I'm pretty sure that's not it," she says. Not having even high heels to mask their vast height difference, she's all but standing on tiptoes to brush her nose against his before fully looking at him. "Don't look any further, Mulder."

His sharp intake of breath makes her aware of what she has just said. She's as shocked as he seems that the words – carrying such painful memories – have left her lips so carelessly. And then she realizes this is it. Just like in Daniel's case, she needs to rid herself of the past in order to tend to the future.

She dismisses the mounting concern she finds in his hazel eyes with a shake of her head. She reaches for his hand and, with their fingers laced together, gives it a little squeeze. Somewhat more reassured, he smiles and leans towards her again. Their lips barely touch when a loud sound disrupts the silence. "What the hell?" he asks.

"The oven," she tells him, amused by his alarm. She watches as he strips off his leather jacket, mentally scolding herself for forgetting to take it as soon as he has entered instead of immediately pouncing on him. He lays it against the back of the sofa, but as soon as he's free of it, he walks over and takes her hand again. He brings it closer to his lips, just like he's done that morning.

"Come on," she says, nudging him gently forward. "Dinner's ready."

Whatever fears reside within her, they are slowly dissipating. Careful optimism washes over her as she leads him to the dining table, which she has set for two. This is right. This is true. They don't need any more signs. This is exactly where they are meant to be.