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Title: The Right Path Summary: Mulder and I have found our Nirvana. I curl up on my side, head supported by the mound of pillows, and drink in the sight before me. Mulder sits on the edge of the bed, his sculpted back bare to me as he peers down into the bassinet. His left hand curves around the wicker arch as the other one droops over the rim of the basket, stroking our sleeping son's head. The light coming from our bedside caresses him in such a way that it coaxes open what seems like an ancient memory; but it is one that is still emblazoned with a certain sort of novelty in the forefront of my mind. One of a warm Sunday night in April, the kind of spring evening that drips with the dew of new passages. Of a fitful, yet necessarily short, sleep brought on by hot tea and christened by his murmured words: //One wrong turn, and we wouldn't be sitting here together.// A smile stretches my face at the idea's simple brevity--how such few words could envelop all that is strange and wonderful about us, and how their meaning changed my life forever. I came to him later that night with the wholehearted intention of baring my mind, body, and soul to the man who had evolved into my life's guide. And I did. Now that I think back on it, it wasn't so much of an intention as ... simply banishing another wrong turn. Is that all it is? Finding an ancient Eastern art of happiness as we chose to travel our own Multifold Path? I'd like to think so. Simplicity is next to holiness. Mulder and I have found our Nirvana. The muscles in his back flex. He knows I'm looking at him and he turns around to return the gaze with such an awesome amount of tender curiosity that my mind whirls. His hands shift position; one still loosely grasps William's bed, and the other brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. I smile. Another telltale impression from that night. "You're thinking. What about?" The breath eases itself out of my mouth. My eyes wander in thought before I give my answer. "Destiny. Fate. How to throw a curveball." He laughs softly in recognition of the quotation, and I continue. "Mulder, do you remember what you said to me that night you came back from England? As I fell asleep on your couch?" I repeat the phrase that has been running through my mind. His eyes tack on a new depth of warmth. "Yeah. That was a pretty heavy night, Scully." "Have you ever thought about it?" "What do you mean?" "I mean ..." I shift my head to look at the bassinet, my brow furrowing as I try to gather my thoughts. "About wrong turns. Have we *ever* made them? And if we have, are we allowed a certain number of them, or are we just lying in wait for the big one to strike?" "Or ... we think too much about things that are maybe never meant to be understood." He searches my face and I nod concedingly. "I think it's a pretty abstract concept anyway. I think ... that you and I have made wrong turns, and *together* we've made wrong turns. But to answer your question, *every* choice" --he caresses my cheek and steals a glance at William"has been a right one. Even when it's wrong." We share a smile; I nod again. "I understand. I agree." "Wow," he breathes. "Maybe we've got something with Bhudda after all." A laugh shakes my body and I regard him with familiar, undying admiration. I roll onto my back, stretching into the bedsheets. My fingers trail up his arm and hug his tricep. "Come here, Mulder." Without a pause he leans over, finds his home in my always-open arms, and meets my lips with every bit of affinity that I have always known. Love, simple and holy. That is all we need to continue on the right path.
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