He woke up on his couch, and for a moment he wondered how he'd 
gotten back to bed. Then he looked down and saw the makeshift 
bandages wrapped around his arms, one of his sheets that had 
given up its life for him and was now completely soaked in blood.

*Then* things started to hurt.

He raised an arm--carefully!--and covered his eyes with a hand. 
"What... the *hell* did I do?" he said.

"I was hoping you'd tell me."

He looked over and saw Scully sitting in one of his chairs, arms 
crossed, rings faintly showing under her eyes. He involuntarily 
flinched back from the hurt in her eyes.

"I..." he looked down, winced at the blood, and looked back up. 
"I guess I..."

"What in Christ's name were you doing? No, take that back," she 
snapped. "Not in Christ's name, damn it, I'm pretty *damn* sure 
it wasn't anything like that."

Mulder took a deep breath. "I cracked." The admission *hurt*. He 
felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and he didn't need that 
after today. "I couldn't stop thinking about... about..."

Scully flinched, her arms slipping slightly to wrap around her 
stomach. "Don't... talk... about... that," she forced out through 
gritted teeth.

"Scully, I'm sorry!" he cried. "Can't you believe me?"

There was quiet for a long time. Finally, she said, "Can't we 
just leave it alone?"

"We tried that."

She glanced back at his arms, winced again. "Why do you keep 
blaming yourself?" she finally said.

"Because it's my fault." He sat up carefully, trying to ignore 
the flashes of pain as the improvised bandages scraped his skin. 
"It's all my fault, and I don't expect you to forgive me."

"No, Mulder," she said, visibly keeping herself under control. 
"You said yourself that Gardener was doing *something* to you."

"Yeah, and I think I've figured it out, too. It's no excuse."

"You-"

Mulder shook his head. "I don't know if I can explain this, but 
I'm going to try. What was the most dangerous weapon in the 
room?"

Scully stared at him. "What?"