Affinity
by Lydia Bower
bower2@juno.com
Fri Apr 25 13:40:21 1997
Classification: S, MSR
Rating: PG for language
Summary: Continues the final scene of Small Potatoes. What happens next?
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They belong to the Master of
Yuppie Morbidity, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I also stole
some lines from the final two scenes of Small Potatoes. So sue me. :)
Hi! Sorry I haven't written. ;) This is, of course, my follow up to Small
Potatoes. I really wanted to do something funny in keeping with the
surface story--but, dammit, Vince Gilligan's scripts are never that
simple. Mulder's last line to Scully haunted me and wouldn't shut up
until I wrote this. So here you go. This one is pretty user friendly--no
groping or really rough language--but if the idea of Mulder and Scully
sharing a kiss or two bothers you, you'd better bail now. Feedback is
most welcome. :)
This one's for the gang on the XF-Romantics list and for our Patron Saint
Vince Gilligan. Y'all are the best!
--------
Affinity
by Lydia Bower
We haven't talked about it--not really. Typical. Yes, it does
involve the work and an actual X-File, but it's also extremely personal
to both of us--and that's where Mulder is so good at drawing the lines.
To be fair, I'm pretty good at it too. But it's amazing what a bottle of
wine and an invitation to spill my guts can do. Add to that the Mulder
factor and, well, I guess I never stood a chance in hell.
Except it wasn't Mulder.
The initial embarrassment has long passed; at least for me.
Mulder's having a little more difficulty with it than I am. He seems to
be having trouble looking me straight in the eye these days. But he's
been sneaking a lot of looks when he thinks I'm not paying attention. I'm
always paying attention, Mulder. Even that night.
Eddie Van Blundht is good--I have to give credit where it's due.
He certainly had me fooled and my Mulder radar is top-notch. At least I
thought it was. And I can't really blame it on the wine. Two adults
sharing a single bottle of wine shouldn't be enough to dull my mind to
the extent that he could have deceived me as well as he did. Mulder and I
have split a bottle or two of wine over dinner before--but always in a
restaurant, never at my place or his. And the bulk of the conversations
always involved the work. The only plausible explanation for what
happened is that Van Blundht made sure I did most of the talking that
night, cleverly hiding the fact that he knew next to nothing about Mulder
and would therefore be unable to supply any real facts, had I asked. But
he made certain I wouldn't ask. And all he had to do was give me the
opportunity to do what I've wanted for so long: talk to Mulder. Just
talk. About something, anything, besides the damn X-Files, Mulder's
search for the truth and my cancer.
Was I that transparent in my need? And if Van Blundht had no
trouble spotting my varied vulnerabilities, then how come Mulder can't
seem to?
And why the hell did he drag me down here to the Cumberland
Reformatory with him? It's Mulder Van Blundht wanted to see, not me. But
Mulder insisted I come with him, claiming it involved the work and so was
part of my job.
I watch Mulder sign in and enter the visiting room and I turn
away, remembering with fresh chagrin the night Mulder kicked in my door
and discovered a near-perfect replica of himself a breath away from
kissing me. The laser-eyed look he shot me when I hopped off the couch is
imprinted in my mind. I can call it up any time I choose. I still haven't
figured out what was going on behind those wide, dark eyes.
After ascertaining that I was all right and roughly handcuffing
Van Blundht, Mulder had shoved him back onto the couch, mumbled something
about waiting outside for the squad car he'd requested and walked out the
door. I never did get a chance to ask him how he'd known to come to my
place. I guess I already knew--but it would have been nice to hear Mulder
say it.
I hear my name coming from the tinny speaker and turn back to the
black and white monitor. Van Blundht has asked about me. I watch the
scene playing out.
"What did you want to talk to me about, Eddie?" Mulder is low on
patience. His slouched posture can't mask the tension in his voice.
"I just think it's funny," Van Blundht tells him. "I was born a
loser; but you're one by choice."
And you're a real bastard, Van Blundht.
"On what do you base that astute assessment?" Mulder the
observer, the psychologist, has stepped in. But the sarcasm is still
there; deeply rooted and as automatic as breathing.
"Experience."
That sets Mulder back a little. It does me, as well. We all three
know what experience Eddie is talking about. Van Blundht had even taken
the time to check out the office and Mulder's apartment. And he'd been
clever enough to fool me. His claim to have walked in Mulder's shoes is a
true one, even if he was only able to scratch the surface--or so I tell
myself.
Eddie sits up in his cold metal chair and advises Mulder, "You
should live a little. Treat yourself. God knows I would...if I were you."
No confusing the meaning of that little gem, either.
I watch as Mulder gets up and heads for the door, turning my back
just a little as he comes out; trying to give him some privacy. He has to
know that I heard every word. I hear the sound of the pen hitting the
clipboard and he steps to my side. We walk a little way down the hall. I
have to say something.
I shove my hands in the pockets of my coat. "I don't imagine you
have to be told this, Mulder, but you're not a loser."
I've purposefully kept myself from looking at him, but I can see
the way he keeps sullenly yanking at the cuffs of his shirt. His silence
stretches and is full of meanings of a thousand shades and flavors.
"Yeah," he finally retorts. "But I'm no Eddie Van Blundht,
either...am I?"
There is a wistful quality to his words. And some regret. I wish
I knew what to say to him. You do, Dana, I tell myself. You know what to
say.
But I don't say it. I don't get the chance.
Mulder chooses that moment to ask, "So, Scully.... What did he
have that I don't have?"
His question stops me cold. Mulder takes a few steps before he
realizes I'm no longer beside him. He turns and looks back at me.
Regaining my composure, I catch up with him.
We push through the doors and head to the car. "Well?" Mulder
prompts.
"It's not that simple, Mulder." I'm not ready for this. I thought
I'd have more time to prepare. How much more time do you need? I ask
myself. It's been over a month. Still, his blunt question has caught me
off-guard.
Apparently my answer is enough. Mulder watches me buckle up and
then pulls out of the parking lot, heading for DC.
The air hangs heavy between us and I try to lose myself in the
landscape that flies by my window. It does no good. The silence is
becoming oppressive. Damn it, Mulder; say something.
When they finally come, his words startle me and make me jump.
"Hey, Scully. You really thought it was me that night. Right?"
We've covered this ground before. It's one of the few questions
he's allowed himself to ask--and one of the queries he continues to make.
It's like he's stuck on these few questions like a needle stuck in the
groove of an old record.
"Yes, Mulder." I wait for the question that will inevitably
follow; the one that never directly addresses what he saw when he burst
through the door. He can afford to be vague--we both know what almost
happened, what he interrupted.
"And you...you were okay with that."
Second verse same as the first.
"Yeah, Mulder. I was okay with that."
He nods. I haven't changed the answer to that one, either. I
think he finds that reassuring--in some odd, Mulderish way. These are
questions to which he already has the answers. He really doesn't require
my input; he could answer them on his own. Perhaps that's why he asks
them: there are no surprises here.
This is one of the few times I can remember Mulder being afraid
to ask the tough questions. And then I remember what he asked me as we
walked out of the reformatory. I should have given him a straight answer.
It would have at least added to his acceptable repertoire of questions.
Better late than never. "He just came over, Mulder, with a
bottle of wine. No files, no photos, no tapes to listen to. Just wine."
I glance over at him. A flick of his eyes asks me to go on.
"He wanted to talk. Well, actually, he wanted to listen while I
talked."
"About what?" Mulder quietly asks.
I shrug and sigh in my throat. "Everything. Nothing. We just
talked about...life."
"Well, he certainly couldn't have dazzled you with his extensive
knowledge of the X-Files, could he?"
That forces a smile from me, though I really shouldn't. There is
an underlying resentment in the way he's said it. And a grudging
acknowledgment of what we seem to spend all our time discussing.
"So," he says. "That's it? You talked?"
"That's it," I confirm. "It's amazing what you can discover if
you just take the time and make the effort, Mulder."
That prompts a dead-eye look in my direction. I want to tell him
not to ask if he doesn't really want the answer, complete with
commentary; but I don't.
We make the rest of the drive in silence. It's only as we reach
the Bureau and Mulder pulls up beside my car that he speaks again.
"The fireplace. The music. Whose idea was that?"
I look up into his eyes and my throat goes tight. The hurt and
confusion I see there scares me. I don't know if my answer will hurt him
more or help him.
"It was mine, Mulder."
He pulls in his lower lip and nods at me. And then I can't read
his face anymore. It's become blank as a chalkboard.
"Well, I guess I'll see you later, Scully."
I take that as my cue to exit the car. I don't bother mentioning
it's only two o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon and we have paperwork to
catch up on. He takes little enough time away from the work--I'm not
going to begrudge him a few hours AWOL.
I step from the car and grab my briefcase from the back seat.
I've no more than shut the door when he takes off. I'm left in a chilly
underground parking garage, holding nothing but a briefcase and the firm
suspicion that this is far from over. We've set something in motion this
afternoon; only time will tell what comes it.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
I've given myself the night off and all my attention is focused
on the TV and the movie I'm watching when the phone rings. I reluctantly
leave Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant to their business and pick up.
"Hello."
"Hey, Scully. It's me."
"What's wrong, Mulder?"
"Nothing. Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?"
Something in his voice makes me reach for the remote and kill the
TV. I can't afford the distraction. "No," I answer him. "It's just
that--"
"That about the only time I call is when I'm in trouble or I need
something. Yeah, I know."
This little revelation doesn't seem to require any response from
me.
"Listen, Scully, if you don't have anything planned.... Look, I
was just wondering if you'd mind coming over."
"To your place?" For all I know, he could be in the basement.
"Yeah." There is a almost palpable sense of anticipation that
comes through the phone line. It's as if the world is holding its breath.
Or maybe it's just Mulder.
Don't screw this up, Dana. You won't get another chance. Fox
Mulder is nothing if not stingy with a sincere overture.
"Okay. Sure, Mulder. I'm on my way."
I hear him release the breath he's been holding.
"Great." He hangs up. He's not one for niceties like hello and
good-bye, either.
Forty-five minutes later I'm standing in front of his door. I
glance up at the numbers. The 2 is coming loose again--an X-File in and
of itself. I knock, calling out, "Mulder, it's me."
The door suddenly swings open and he's there. I can only spare
him a quick glance as my eye is caught by something about the apartment
behind him. It's not all-the-lights-turned-off dark. It's not quite the
lighting of the lamp on his desk, either. I come up on tiptoes and peer
over his shoulder. The living room is filled with lighted candles. This
is not typical Mulder--at least not the one I'm familiar with.
His eyes chase and catch mine. He takes a step back and gives me
a head tilt. "C'mon in."
I take a few steps inside and turn back to watch him flip the
lock closed.
Oh, Mulder. Damn that eidetic memory of yours.
He swings around, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a simple
gray t-shirt. Sneakers round out the picture.
He's so transparent it's not even funny.
The candles are the Mulder version of a fireplace. And I caught
the gleam of candlelight on the crystal wineglasses sitting empty on his
coffee table. The only thing missing is the music.
Oh. Wait. There it is. The CD player must have been shifting
disks around. The Temptations.
My eyes suddenly sting with tears even as I feel my lips pull up
into a smile.
<Now I'm seeing a whole new side of you, Mulder.>
<Is that a good thing?>
Dammit. If only it could be that easy. He doesn't understand that
it wasn't just the wine or the fire or what he was wearing.
Tread softly, Dana.
"Christ, Mulder," I shake my head, fighting back laughter. "Go
change your clothes."
I bite my tongue the second the words are out of my mouth. Yeah,
tread softly with those spiked combat boots, Scully. Way to go.
I wait for the veil of self-protective calm to fall across his
face. But that's not what happens.
Mulder jerks a lop-sided smile. "Too much?"
Thank you, Lord. I owe you one.
"Yeah. Too much, Mulder."
He nods in easy agreement. "Okay. I'll be right back." He's
peeling the shirt off as he goes and I discover how beautiful the skin of
his back looks in the honey-gold glow of candlelight. I purse my lips and
let out a puff of air.
Do something, Dana. Don't just stand here.
So I drop my bag and coat, go take a seat on the couch and get
busy pouring out the wine. Authentic Mulder on the choice of wine--it's
white, not red. I guess that should have tipped me off that night with
Van Blundht. Mulder generally drinks only white wine.
He comes back a short time later. And I can't possibly ask him to
change again. Can I?
Snug black 501s and a matching t-shirt. And bare feet.
My very own dark angel.
I drop my eyes and reach for a wineglass, handing it to him as he
settles in at the other end of the couch.
I lift my glass and Mulder gently clinks his against it.
"What should we drink to, Scully?"
Oh my. That could be a very long list. Or a very short one.
"To conversation, Mulder."
"Okay. To conversation."
We sip our wine, throwing side-long glances at each other. An odd
sense of deja vu washes over me.
"So..." Mulder twists around on the couch, tucking one leg under
him.
We trade nervous smiles.
My brain has frozen up on me. I can't think of a single thing to
say. Instead, I take a good look around the room--like I've never been
here before. I hear Mulder sigh. The silence stretches until it's
vibrating like an over-taxed rubber band. We both speak at the same time.
"Mulder."
"Scully."
And now we're stumbling over each other's apologies. God.
Mulder sets down his wine glass and hops off the couch. He paces
a half circle and then stops and looks down at me. "I'm really bad at
this, Scully."
I wonder what it cost him to say that.
"I mean, your being here--that's great. I'm good with that." He
falters and gives me a quizzical look. It's as if he's waiting for me to
jump in and help him out. He jams his hands in his pockets and he looks
like a lost little boy. This look is not unusual for Mulder. It's just
that this time it's not contrived.
He rocks back on his heels. Shrugs a shoulder. "This just doesn't
feel.... It doesn't feel right, Scully. It's not me."
With that pronouncement he steps to the desk and turns on the
lamp. He grabs the remote from the table, switches off the CD player and
turns on the TV. A silent basketball game flashes on the screen. I sip my
wine and watch him move around the room, blowing out all but a few of the
candles. Then he sits back down on the couch, grabbing his wine, and
stretches his long legs out, resting his feet on the coffee table. He
shifts around a little bit and then turns to look at me. He's waiting.
end part 1/2
From bower2@juno.com Fri Apr 25 13:40:21 1997
Subject: *NEW* Affinity by Lydia Bower 2/2 US4Spoilers
From: bower2@juno.com (L. B. Bower)
--------
Disclaimer in Part 1. This is nothing but story
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Feel better now, Mulder? More comfortable?"
"Yes, I do. Thanks for asking. How 'bout yourself?"
"I'm fine, Mulder."
He eyeballs me. "Good. Kick back, Scully. Let's talk."
His grin is infectious.
"What do you want to talk about?"
He looks away and I can see he's really considering my question.
I watch the small movements of his face. It's fascinating how mobile it
is when he's too occupied in the playground of his mind to worry about
who might be watching him. I'm glad Mulder doesn't hide this from me.
It's mostly his eyes and his full mouth. But you can spot things
in the set of his jaw or the twitch of an eyebrow; if you really pay
attention.
He turns back and gives me the once-over before leaning forward
and snagging the wine bottle. He adds half a glass to mine and refreshes
his. "Why did you decide on medicine, Scully?"
"Why did you choose psychology?"
"I asked first."
I just look at him.
"Okay," he says. "Tell you what. I'll race you around the block.
Winner gets to go last."
"It's not a contest, Mulder."
"You're just saying that because you know I'll kick your ass. I
ran on the track team in high school, y'know. You're looking at the
fastest thing on two legs this side of the Mississippi."
"Oh, really?" I'm having trouble picturing Mulder joining any
kind of team.
"Yeah, I always was good at running away from things. Figured I
might as well get a letter jacket for it. A chick magnet, y'know?"
I ignore the first and last and concentrate on the middle. "You
lettered in high school?"
"Yeah. You wanna see the jacket? I've still got it."
"You've got to be kidding me." I feel almost giddy. This isn't so
hard after all.
"Scout's honor, Scully. I'll get it."
He hops up and heads for the auxiliary office that was intended
as a bedroom but never got past the mostly unused mattress and box spring
on the floor and a dresser tucked in the corner. All the other space is
taken up by boxes neatly stacked six foot high in some places; all
crammed with things pertaining to the X-Files and Mulder's quests. I've
been in that room once. What it signified saddened me. He won't even
allow himself the comfort of a real bed to sleep in, or a room he can use
as a refuge from the world.
Mulder takes refuge in other things: the work, his quick and
keen mind. And me. I've known that for a long time and maybe it's selfish
of me to want more than that, but it isn't enough. Mulder hasn't yet
learned that the safest refuge is the one that's shared. He's never been
willing to share before now. I'm not even certain he knows how. But he's
earned the right to try.
He lopes out with the letter jacket and a goofy smile on his
face. I ooh and ahh over the jacket and obediently try it on for him. The
sleeves hang almost to my knees. Mulder makes a production of
straightening the various class pins stuck on the front of it and then
lifts his eyes to mine. His breath falls lightly on my face. And then he
lifts his hand and brushes his thumb across my cheek.
"Dust," he explains.
I can't seem to look away from him. I will drown in his eyes if
he doesn't let me up for air.
For all the myriad things we don't know about each other, at the
most elemental level Mulder knows me very well. He steps back and glances
away for a moment before looking back.
"Looks better on you than it does on me, Scully."
I glance down at the hanging sleeves. "I look ridiculous."
"You look beautiful. You always do."
"Thank you, Mulder." Oh, don't let me start blushing now. I'm a
grown woman. I should be past blushing--especially with Mulder.
"You're welcome." He reaches out and tries to take my hand but
can't find it in the sleeve. Thus begins a hunt replete with low chuckles
from Mulder.
"You make a crack about my size and I'll bust you one," I warn
him, struggling with the sleeve and his intrusive fingers.
"Just as long as you don't shoot me again, Scully."
"That's not beyond my capabilities. You were the one who taught
me to carry my gun everywhere I go."
"Are you packing? 'Cause I have a thing for women who pack heat."
He slips the jacket off my shoulders and does a short but intense study
of my jeans and sweater-clad figure. "I don't see it. Where'd you hide
it?"
"None of your business and I'll break your fingers if you go
looking for it."
He laughs. I love it when Mulder laughs. He doesn't do it often
enough. He grabs my newly uncovered hand and leads me back to the couch.
"So why did you pick medicine, Scully?"
And this time I tell him.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
I've spent the last two hours undergoing a transformation that is
both sharply familiar and brand new. I can only speak for myself but I
think Mulder feels it, too--at least the novelty of it.
At first I found myself comparing the two evenings and, truth be
told, the two Mulders. Eddie Van Blundht was a master of disguises. If I
was more like Mulder I might even find it plausible he was able to adopt
not only a man's identity, but his personality as well.
There have been moments this evening that've closely mirrored
those of a month ago--so much so that I've had to repeat to myself over
and over that this really is Mulder and not a lesser duplicate. I had to
excuse myself from the room when Mulder upended the mostly empty wine
bottle over my glass and gave the bottom three healthy slaps.
"No sense in letting it go to waste," he'd said.
Mulder is a very good listener when he wants to be. And I've
found it very easy to talk to him. Most amazing of all is that he's
talking back. We've been trading stories all night.
It hasn't been easy for him. Mulder holds himself so closely to
the vest. I think he probably always has--if always began with Samantha's
disappearance. It's his armor and his weak spot all rolled up into one. I
had to gently poke and prod at first, ask leading questions and allow
long silences to fall as he ran all the ramifications of the possible
answers through his head, searching for the one he thought would please
me most. It didn't take me long to figure out what he was doing and call
him on it. He cheerfully accepted my rebuke and shifted back into the
irreverent, acerbic, but unendingly compassionate Mulder I know so well.
It dawns on me that I should've had no trouble figuring out that
the Mulder who knocked on my door a month ago was not the same man who
sits beside me now. It's a bittersweet realization because it is the
essence and spirit of Mulder that was missing that night. And I can't
dismiss the shame I feel now that I didn't question it then.
I can only chalk it up to the need I had that night that only
Mulder could fill; a man I consider my best friend--and so much more.
What ultimately makes Mulder a winner and those like Eddie Van
Blundht losers is the absolute, complete faith Mulder has in himself.
While he may harbor more than his fair share of demons, Mulder has a calm
self-confidence about himself and his life's work that Eddie was missing.
He long ago quit caring what anyone else thought and I think that allowed
him to focus all his considerable skills and devotion on those things
that matter to him most. It became a single-minded determination that
somehow led to his decision to lead an almost monkish life. It's not at
all that Mulder doesn't know how to relate to me or anyone else on a
personal level, it's that he made the choice not to.
There's that and then there's also the encyclopedic mind that
still manages to stun me. Van Blundht is not even on the same scale. I
suppose I should have seen that, too. But when you're busy telling your
life story to a person you think is the man who's quite literally become
the center of your universe, it's harder to notice what's missing that
should be there.
"Hey." There is a touch on my arm as soft as his voice. I pull
away from my thoughts and look over at Mulder. And dammit if he doesn't
have that face on. The one that's halfway between sleepy little boy and
consummate hunter. The dark, hooded eyes. The slightly parted lips.
I'm in big trouble.
I had that same realization a month ago. Only this time it's not
so foreign. I've been through this before. A dress rehearsal for the real
thing.
"Where'd you go?" Mulder asks me.
"I was just...." It isn't a conscious thought and the question
comes out of nowhere. "Mulder, why are we doing this?"
He studies me, his eyes moving over my face. "Does it make you
uncomfortable?"
I don't hesitate. "No. No, not at all. I like it. I'm just not--"
"Scully, can we talk about that night?" he blurts.
I knew this was coming; it was only a matter of time. "What would
you like to know, Mulder?"
There is a short silence. And then instead of the expected
laundry list of questions, Mulder tells me, "I knew what Van Blundht had
in mind when he locked me up, Scully. I knew what he was going to try.
And I knew it because he saw something we've been turning a blind eye to
for a long time. I don't think he would've attempted to do what he did if
he didn't think he had a chance of succeeding."
My heart has begun to pound. I'm both fascinated and frightened
by what I suspect this is leading to. "What are you trying to say,
Mulder?"
He shifts around to fully face me and I can see the familiar fire
blazing to life in his eyes. "Well, just think about it, Scully. This is
a man who can assume the identity of anyone he chooses. Despite the fact
that what he did was reprehensible, he was able to get away with it for
so long only because he came to these women in the guise of men they
trusted and cared for; women he knew wouldn't harbor any suspicions if
the man they encountered was someone they felt comfortable being with in
that type of situation. Eddie Van Blundht was in many ways these women's
fantasy lover."
"You almost sound like you envy him, Mulder."
All his energy and focus shift to me and I'm helplessly pinned by
his eyes. "Only when it comes to you."
"Mulder...."
"No, just hear me out, Scully. I knew he would come to you
because that's what I would have done, if I'd had the courage. It's
something I should have done a long time ago."
"Attempt to seduce me?"
"No. No. Just set that part of it aside for a minute."
I can't help the wry tone of my reply. "Easier said than done."
He chuckles and lets my comment pass. "What I'm trying to say is
that he gave you an opportunity to open up, to let some of the barriers
down and allow the Dana Scully who isn't an FBI agent to come to the
forefront. I envy him that."
"He didn't do anything you couldn't have done, Mulder."
His head is bowed, eyes downcast. "I doubt that."
I reach out and cover his hand with mine. He peers up at me.
"You shouldn't," I tell him. I wait as his hand turns under mine
and our palms meet, fingers entwining. His hand is warm and a little
damp. "Mulder, what almost happened that night, what you saw when you
busted down my door--and by the way, you'll be getting the bill for that
soon--happened because it was what I wanted, too. And it wasn't because
Eddie was being a Mulder I'd never seen before and liked better than the
original. It was because he was being the Mulder I knew you could be if
you'd only allow yourself."
He takes some time to absorb this, his thumb absently stroking
the back of my hand. "It's hard, Scully," he finally admits.
"I know that. It is for both of us, Mulder. It means having to
bend a lot of the rules we've been playing by for so long--and even
throwing some others out. But all these feelings, all these issues this
situation has forced us to confront are real. They're not something new
and they're not something that just came out of the blue. It's difficult
because we both know what we're risking and neither of us wants to lose
what we've worked so long and so hard to build."
Mulder releases my hand and moves closer to me, lifting his arm
and resting it on the back of the couch. I feel his fingers begin to move
through my hair and come to settle on the back of my neck. If he takes
note of the shiver that runs through me, he makes no mention of it.
He waits till my eyes raise to meet his. "I honestly didn't know,
Scully." He swallows hard. "I didn't know how you'd react if I ever tried
to cross that line. I could only hope that...." He sighs and shakes his
head. "I didn't know. And I was too much of a coward to find out."
My focus has narrowed until everything fades but the sensation of
his fingers against my skin, the depths of his eyes, the fullness of his
mouth. "But you know now. Don't you?"
"I think so," he murmurs.
His hand moves until it cups my cheek and then drops to the curve
where shoulder meets neck, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
"Mulder, will you do something for me?"
"Name it."
"Will you...will you kiss me?"
He smiles gently and says, "I thought you'd never ask."
And this time, instead of sitting still and waiting--locked into
a shocked paralysis--I move when he does, leaning into his kiss. There is
only the briefest hesitation on Mulder's part, and none on mine, before
his lips meet mine. And they are soft and full and warm--just as I knew
they would be.
His kiss is tentative, inquisitive. I lift my fingers to his hair
and I knows he's heard my answer as the pressure of his lips on mine
increases. And then he pulls away, leaving me caught on the edge of a
ragged sigh. I open my eyes to find him looking at me, a blend of warm
affection and amusement softening his features. I mirror his shy grin.
"Well, Scully," he declares after taking a deep breath. "That
was...pretty damn remarkable."
"And I don't think the world came to an end."
"I don't think I would have noticed if it had," he tells me.
"Let's try that again, just to make sure it wasn't an anomaly."
No hesitation this time. On either of our parts.
Well now you've gone and done it, Dana Katherine. There can be no
going back. Are you happy now?
You bet your britches.
Mulder is again the one to break the kiss. He's going to have to
stop doing that. I watch as he licks his lips and hot current of desire
runs through me. He is tasting me on his lips and wanting more.
And then our eyes lock and I know he's seen the need in mine.
Mulder laughs as he reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear.
"I'm, um, I'm gonna kick you out, Scully."
"What?"
"You need to go home now," he tells me and he's up off the couch
and offering me his hand.
I take it and stand, asking, "Why?"
He looks aside and chews his lip. "I like to savor things,
Scully. No sense rushing a good thing, huh? And besides," he tells me as
he leads me to the door and helps me on with my coat. "I'm no Eddie Van
Blundht."
I look up at Mulder and I know it's going to all right. The step
we've taken tonight will no doubt have its repercussions--good and bad--
but I've grown used that these last five years. Sometimes I think I even
crave it now. I've learned a lot of hard lessons these last months and
what I've come away with is that in order to truly live we have to take
risks. To learn to seize the opportunities we're presented with and fight
the battles that need fought. To accept the defeats and relish the
victories. Mulder and I have won this one. And it's so sweet.
I think Mulder understands this now, in a way he hasn't before. I
don't blame him for wanting to take the time to enjoy it.
I turn to him and go easily into his arms. He squeezes me
tightly, drops a kiss on the top of head and guides me out the door.
"I'll see you in the morning, Scully."
"G'night, Mulder."
I head for the elevator and stop only when I hear his door close
and the deadbolt slide home. Then I turn to the wall and lean my forehead
against it, a wide smile creasing my face. I swallow down a chuckle and
then another one.
Oh, what the hell? I've just been kissed by the man of my
dreams. I'm entitled to be happy about it. I move to the elevator and
slap the down button, chuckling under my breath.
No, Mulder is certainly no Eddie Van Blundht.
Thank God.
The End
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Affinity 2 - Secret Garden
By Lydia Bower
bower2@juno.com
Fri May 02 10:36:53 1997
Author's notes: Okay, due to popular demand I'm back with a companion
piece to Affinity. If you haven't read that one first, you'll want to.
This is the events of that story as seen through Mulder's eyes. Some of
my more careful readers may notice that the dialog and events are just a
little different from what you read in Affinity. Don't feel like you have
to point this out to me--it's intentional on my part. As always, feedback
is welcome. Enjoy! :)
Thanks to Bruce Springsteen for the title and the song that helped
inspire this one.
--------
Secret Garden
by Lydia Bower <bower2@juno.com>
Classification: S, MSR
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers: Yep. Fourth Season up to and including Small Potatoes.
Summary: A companion piece to Affinity. Continues the final scene of
Small Potatoes as seen from Mulder's POV.
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They belong to Chris Carter,
1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting--and I'd be remiss if I didn't
thank UberVince for making this story possible. This is tribute and
thanks.
Secret Garden
by Lydia Bower
How did this happen anyway? I know all about the striated muscles
and the abnormal hair follicles and weird vocal cords and all the other
medical and scientific mumbo-jumbo that goes a long way toward explaining
how Eddie Van Blundht does what he does.
What I don't understand is how he managed to fool Scully for so
long. We're not talking about the time it takes to get laid here--we're
talking half a day and most of a night. In the car. In the basement. In
Skinner's office. At Scully's.
At Scully's, for Christ's sake!
The bastard even managed to write a field report on the way back
to DC. A report that, while not without its glaring errors, met Skinner's
tight-assed approval--not to mention Scully's unspoken one. After all,
she told me she skimmed it over while they were waiting to see Skinner.
The man can't spell bureau, but neither one of them thought it was
strange enough to merit a closer look.
How the hell did this happen?
That's the only reason I agreed to drive down here and see the
little twit. Maybe I can get a clue as to how he was able to fool the
woman I've been working with for over five years.
And why isn't this bothering her? If anything, she almost seems
to be enjoying my discomfort--the smug, self-confident bitch.
That's not said in the heat of the moment, either. Oh, no. I've
had a month for the initial rage and confusion to simmer down to a nice,
slow, calm and collected boil. I can't even look her in the eye anymore.
I'm afraid I'll either scream at her or break down and bawl like a baby.
I will never forgot what I saw when I busted down her door.
Never.
No, I'm not going there. I've been there way too much the past
month. I don't like it there.
Of course I had to bring Scully down here to the Cumberland
Reformatory with me. Why should I have all the fun? Share and share
alike. We're partners, after all. We're supposed to share
everything--most especially our first kiss.
And I stopped that dead in its tracks.
Except it wasn't me Scully was about to kiss. And she didn't know
it. Did she? Why didn't she know it?
I pull open the door when the guard hits the buzzer and there he
is. Eddie Van Blundht. The little fuck. He's got on some goofy red hat
with 'Superstar!' emblazoned on it. I pull up a chair.
"Thanks for coming," he says.
"What's with the hat?"
"My court appointed therapist makes me wear it. She's says it's
meant to bolster my self-esteem."
At least I don't have that problem. I don't think I do, anyway. I
don't know much of anything any more.
"Does it?" I ask him.
"Not really. The other inmates just beat me up and take it from
me; which would be okay except every week she brings me a new one."
Jesus. He'd be funny if he wasn't so pathetic.
"Plus," Eddie continues, "they keep me on some kind of muscle
relaxant so I can't make faces the way I used to. Did you tell them to do
that?"
Nope. But Scully made damn sure it was taken care of. Was she
afraid of a second visit from our tail-less boy wonder?
Van Blundht gets this glimmer in his eye and one eyebrow shoots
up in a fascinating imitation of Scully. It brings to mind a scenario I
don't even want to contemplate. "Is, uh, is Agent Scully here?"
No way. He's not going to fuck me over a second time. I'll be
damned if I'll let him rub my face in it.
"What did you want to talk to me about, Eddie?"
"I just think it's funny," he says. "I was born a loser; but
you're one by choice."
He's lucky there's a sheet of bulletproof glass between us. I'd
love to punch him. Just once.
"On what do you base that astute assessment?"
And then damned if he doesn't find a way to cut right to the
quick. He says, "Experience."
We both know exactly what he's talking about--and it's not
whatever he went through before Scully and I came into town and blew his
cover. He's talking about his day as me. And, oh joy, Scully is just
outside; no doubt listening and probably enthralled by our conversation.
Eddie leans toward me and the glimmer in his eye is back. "You
should live a little. Treat yourself. God knows I would...if I were you."
Guess what? Scully heard that, too.
I have to get out of here.
It's interesting how quickly my anger has turned to a caustic
mixture of self-doubt and melancholy.
Hey, Eddie? I'd love to live a little. All I have to do is
figure out how you managed to get farther with my partner in one night
than I have in five years.
I push out the door and shoot a quick glance at Scully--one she
doesn't catch because she's been considerate enough to not face me as I
come out.
I don't feel a need to say anything to her as we head down the
hall. Eddie pretty much said it all. I'm seriously considering going back
and beating him up for his hat when she says, "I don't imagine you need
to be told this, Mulder, but you're not a loser."
She's trying to make me feel better. It ain't workin'.
"Yeah, but I'm no Eddie Van Blundht, either...am I?"
I hazard another peek at her. She's eyes straight ahead. And not
a word comes out of her mouth. Tongue-tied, Scully? Or too polite to
answer?
And then before I can stop myself: "So, Scully... What did he
have that I don't have?"
The $64,000 question. Will she answer this one?
And then I notice she's not next to me anymore. I glance back
over my shoulder. Scully is standing stock still, just staring at me. I
can't read her face. My insides are churning. But I have to know. I can't
keep this up much longer. She catches up and I push through the door
first as Scully trails behind me.
"Well?" Are you going to answer me, Scully?
We reach the car and she finally does. "It's not that simple,
Mulder."
Why the hell not? It's a simple question; the least I can expect
from Dr. Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully is a simple answer.
We get out on the road and she takes a sudden interest in the
scenery flying by outside her window.
I can remember every single detail of that night. I'll bet Scully
can, too.
We're on the outskirts of DC before another word is spoken. I
just keep coming around to the same thing and it just keeps gnawing at
me.
I bite the inside of my cheek but it comes out anyway. "Hey,
Scully. You really thought it was me that night. Right?"
She heaves a weary sigh. She's probably tired of answering the
same questions. No, if that were the case, she would have answered my
last one. It was something new and different.
"Yes, Mulder."
"And you were okay with that." Jesus, I have to learn some
self-control.
"Yeah, Mulder. I was okay with that."
Just the facts, ma'am.
And then she blurts "He just came over, Mulder. With a bottle of
wine. No files, no photos, no tapes to listen to. Just wine."
Hell, Scully, I could have done that a long time ago. I would
have if I'd known you'd have welcomed me. I always figured I needed an
excuse to drop by. And I guess maybe those excuses usually ended up with
us getting some work done. Okay, I'll concede that point.
"He wanted to talk. Well, actually, he wanted to listen while I
talked."
She just said something important, Mulder. Pay attention.
"About what?" I ask.
Another sigh. She's good at that. "Everything. Nothing. We just
talked about life."
Whereas all I seem to talk about is the work. Right? I can't help
it, Scully. The work is my life. So how come it doesn't seem to be enough
anymore?
"Well," I shoot back. "He certainly couldn't have dazzled you
with his extensive knowledge of the X-Files, could he?"
And I'll be damned if she doesn't smile.
"So that's it? You talked?"
"That's it. It's amazing what you can discover if you just take
the time and make the effort, Mulder."
Okay, I'll admit it. That one stings. And not just because what
she said is true, either. It's because I *have* made the effort from time
to time--I guess I just didn't do it right. Yeah, boost that self-esteem,
Scully. I definitely need a hat like Eddie's. I think about spending the
rest of the afternoon cooped up in the basement with her and it actually
makes my skin crawl. I can't do it. I have to try to get my mind around
this and I can't do that in close proximity to Scully. There's only a few
more facts I need to get straight.
We pull into the Bureau parking garage and I stop beside her car,
turning to look at her head-on. Haven't done that for a while. "The
fireplace. The music. Whose idea was that?" I ask her.
Her eyes go soft and she says, "It was mine, Mulder."
What she's just said to me suddenly clicks into place--along with
all the other little pieces she's doled out to me today--and over the
past month. I think I'm on my way to figuring this out.
I say something to her about seeing her later and wait as she
retrieves her briefcase from the backseat. I pull away and switch to
auto-pilot; and it's not until I reach my apartment building that I
realize where I've gone.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
The hours between dropping Scully off at the Bureau and my
finally working up the courage to call her have been filled with
something I rarely indulge in: introspection. Strange thing for a
psychologist to say, isn't it? You'd think as a group we'd tend to spend
a lot of time analyzing ourselves. Well, maybe some do; but then I've
never exactly fit into the norm. I'm not really comfortable confronting
my own feelings and motivations; I'm much better at picking others'
apart.
There are only a few things I know with any certainty when it
comes to what happened a month ago, and what I saw.
Much as I hate to admit it, Eddie Van Blundht had this particular
"make believe I'm somebody else" game down pat. Maybe it was a heightened
sense of intuition. Maybe he's just a very good student of human nature.
Or maybe he's just lucky. Whatever you want to chalk it up to, he picked
his conquests very carefully. With the exception of Amanda Nelligan--and
that's a whole 'nother story--he selected women who were already involved
in intimate relationships with men. Men they trusted and felt comfortable
with. And so it stands to reason that he spotted something in the way
Scully and I interacted that intrigued him enough to set his sights on
her. Somehow I don't think even Eddie would be foolish enough to go after
Scully disguised as me if he didn't see something there to begin with.
Of course this is no revelation to me. I already know how I feel
about Scully. It just pisses me off that he knew how she felt about me
before I did.
And that's the other thing I know for a fact. I know what I saw
when I busted down her door. I saw Scully ready and willing to accept a
kiss and maybe more from a man she thought was me. Which means that the
idea wasn't exactly something she'd dismissed outright.
Oh yeah; it was a nice, comfy, romantic moment I interrupted; no
doubt about it. The empty wine bottle, the fireplace going, Al Green on
the stereo. Seduction 101. And Scully fell for it--hook, line and sinker.
Hell, according to her she even contributed to the little scenario I cut
short.
There's only one thing I'm not sure of and it's what's driving me
nuts. Was she responding to me or Eddie? If it had been me that night,
would she have let things go as far as they obviously did--or was she
seeing something in him she liked a whole lot better than the original?
Well, Mulder, what's one of the first things we learn when it
comes to crime scenes? The trick is to reconstruct the scene and work
your way from there. One part of my brain snatches that idea and switches
into overdrive with it as I return to the analytical side of my training
and ponder the other half of this equation: me. I lay myself bare and
begin an emotional autopsy so thorough Scully would be proud.
I'm lousy at opening up to people--I always have been. I don't
like to leave myself vulnerable to the damage people can do if they have
enough information about me. So I keep my mouth shut and turn a deaf ear
to the bullshit that's being said about me and around me. I don't need
the headaches. The down side is that an attitude like mine doesn't
exactly invite those around me to open up to me either. Like I said, I
don't exactly fit into the norm.
There's only one exception to this rule; and she seems to be the
exception to a lot of rules: Scully. I've spilled my guts to her over the
years, but I now realize that we've never really talked about the mundane
moments that make up the majority of our lives. But in those moments of
crisis or pain or the rare times I feel a need to open up; when things
just get too overwhelming and I can feel myself skating on the skinny
edge of sanity, I turn to Scully. She's the only person in my life who
really knows where my weak spots are; and the only person I trust enough
not to use that knowledge against me.
But those moments of vulnerability are rare. And when they pass I
close myself up tight as a clam and resume life as I know it.
Now I wonder if I taught Scully to adopt the same attitude.
Is it possible she's also wondered about us?
Has she spent countless nights at her place or in some anonymous
motel room craving me the way I have her? Can she feel me under her skin
and in her blood? Does she wake up sweaty and aroused from dreams of us
together she can't seem to shake off?
Judging from what I saw and what I now know, I think maybe she
does.
Before I've had a chance to talk myself out of it, I call her and
invite her over. My hand trembles as I set the phone down.
It's reached the point of all or nothing.
I glance at my watch. I've barely got time to hit the store and
make it back home before she gets here.
God, I hope I don't screw this up.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
end part 1/2
From bower2@juno.com Fri May 02 10:36:53 1997
Subject: *NEW* Secret Garden 2/2 by Lydia Bower US4 Spoilers
From: bower2@juno.com (L. B. Bower)
--------
Disclaimer in part 1. This is nothing but story.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, so I probably went a little bit overboard when it came to
recreating the scene of the crime. At least Scully seems to be taking it
in stride.
"Christ, Mulder. Go change your clothes."
"Too much?" I ask with a sincere grin.
"Yeah. Too much, Mulder."
So I go change clothes and ignore the psychologist in my head who
whispers to me that I've picked black because maybe that way I'll fade
into the couch and become invisible. Fuck off, Mulder.
The first few minutes after that are rough. You'd think we'd
never been in a room alone together. And for some reason the candles and
the music are beginning to get on my nerves. I feel like I'm trying to be
somebody I'm not and that's the absolute last thing we need now.
I sputter out some kind of apology to Scully and kill the tunes,
replace them with ESPN and blow out most of the candles. The look on
Scully's face as I turn back to her is encouraging. Actually, the whole
package is encouraging.
She needs to wear jeans more often. Especially the old, faded,
knees almost blown out kind. She's got on a dark green cardigan sweater
that's snug in all the right places. She's beautiful--she's always
beautiful. I get a chance to tell her that after I've dragged out my
letter jacket and made her try it on. She's swimming in it but it's never
looked better on anyone.
"Thank you, Mulder," she says and if I didn't know better, I'd
say she was blushing. Nah, not my Scully.
"You're welcome." I reach for her hand and can't find it.
Probably has something to do with the fact that her arms end only halfway
down the sleeves. I chuckle and go digging.
"You make a crack about my size and I'll bust you one," she warns
me.
"Just as long as you don't shoot me again, Scully."
It's better now. We've laughed together, had a little wine,
slipped into the easy banter like slipping on a favorite sweater. I'm
only a little nervous when we settle back on the couch and start to
tackle the tough part. You know, the part that involves really opening
up.
It helps that Scully gets us started. I can concentrate on her
instead of worrying what'll happen when it's my turn. She's not going to
settle for less than an equal give and take. That's okay--she shouldn't
have to.
In the end it turns out to be a lot easier than I thought it'd
be. She's a good listener, but I guess I've always known that. She
encourages me with questions and little looks or a gentle touch on my arm
or my hand. I'll admit I tried to bullshit my way through some of it, but
she didn't put up with that for long. The idea that she knows me so well
despite not knowing me at all both thrills and terrifies me.
I also discover that Dana laughs a lot more than Scully does. She
looks really good with a mild buzz, too. Wine-softened; strong and
vulnerable all at the same time. It's a lethal combination.
The time goes by quickly, effortlessly, and I'm struck by how
easy this is and by how comfortable I am.
I think Scully really likes me. I know that probably sounds odd,
but I don't think I knew that until tonight. She's here because she wants
to be. She could have gotten up and left any time she wanted--but she
hasn't. Amazing.
It occurs to me that this is the first time I can ever remember
completely letting down my guard with her. When we're working I'm always
so aware of the fine line we walk; how I have to force myself not to look
at her for too long a time or get too close to her or touch her anywhere
but those places deemed safe and appropriate for partners to touch each
other. It's nice to sit here and watch her and think to myself how
gorgeous she is or how great she smells or how much I'd like to reach out
and brush the backs of my fingers across the soft peach fuzz on her
cheeks. And it's okay to think these things and feel these feelings. This
is not work and we are not FBI agents--not tonight. It's just me and
Scully. No protocol to follow, no rules or regulations to worry about.
Amazing.
I could slap myself silly for not doing this a long time ago. I
think about the time I've wasted and it makes me wish there was some way
I could get it all back and give it to Scully. She deserves it more than
anyone I know. I think about the cancer and resolutely greet the pain
that goes hand and hand with the reality of it. I can't lose her; not
when it looks like we've just now found our way to each other.
I glance over at Scully and find her lost in her own thoughts.
She looks like she's a million miles away. I reach out and lay my hand on
her arm.
"Hey."
She looks over at me and I watch, fascinated, as her eyes grow
dark and soft. There is a moment when time stops and something primal and
urgent passes between us. I feel a shiver run down my spine.
"Where'd you go?" I ask.
"I was just..." And then she blurts, "Mulder, why are we doing
this?"
Her question takes me by surprise. I thought it was pretty
obvious why we're doing it. And I suppose that's part of the whole
problem, right there. We've both been assuming things about each other
instead of asking outright. I know why *I'm* doing this; it's time to
find out why Scully is.
"Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"No. No, not at all. I like it," she says. The swiftness of her
answer leaves little doubt in my mind and gives me the opportunity I've
been waiting for all night.
I cut her next words short. "Scully, can we talk about that
night?"
She gets this panicky look on her face that's here and gone in an
instant. Jesus. It occurs to me that she's been doing some play-acting of
her own over the last month. In a moment of perfect clarity I realize
that underneath the cool and confident facade is a woman pretty damned
shaken up over what happened with Eddie and the distance it created
between us.
There are a million things I want to ask her about that night.
But I can't. The worst thing I can do right now is put her on the spot. I
do that and I'll blow it. Maybe for good. Tell her how it was for you,
Mulder. Damn it, just talk to the woman!
Easier said than done. Suddenly I'm scared shitless. What if the
whole night has been nothing but an aberration? What if she doesn't want
the same things I do? What if, instead of this night marking the
beginning of something wonderful, it begins the slow the destruction of
what we already have? I weigh my options in the passage of mere seconds.
Do I choose the status quo and the easy way or do I go for the unknown
and take that leap of faith?
It's a no-brainer.
"I knew what Van Blundht had in mind when he locked me up,
Scully. I knew what he was going to try," I tell her. "And I knew it
because he saw something we've been turning a blind eye to for a long
time. I don't think he would have attempted to do what he did if he
didn't think he had a chance of succeeding."
Scully drops her eyes and I watch as she takes a deep breath
before looking back at me. "What are you trying to say, Mulder?"
Special Agent Scully has made an appearance. I can hear it in the
way she asks the question. In the blink of an eye she's switched to
investigator mode; patiently waiting for me to spout my latest
off-the-wall theory. I find that oddly reassuring. Okay, so maybe it's a
defensive posture for both of us, to slip into the old, familiar routine.
But it's not entirely a bad thing--not if it moves us from point A to
point B a little more comfortably. So I twist around to face her and
present to her my case.
"Well, just think about it, Scully. This is a man who can assume
the identity of anyone he chooses. Despite the fact that what he did was
reprehensible, he was able to get away with it for so long only because
he came to these women in the guise of someone they trusted and cared
for; women he knew wouldn't harbor any suspicions if the man they
encountered was someone they felt comfortable being with in that sort of
situation. Eddie Van Blundht was," and God I hate to admit this, I think
to myself, "in many ways these women's fantasy lover."
Okay, that sounded reasonable enough. I don't think I've said
anything she can object to very strenuously.
And she doesn't. But she does surprise me when she says, "You
almost sound like you envy him, Mulder."
You have no idea, Scully. None whatsoever.
I catch her eye and hold it. I want her to know. "Only when it
comes to you."
She makes that little sound in her throat that's so familiar.
"Mulder..."
"No, just hear me out, Scully. I knew he would come to you
because that's what I would have done, if I'd had the courage. It's
something I should have done a long time ago," I admit.
She shoots me this little half-smile that goes straight to my
heart and quips, "Attempt to seduce me?"
Well, yeah, that thought has crossed my mind a time or two. But
that's not the real issue. "No. No. Just forget that part of it for a
minute."
The eyebrow arches. "Easier said than done."
Scully really is a remarkable woman. I can't help but chuckle at
her words. I tell her, "What I'm trying to say is that he gave you an
opportunity to open up and let some of the barriers down. Allow the Dana
Scully who isn't an FBI agent to come to the forefront. I envy him that."
Truer words have never been spoken. Eddie wasn't completely off
base when he pegged me as a loser. And, damn it, now I can't even look at
her. I can't help but feel that in some very important but unexplainable
way, I've let her down.
Woulda coulda shoulda.
"He didn't do anything you couldn't have done, Mulder."
"I doubt that."
She reaches out and places her hand on top of mine, telling me,
"You shouldn't."
I listen carefully to her declaration and there is no trace of
pity in it. I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. Her pity is the
one thing I couldn't accept from Scully; not without giving up any
remaining sense of dignity. I turn my hand under hers and link our
fingers. Her hand is dwarfed by mine.
"Mulder, what almost happened that night, what you saw when you
busted down my door, happened because it was what I wanted, too."
I study her face, looking for clues; hoping with all my heart and
soul that she wanted it for the right reasons.
"And it wasn't because Eddie was being a Mulder I'd never seen
before and liked better than the original. It was because he was being
the Mulder I knew you could be if you'd only allow yourself."
An unbelievable wave of relief washes over me.
"It's hard, Scully." I try to find the words to better explain
myself but those are the only ones that make it past the lump in my
throat.
"I know that. It is for both of us, Mulder." She goes on,
explaining in perfect Scully form why this has been so hard for both of
us; how we've avoided confronting our feelings for fear of destroying
what we've worked so hard to build. And the whole time she's going on,
while half my attention is focused on her words, the other half is
thinking about how badly I want to touch her, hold her, give her
everything she needs to make her happy.
I pull my hand from hers and lay my arm on the back of the couch,
my fingers hesitantly weaving through her hair before they come to rest
on the soft and silky nape of her neck. My body echoes the shiver I feel
running through her.
I wait until her eyes shift to meet mine. "I honestly didn't
know," I quietly tell her. "I didn't know how you'd react if I tried to
cross that line. I could only hope that... I didn't know; and I was too
much of a coward...
<loser>
...to find out."
"But you know now. Don't you?"
"I think so." God, Scully, I want you. I want you. My hand cups
her cheek, drops until my fingers lay against her neck. My thumb lazily
traces the line of her jaw. That wonderfully soft and sensual look in her
eyes is back.
God.
"Mulder, will you do something for me?"
There isn't anything I wouldn't do, Scully. Don't you know that?
"Name it," I tell her.
She nervously licks her lips. "Will you... Will you kiss me?"
No problem, Scully. "I thought you'd never ask."
Careful, Mulder. It's taking all my restraint to keep from
swooping down on her and consuming her; taking her into me so I'll never
be without her. Her eyes slip shut as she leans to meet me and I
oh-so-gently kiss her.
Yeah. Oh yeah, this is good--beyond good. I'm in heaven. I feel
her fingers in my hair and deepen the kiss. She tastes of mulled wine;
spicy and sweet. I break the kiss. I want to look at her face, see what's
there.
Her eyes slowly come open and we grin at each other like a couple
of teenagers after their first kiss. A sigh of relief leaves me.
"Well, Scully. That was pretty damn remarkable." And that's like
the understatement of the century.
"I don't think the world came to end," she confirms.
I could give a rat's ass. Let it end, just so long as she's here
with me.
"I don't think I would have noticed if it had. Let's try that
again--just to make sure it wasn't an anomaly," I tell her.
Our second kiss leaves me on the skinny edge of control. My mind
slips and slides, caught between calling this to a halt before things
start moving way too fast and trying to recall if I have any condoms in
the apartment that aren't ancient.
I pull away from her and one look in those blue eyes tells me I'm
in big trouble. Control, Mulder. Get control. A shaky laughs escapes me.
Her hair is tousled and I tuck a lock behind her ear.
You can do this, Mulder, I tell myself. You can do the right
thing.
"I'm going to kick you out, Scully."
Her face twists in bemusement. "What?"
I stand up while it's still an option and offer her my hand.
"You need to go home now."
"Why?" she asks; but I'm strangely relieved when she takes my
hand and allows me to lead her toward the door.
"I like to savor things, Scully. No sense rushing a good thing,
huh?" I think about what might have happened if this had been Eddie Van
Blundht with Scully tonight. I know that he wouldn't have hesitated. But
you know what? Scully deserves better than what Eddie could've given
her--we both do.
I guess that makes him the real loser, doesn't it?
I help her on with her coat and unlock and open the door.
"Besides," I tell her. "I'm no Eddie Van Blundht."
Thank God.
She turns and steps into my arms, holding me tightly. I nuzzle
her hair and drop a kiss on the top of her head.
"I'll see you in the morning, Scully," I tell her as she steps
away and out the door.
"G'night, Mulder."
I close the door behind her and twist the deadbolt. I lay a hand
flat against the door and close my eyes. If I try hard enough I can still
feel her through the solid wood of the door and the distance that
increases with every step she takes away from me and toward the elevator.
The giddy laughter I've held in check erupts as I turn away from
the door and head back to the living room. I punch a fist into the air as
a single word echoes happily through the apartment.
"Yeeessss!"
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
The End