By Archiv1013
archiv1013@aol.com
RATING: PG for extremely mild profanity
CATEGORY: V Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: In real estate, the three most important factors in
determining something's value are location, location, location.
SPOILERS: Post-ep for "Millennium"; references to various earlier
episodes.
FEEDBACK: Better than double fudge brownie ice cream, with far
fewer calories.
ARCHIVES: ATF, anywhere else is fine, as long as these headers
remain intact. Please let me know, so I can go visit the
kiddies.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and anything recognizable from
The X-Files belongs to the evil geniuses at 1013 Productions and
Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no
profit is being made.
Note: No betas were harmed in the writing of this fic. You've
been warned.
Location, Location, Location
When I was a young girl, and beginning to shed my tomboy ways, I
used to daydream about the first time the man I loved kissed me.
The details would vary, but certain things were constant. The
man was always handsome, considerate and perfect in every way.
We would always be at a suitably romantic location - the deck of
a cruise ship, a balcony overlooking the ocean, a rustic cabin
in the mountains. There was live music in the background -
sometimes a string quartet, sometimes a jazz trio. They would
be playing something warm and mellow and romantic - something
recognizable, of course, because that was destined to become
'our song'. (And while it's romantic as hell, nobody wants
'their song' to be Chopin's Waltz in C sharp minor.) The scent
of spring flowers would be in the air, and, of course, we would
be bathed in moonlight.
He would be impeccably well groomed, usually in a tuxedo, and I
would be dressed in a long, frilly gown (just the thing for that
cabin in the mountains). And although there may have been a
large crowd around us, we always managed to be in a secluded
spot. For that one moment we were the only two people in the
entire world. He would gaze into my eyes... a level gaze, mind
you, because in my fantasies I always had at least one more
growth spurt ahead of me. He would gaze into my eyes, and lean
in to kiss me. It was never a furiously passionate kiss; after
all, this was a Catholic schoolgirl fantasy, and the nuns would
never have approved. But rather, it was always sweet and tender
and romantic, full of the promise of things to come. It would
be the one perfect moment of my life, and a memory that I would
treasure all my days.
Then I grew up.
As the years went by, I came to recognize my childish fantasy
for what it was. Perfect moments are hard to come by, except in
the movies, and even those are few and far between. I've had
'first kisses' from a number of men, and I've even taken the
initiative a few times. Some have been memorable, but there's
never been a cruise ship or a balcony (...and let's not mention
the cabin in the mountains, OK?).
Then came Mulder, who's managed to turn everything I've ever
thought or believed upside-down and inside-out more times than I
can count. Mulder, my one in five billion, my touchstone, my
batting coach. Mulder, who keeps me honest, who makes me a
whole person, whom I've been tempted to shoot again and again
and again.
And after years of innuendoes, sidelong glances, and the
occasional kiss on the hand when I'm on death's door, where does
Mulder choose to actually kiss me for the very first time?
In a hospital.
In a hallway.
I suppose it's a measure of how far I've traveled since the days
of my youth, that such a setting seems not only appropriate, but
somehow fitting. How many of the significant moments in our
relationship have happened in hospitals or hallways?
From the first time he was shot, so soon after my father died,
to his most recent 'lobotomy', we always seem to share our
innermost thoughts and feelings in the privacy of some public
place.
Over the years there have been so many bedside vigils, I've
nearly lost count. The fear of losing the other was a constant
but silent terror; only the color of the water pitchers changed.
The times when Melissa and Penny Northern died, and I insisted
on going back to work, he understood, or at least tried to.
Or the wordless conversation when he gave me his gun before
facing a monster, afraid for my safety over his own.
And then there was the time I almost left the FBI rather than
leave him; I've often wondered if we were ready to travel that
path then. I've often wondered if that bee was a curse or a
blessing.
The look of grief and longing in his eyes when the doctor asked
if we were Emily's parents told me more than words ever could.
My offer to save his life at the cost of my reputation, and his
steadfast refusal to see my honor compromised, even
posthumously. Even the time he first declared his feelings for
me, in what I hoped (or feared) was a drug-induced haze...
All these times have been leading us slowly, inexorably to this
moment.
No moonlight and roses, no romantic music and formal duds. Just
a stubbly faced Mulder with his arm in a sling - sporting a
haircut that only a hedgehog could love - the sounds of Dick
Clark and Auld Lang Syne coming from a tinny TV, and the myriad
aromas that only a hospital can produce.
No bees, no look-alikes, no thoughts of past loves or future
dangers. Just the two of us, as it's been from the day we met,
as it will be throughout the coming millennium. A perfect
moment: sweet and tender and romantic, full of the promise of
things to come - a memory I'll treasure all my days.