A Place to Start

by Lydia Bower
bower2@juno.com


Mon Feb 03 14:00:41 1997
Vignette, rated PG
Summary: Mulder takes the first step towards a better understanding of
Scully.
Just a little ditty this time around.  It's a continuation of 'Never
Again' and contains spoilers for that episode as well as 'Leonard Betts.'
Nothing deep or groundbreaking. No romance, no sex, no action, a few bad
words. It's just a little something I thought of this morning. Feedback?
Yes, please. :)

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013 productions and Fox
Broadcasting. I'm just borrowing them and I always bring them back in
good shape, so not to worry.


 
    Mulder waited a good half an hour after Scully left for the day
before he got started. He wanted to make sure she wouldn't pop back in.
The phone call he'd made at lunch had taken care of the easy part; now it
was time to get his hands dirty.
    He headed for the sub-basement and the room that contained the
cardboard compactor. Luckily for him there were several large boxes that
hadn't been crunched yet. He stacked boxes inside boxes until he figured
he had enough and then awkwardly carried them back to the office.
    "All this because I...because I didn't get you a desk?"
    "Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life."
    "Yes, but it's my--"
    That conversation--about the only one they'd had that
day--replayed in his head. "It's my life, too," he'd almost said. He'd
watched Scully's face, seen the questioning expression flicker across her
features. But he couldn't say it. Not because it wasn't true, but because
he knew it was more than she could handle right then and it could easily
have been taken it out of context. He didn't mean it selfishly. He didn't
want it to come out sounding like he was talking about the X-files and
how he was laying claim to it once again. All he'd meant, all he'd wanted
Scully to know, was that her life was his life, as well.
    And when exactly had he come to that realization?
    Of course it wasn't just about the goddamn desk--or lack thereof.
But Mulder didn't know where else to begin. How many times had he tried
to get her to tell him if she was okay only to have the standard "I'm
fine," thrown at him? You'd think he would have learned by now. Scully
had drawn a line in the sand a long time ago. Had made it perfectly clear
that her feelings and any discussions about them were strictly off
limits. So why couldn't he just take the hint and butt out?
    He set the boxes down and stood in the middle of the office,
doing a slow circle and trying to make up his mind. The one to the left
of his desk, closest to the wall, or the one over by the part of the
office he'd mistakenly deemed hers? Yeah. That one. Then he wouldn't have
to worry about moving the computer. Mulder loosened his tie and got to
work.
    What exactly had she been trying to prove? Scully had been quiet
and withdrawn since the Leonard Betts case. He knew that for Scully, a
doctor, to have taken a life had to have been harder than hell on her.
But she'd done the only thing she could do--what anyone would have done.
So why did he get the feeling it went a lot deeper than just zapping
Betts into oblivion?
    He shuffled through files and books and assorted papers and
reports that didn't seem to fit anywhere else; the reason they'd been
living on this table in the first place. Don't go through it piece by
piece, he told himself. You'll be down here all night. Just throw it all
in the boxes and go through it when they bring the new file cabinet down.
    There was a knock on the door. Mulder guiltily slid a full box
into the adjacent room and called out, "Yeah?"
    "Agent Mulder? A package was just dropped off for you at the
front door. I have it here," came the voice.
    He opened the door and grabbed the box from the security guard,
offering him a quick thanks. Mulder shut the door and opened the box,
peering inside. He nodded his approval and set it down on his desk. Back
to work.
    He'd stopped by Ed Jerse's room when he'd come to the hospital to
pick Scully up for the flight back to DC. Jerse had been doped up and
completely out of it; which was good--it gave Mulder a lot of time to
stand at the end of the bed and study the man. The similarities were
striking. About the same height, same build. Same hair color. Mulder had
to bite back an impulse to step to the man's side and lift an eyelid,
check the color. Would it be hazel? Would Scully be that obvious? Or had
it been a totally unconscious choice?
    Did you sleep with him, Scully?
    Mulder filled the rest of the boxes and stacked them neatly in
the corner. He left the office and rummaged around in the supply room,
grabbing things haphazardly and stuffing his pockets with boxes of
paperclips and pens, notepads and staples. He found a blotter and tucked
it under his arm, headed back to the office. He piled everything on the
table and started to get it into some kind of order. The phone rang. He
grabbed it and settled a hip on the corner of his desk.
    "Mulder."
    "It's me."
    "Hey, Scully."
    There was along silence. Mulder twisted around and picked up the
rose petal Scully had set there days ago. She'd picked it up once this
morning, had gazed at it like it held all the answers, while Mulder had
been reduced to asking an asinine question about a desk.
    "What are you still doing there, Mulder? It's late."
    "That's never stopped me before."
    "So what are you doing?"
    "Nothin' much. Just going through some old files." Not an
outright lie.
    Another silence stretched out.
    "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning."
    He snorted a sharp laugh.
    "What?" she asked.
    "You tell me, Scully. You're the one who called me."
    He heard her sigh. It was such a forlorn sound. His heart
twisted. Why can't we ever just talk to each other? he wondered. Why does
it have to be so complicated?
    "It's nothing, Mulder. Forget it. I'll see you tomorrow."
    "Hey, Scully...?"
    Too late. She'd hung up. He said into the phone, "Why the tattoo,
Scully? Why did you do it?" And can I see it? he thought to himself as he
dropped the phone back into the cradle. He knew what Jerse's tattoo had
been, what had been written below it. What was Scully's? Did it say
'Never Again,' too?
    Never again.
    There was a lesson there, somewhere. He held up the rose petal
and brought it to his nose. Nothing. Nothing remained of what was once
there. It was dead; a dim reminder of something that had once lived. Been
beautiful. Full of life and promise. Now only a ghostly dried shadow of
its former existence remained.
    Never again.
    I won't let the silences continue, he vowed. I'll find some way
to get through to her, get her to open up to me. I won't be such an
arrogant bastard anymore. I won't presume to know what she's thinking or
how she feels. I won't take advantage of her, or belittle her or the
opinions she voices. And I won't  question her devotion to the X-Files or
to me.
    Not ever again.
    Mulder picked up the package he'd had delivered and carried it
and the rose petal over to the table. He set the petal down in the center
of the blotter and opened the box.
    He placed the nameplate on the edge of the table and stepped back
to the door to take a look.
    Perfect. Anyone walking into the office would be able to see it.
Would know that this was shared space--the office of two partners. Two
halves of a whole.
    It wasn't fancy--but then Scully wouldn't want fancy. It said in
clear block letters: DANA SCULLY. And it was sitting on what was now her
desk.
    Mulder grabbed his coat and headed out. He stopped halfway out
the door and turned back, taking one more look at their office.
    It wasn't much. But it was a start.

    THE END