Secret Garden
by Lydia Bower
bower2@juno.com
Date: Fri May 02, 1997
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.
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.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
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