By Vivian
wakwekobi64@hotmail.com

SPOILERS:  Not a single one.
TIMELINE: The good ol' days.
RATING: G
CLASSIFICATION:  S
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship
ARCHIVE: Absolutely - just let me know, please.
DISCLAIMER: All these characters belong to Fox, 1013 & Mr.
Carter. No infringement intended.
SUMMARY: Sometimes everyone needs a refresher course on who
they are.
FEEDBACK: Treasured, re-read, and responded to at
wakwekobi64@hotmail.com

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The rumors are true, Scully thinks as they drive through the
winding hills of Vermont. New England is indeed beautiful in
the fall. Despite the fact that it is slightly past peak,
the foliage is still gorgeous, though much of it is now on
the ground.

She wonders if Mulder hand-picked this case just for the
scenery. She can't fault him; after only a day they have
wrapped up the "mystery" of the disappearing and reappearing
school bus, and the case required little more than a few
interviews and some logical deduction to solve. October in
Vermont is lovely, and a welcome relief from paranoia and
conspiracies.

She turns to ask Mulder to 'fess up and notices him rubbing
neck in weariness.  She knows he didn't sleep well the
previous night - she'd heard his TV through the motel's
walls at three in the morning.

"Mulder, I could drive," she says, and he shrugs off the
offer.

"Scully, think of it as living on the edge. You drive the
way you live; precisely, carefully, and methodically. With
me at the wheel we get the thrill of danger and the
unexpected," and, as if to illustrate his point, he steps
harder on the gas pedal so the car shoots forward amidst a
swirl of leaves.

She opens her mouth for a rebuttal, but abruptly closes it
when she realizes, appalled, that tears are welling in her
eyes.

Is that what he thinks of her?

She quickly turns her head toward the window, and Mulder
drives on in silence.  Apparently he expects no reply to his
comment. That very fact stings her more than if he'd uttered
the words in anger. A well-aimed barb can be dismissed.
Frustration and irritation lead inevitably to such moments.
It is his matter-of-factness that shakes her. She spends the
rest of the drive in silence, hoping Mulder doesn't notice
anything.

Eventually he pulls off onto a side road and heads toward
their motel. They'd managed to find a charming little
establishment, just off the beaten path.  Because of this,
and the lateness of the season, it is not crowded. Scully is
especially glad of that fact now. She wants nothing more
than to retreat to her room and lick her wounds in private.
She is certain she is being oversensitive and ridiculous.
Nevertheless, she feels an ache she can't quite name at
Mulder's assessment.

"We're here," he announces unnecessarily, as he pulls onto
the gravel drive.

The late afternoon sun highlights the brilliant orange,
yellow, and scarlet hues that remain on the trees
surrounding the building. When Scully steps out of the car
she feels the autumn chill creeping up underneath her coat
from the ground. She notices there are even fewer cars
than the day before. A groundskeeper, apparently taking
advantage of the fact, rakes leaves on the large lawn in
front of the motel. The only other sound is the breeze that
ruffles through the trees, and faint bird calls.

She would like to linger for a moment and soak up the peace
of the moment, but instead makes a beeline for her door,
hoping to avoid talking with Mulder. He has a spectacular
knack for missing the signs when she needs him to find them,
and unerringly picking up on any distress when she most
wants to indulge in avoidance.

Sure enough, he calls out to her just as she reaches the
door.

"So, whaddya say? Dinner in about an hour? That ought to
give us time to finish up our reports... We could go to that
Inn we saw earlier."

She turns and nods instead of speaking, still unsure of her
voice. He frowns, though, obviously dissatisfied, and begins
walking towards her. "Is everything all right, Scully?" he
asks, his voice slightly tinged with concern.

Her dignity is rescued when the groundskeeper starts a large
leaf-blower. The roar of the machine drowns out any chance
for her to answer. She fakes a bright smile and nonchalant
shrug, and quickly unlocks the door. Turning, she waves at
him. Though he still looks somewhat skeptical, he jerks his
chin in response, and holds up his watch, reminding her of
their appointed dinner time.

When Scully is alone, securely locked behind her door, she
sits heavily on the bed and spends a full five minutes
berating herself for her foolishness.

It comes as a surprise when it suddenly dawns on her to
wonder how it happened that she now stands in judgment of
herself for feeling emotional. As if indulging in a moment
was always a bad thing.

She forces herself to relax, allows herself to be a baby
about it, and cries a little. She mourns for a self she
didn't even know she'd lost. Her uncharacteristic bout of
tears makes her feel a little better, and she lies back on
the bed and prepares for some serious introspection.  She is
certain that she would not be so stung by Mulder's comment
if there wasn't some truth to what he'd so casually said. It
takes a surprisingly short amount of time to reach a
conclusion.

The seeds were sown when she was first assigned to the
X-Files. Through medical school and her FBI training she'd
had to present herself seriously to make up for being a
small woman in a big man's world, but the effort had not
encroached into her private life. It was only when she'd
joined Mulder in the basement that it had become pervasive,
and apparently evolved into an actual personality trait.

She'd become more solemn to add weight to Mulder's raison
d'etre.

In the beginning she'd felt she had to remain serious,
scientific, and precise to present logical arguments to his
wildly imaginative theories. Yes, his ideas could be
considered ridiculous, but it was usually he laughing at her
instead of the other way around.  Naturally, this only
fueled her desire to make him see the light. In time, the
reasons for her demeanor had changed; she'd had to take on
the logical side of the argument and present a front that if
not united, was at least not laughable, to the Powers That
Be. *She* knew that Mulder's flights of fancy and leaps of
logic hid both his passion and his brilliance, but realized
that others did not view him the same way.  His quest had
become hers as well, and she needed to protect both it and
him anyway she could.

How ironic, she thinks, that it is Mulder's very quirkiness
and out-there mentality which has increased her own
gravitas.

This is all well and good to have it figured out, she tells
herself, but what are you going to do about it?

Nothing, she answers herself sadly.  Perhaps there is no
help for it.  Like aging, it is most likely a process that
cannot be reversed. Leave it alone, and don't let Mulder
know you're bothered, she lectures herself. But it is the
very first thing she thinks of when she answers his knock
thirty minutes later.

He has changed, as she has, into slightly more casual
attire. When he breezes into the room she is taken aback,
for a moment, by his presence. This is not an unusual
occurrence. There is something infectious and electric about
Mulder that occasionally makes her feel as if she is just
bobbing along in his wake. She turns to get her coat and
hide another sudden rush of tears. Mentally kicking herself
for not letting go of the matter, she can't help but wonder
if Mulder only sees her as a dry, spinsterish, professor
type, while she has always been beguiled by his quiet
magnetism.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and suddenly Mulder's
voice is in her ear. "Scully, what's the matter?" he asks
quietly. She chuffs a laugh to let him know that it's
nothing, really.  He doesn't buy it, and gently turns her to
face him.

"What?" he asks again, and his eyes demand an answer.

She sits on the bed, deflated, and after a moment he joins
her and patiently waits for her to speak.

"Mulder, is that what you think of me?" she finally asks,
and notices she has not kept her tone as detached as she'd
planned.

He looks at her, and perplexity creases his brow.

"Do I think what?" he asks.

"That I live my life 'precisely, carefully, and
methodically'," she quotes, and his frown deepens. She knows
the hurt is plain in her voice, and Mulder's response shows
he's aware of it too.

His mouth opens and closes several times, and Scully would
laugh at a speechless Mulder if the circumstances were
different.

"I - I - I meant that as a compliment Scully," he finally
offers, and she can see the distress that he's hurt her
evident in his face. "I was making fun of *me*."  The
sincerity in his tone adds guilt to her already overloaded
psyche. Clearly he doesn't understand what he's done wrong.
She can't blame him for that; she doesn't exactly understand
it herself.

"Forget it," she tells him, and rises from the bed.

"No, wait," he pulls her down next to him again. "What's
going on here, Scully? I'm sorry if I hurt you by what I
said..."

She cannot deny that his words had pained her, so she tells
him instead, "You've done nothing wrong, Mulder, I'm just
being irrational." She glances sideways at him.
 
"Hormones?" she offers hopefully. He doesn't buy it.

"Scully, tell me what I've done," he entreats.

"Nothing," she reiterates, and laughs a little, inviting him
to chuckle with her at her foolishness. "I'm just being
silly."

"You're never silly, Scully," he tells her, and the
statement manages to reopen the wound.

"Well, that's just it Mulder. Am I boring? Rigid? Dry? So
routine that I'm stultifying?"  She fakes another laugh in a
vain attempt to coax Mulder away from seeing how much this
bothers her.

He looks at her in stunned silence for a moment, then throws
his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him.

"Scully," he begins, his voice gravelly with earnestness,
"you have never, ever, once bored me with anything you've
done or said." He squeezes her for emphasis. "How can you
even think that?" His voice rises with outrage on the last
question.

She shrugs, miserably aware that all her attempts to make
this matter seem small have failed.

"Scully, when I said you're not silly... all I meant was
that I always take you seriously, and everything you say
carries weight with me, that you have an astonishing brain,
and I care about what you think even if you're being...
emotional, or even whimsical."

She considers what he's said without responding. He waits a
moment, and she can sense his uncertainty. She is in no
position, however, to provide support right now. She usually
manages to hide any neediness, but today Mulder has already
seen right through her.

"And what I said earlier," he finally goes on, "it really
was a compliment. I admire the way you think. I wish I could
think like that. And I don't know what I'd do if I didn't
have someone by my side who *does* think that way.  It
doesn't mean I believe you're not full of life and deeper
feelings. You amaze me every day with your compassion, your
depth, your integrity, and your dignity."

Scully sneaks a look at him again, trying to judge whether
he's just telling her this to soothe her, or whether this is
one of those rare moments of openness about their
partnership. When he turns his head toward the wall and
clears his throat before he continues, she knows for sure.

"You're the yin to my yang, the flim to my flam, the give to
my take, the peanut butter to my jelly." Mulder laughs, a
little, but his voice has deepened in a way that betrays the
depth of his feelings. She smiles, this time genuinely, and
returns his laugh. She likes the way he sees her, and is
relieved that perhaps their views are not so disparate as
she'd thought.

"Okay?" he asks, nudging her with his shoulder. When she
tips her head in acquiescence, he cocks his toward the door.
"Let's get out of here." He rises and grabs her hand,
pulling her up beside him.

As they exit her room, she spies the pile of leaves the
groundskeeper has left on the front lawn. Just before they
reach the car she stops suddenly, and Mulder turns to look
at her.

"Scully?" he asks, and she can tell that he's concerned that
she's lapsed back into her earlier melancholy.

She stares at him, and he steps back a bit. After a beat, he
tilts his head at the expression on her face.

"What?" he asks, a smile quirking the corners of his lips.

Scully doesn't answer, and instead considers her next move.
It only takes a moment to realize she is thinking too much.
It has been years since she acted precipitately. She has
obviously lost the hang of it.

Better late than never, she thinks, and begins running. A
burden has been lifted, and buoyed by her own renewed sense
of self and Mulder's faith in her, she feels as light and
free as a child.

Behind her she can hear Mulder call her name once, then all
sound is lost as the cold evening air rushes past her ears.
When she reaches the object of her desire she leaps without
looking and feels an exhilaration that is almost foreign. It
has been far too long since she's felt this way.

When the leaves close over her head, Scully is sharply
reminded of her childhood by the distinct smell of her
surroundings. She inhales deeply, and wonders what Mulder
must think of her now. There is definitely no dignity
involved in jumping into leaf piles.

Naturally, she doesn't have to wonder for long - she hears
Mulder's whoop just before the thump that announces he's
joined her. Their breathless laughter mingles underneath the
pile. After a minute he begins crawling and finds her in the
morass of maple leaves. He pulls her to him for a quick,
fierce hug before they sit up.

She feels childish, but cannot control her laughter at the
sight of a leaf and twig-covered Mulder. He laughs, too, as
they attempt to brush the debris from themselves. When they
notice the groundskeeper near the office, staring
suspiciously at them, it only serves to increase their mirth
and they beat a hasty retreat to the car.

A half an hour later, at the Birch Lane Inn, Scully stifles
a snicker when she notices a dry leaf still clinging to the
underside of Mulder's sleeve. Ostensibly absorbed in the
menu, he gives her a kick under the table. Her giggle
becomes full-fledged, and the waiter looks at her
enquiringly. At the sound Mulder looks up from his menu and
gives her a slow wink.

A warm glow settles over her; it is astonishing to think
that only a few hours ago she was regretting the path her
life had taken. How can she regret any of it? Especially
this.

____________________________
END
 
 

AUTHORS NOTE:
Autumn was in the air today. Like Scully, I just couldn't
resist...
This story brought to you by the letter 'V'.