He has a drawer in the office that breeds maps and atlases. Pages upon folded pages of longitude, latitude, elevation; miles upon miles of interwoven streets, roads, and highways. Spilling out and overflowing their cramped confines.
The elders of this strange clan are a 20 year old road map of Washington D.C. that he bought as a teenager, and an atlas featuring the northeastern states that he pilfered from his father's study even longer ago. And over the years, the family has grown. Local, regional, national, and international- all are represented in the crowded space. From tattered world maps to hand-drawn sketches of secluded bits of forest, he keeps them all.
And every time she opens the drawer, she is sure he can't have squeezed one more in, but as she looks, she'll see the name of the last obscure town they visited on a case, emblazoned across yet another.
She's never asked why.
Is it because it gives him peace, knowing where he is at all times? Knowing he is not lost like his sister? Knowing that if he ever were to become lost, he'd be able to find his way home?
There have been times when she's caught him poring over one of them, calculator at the ready, jotting down numbers and measurements and equations. But, once caught, he hurries his supplies away and distracts her by asking if she's heard the one about how many aliens it takes to change a light bulb.
She doesn't ask, and he doesn't offer. And somehow they both understand that those are the rules. Because even if she were to inquire, she senses she wouldn't get a straight answer, and she accepts that. There obviously is some personal significance to this ritual of his, and she is willing to wait until he is ready to reveal it.
But she's curious, and he knows it. He's seen her glances and the cat-like arch of her brow each time the drawer is opened to adopt yet another member. But he pretends not to notice, and vows to be more inconspicuous in the future.
It's difficult, to keep a secret. Especially from her. He wants to be able to tell her everything, he wants to be able to invite her in. But this…, this just feels too personal, too private. He's not sure that he's ready for her to know about this, for her to see him so bared, so vulnerable. So cracked open and exposed.
And so they follow their self-imposed guidelines. Don't ask, don't tell. It's always been easier that way. Nobody gets too close, and nobody feels threatened. Everyone stays happy, and the maps continue to multiply, spitting out offspring like rabbits.
….
Until one fateful Thursday, when all his careful efforts at secrecy crumble to the ground.
She's taken a short leave of absence to attend a funeral in Chicago. And though she's not due back until tonight, forty-eight hours with distant cousins and their shiny spouses is enough to send her to the airport hoping for an earlier flight. Sometimes her job is very handy in the excuses it can provide for the socially reluctant.
As she descends through the clouds, the promise of a good book and a hot bath put a smile on her weary face. But as soon as the plane's wheels jolt against the runway, her thoughts turn to him. Much as she may like to deny it, she's missed him, missed his voice, missed his grin, even missed his overstuffed drawer full of maps. They've only been apart two days- when did that begin to be too long?
As she winds her way from the airport, she hears lame jokes that tug at the corners of her mouth, she feels huffs of breath tickling the hairs on her neck. Just being back in the same state, she feels his pull on her body, feels his nearness. It's only 4:00, a voice whispers in her ear, you could stop by the office and see him…
She knows it's silly, but she realizes that she really does want to. She wants to see him. She wants to descend into their basement and see whether the surprise on his face will betray him, whether she'll be able to read the crinkles around his eyes and the curve of his lips, and know that he's missed her as well. The thought makes her surprisingly giddy.
She pulls her car next to his in the parking garage, oddly pleased that the spot is available. But slinking quietly down into the office, she is quickly disappointed not to find him at his desk. The lights are on, and the earthy smell of him lingers in the air, yet he is nowhere to be seen.
She waits a few moments, sitting quietly in her chair, but as time passes, she begins to feel foolish. This is her office as well, but she somehow feels out-of-place, being here on her day off, for no reason other than to see him. This is ridiculous, she berates herself, it's only been two days, you'll see him tomorrow…
She re-gathers her things, deciding to leave, when something catches her eye. It's one of his maps, spread across the desk, jutting at strange angles as it tries to conform to the coffee mugs and staplers and unnavigable terrain beneath it. As she shifts closer, she realizes that it is a map of Illinois, and as she shifts closer still, she realizes that there are markings on it. Leave it to Mulder to capture her interest, to draw her in, without even being physically present.
Abandoning her jacket and purse back to the chair, she hovers above the desk, peering beyond the muted browns of the topography , the gridded gray patchwork of city streets, the meandering blues of rivers and lakes, and focusing instead on the red pen markings in the top right corner. Her fingers tickle over the surface until they've found the marks as well.
And written there, right outside of Chicago, in the location of the hotel where she'd stayed for the funeral, are an "X", yesterday's date, and the inscription "707 miles away."
She steps back, startled. A buzz alights across her skin, tiny pinpricks of sensation that make her feel dull, numb. Her brain frenzies, trying to make sense of things, when she sees a small notebook to the side of the desk, full with more notations. She flips frantically through the pages, similar information swimming inside- dates, familiar locations, and miles. Pages upon pages, dating back to the second year they'd worked together.
Trembling, she goes to the drawer, the drawer that has always been surrounded by such a shroud of secrecy, and she opens it. And she begins unearthing the maps- Oregon, Texas, Antarctica, every place she's ever been. And on every map a red notation. She pulls them out one by one, until she is sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mountain range of paper folded peaks.
Her body has calmed, but her mind is firing. What is this? She has no idea what sort of emotion she should be feeling right now. Betrayal? Fear? Anger? She is completely and utterly perplexed. What in the hell is happening here?
….
He enters the office, coffee in hand, oblivious to the landscape he is about to encounter. And when he sees her on the floor, the one bright spot of color amidst a sea of muted folds of paper, he feels the skip of his heart in his chest. Oh shit.
Her voice is plaintive in the echo of the room, "Mulder, what is this?"
"Umm, Scully…," he stutters, as he gingerly steps around the maps and sets down his quaking mug of coffee, "you're not due back until tomorrow. How was your trip?"
"Mulder." She remains persistent, though her faltering voice betrays her. "What. Is. This."
She's violated their carefully arranged code of ethics, and it flusters him. "Umm, those are just maps, Scully. So, how was Chicago, huh? How 'bout them Bears, right?" His attempts to sound nonchalant fail miserably.
She pleads with him as he bends to gather up the maps. "Mulder," she feels desperate, "please…"
He reaches down for another and she clasps his wrist, whispering, "…please…"
Her eyes find his, and there's no way he can deny her, no way he can turn away from the wet depth of her gaze.
Relenting, he drops silently into the chair. He knew one day this would happen. He knew one day she would ask, and one day he would have no choice but to answer. He knew it as surely as he knows that one day she will catch his eye, and he will have no choice but to tell her he loves her.
He rests his elbows on his thighs and steeples his fingers between his chin and forehead, breathing a heavy sigh.
She doesn't understand why her heart is suddenly pounding, why she feels as if her whole world may be about to shift on its axis.
"Scully…," his rasping voice is harsh against the quiet that has descended upon the room. "When they took my sister, I was lost. Absolutely adrift. I was helpless, powerless. I felt as though my physical body was crumbling, and I would dissolve right into the atmosphere if I didn't keep my hand gripped tightly around something here on Earth…"
She studies the fold of her hands in her lap as she murmurs, "I know, Mulder. No little boy should have had to endure that."
"The hardest part of it all was not knowing where she was. Not knowing if she was close or far, not knowing whether the space between us could be measured in feet or in miles or in some unit larger than I could even fathom." His eyes squeeze shut, trapping him inside that long-ago world, as he continues, "I had always protected her, always looked out for her, always known where she was, and then suddenly, she was just gone. Gone."
She can't bear to see him reliving this pain yet again, and she shifts closer to him, kneeling in front of his chair and gathering his hands into her own atop his knees. "You were just a child, Mulder, just a little boy…," she whispers.
His eyes fix on her face, and he lifts a hand to cup her jaw, continuing quietly, "And when they took you, too, Scully….when they took you, I felt that same helplessness, that same sense of powerlessness. And it was like I was reliving my past. Reliving Samantha's abduction. It was awful, Scully, it was fucking awful…"
He has tears in his eyes, and she feels them stinging in her own as well. For this man who has put his life aside again and again for those that he loves. She grips his hand on her cheek, and leans her head into the shell of him, warm and cradled against her skin.
His thumb grazes her cheekbone, and she shudders.
"When you were returned, I promised myself, I /vowed/, that I would always, always know where you were. From that moment forward." He pauses for a moment, then whispers, "If I know where /you/ are, then I know where /I /am…"
She closes her eyes, absorbing the intensity left hanging in the air as she clutches at his hands.
"Oh, Mulder….," she murmurs, so sad for the boy who was lost to the cruelty of other's decisions.
"These maps, these notebooks…. these are how I do that, how I stay connected to you. Knowing the distance that separates us, how many miles are between us, those things are solid. I can close my fist around those numbers so that I don't drift away, so that I don't dissolve..."
She brings his hands back to his knees and rests her forehead against them, looking down at his shoes beneath. How have they come to this point? So fearful of being apart, yet so terrified of being together?
His face and his need hover above her, heavy in the stilled air. She wants to gather it up and swallow it, taking his pain inside her body so that he can finally be free.
A moment passes, and she quietly asks against his legs, "Does it work, Mulder? Does knowing where I am bring you peace?"
His voice sounds wistful and far away as he answers, "I don't know, Scully… I don't know if I'll ever be at peace. The distance between us…, sometimes it seems I could drive for years and never reach you…"
The thought brings a dull ache to her throat. She never wants to feel so far away, never wants him to feel so alone. Never wants to feel so alone herself…
"How can I help you, Mulder? How can I make it better?"
She realizes that she has been tracking him as well, maybe not as literally, but tracking him nonetheless. In her mind, in her heart, coveting him inside her soul, but never allowing their physical bodies to close the distance completely.
"I don't know…," his voice is a whisper, a shadow, "I don't know if the distance could ever be small enough, I don't know if you can ever be close enough, Scully…"
She realizes that she wants to be his map, his compass. She wants all the roads they travel to bring them together, to bring them home.
"I'm close now, Mulder," she whispers, raising her head and lifting her eyes to his, "isn't this close enough?"
Her whisper is like kindling, igniting the barest lick of a flame. The air is suddenly thick and heavy between them, and he struggles to breathe.
His eyes squeeze shut, and he drops his forehead down to hers, pulling his hands away and sliding them through her hair.
"Scull-eee…," he grits through his teeth, biting down on the need that has begun to consume him.
She rises higher on her knees, and his legs spread to fit her between. She trails her hands along his arms from wrist to shoulder, until they meet at the base of his skull. Foreheads still connected, she murmurs again, "Is this close enough, Mulder?"
The room around them tilts, and the negative space between their bodies expands, then contracts, creating a vacuum, sucking, drawing them closer, threatening to engulf them.
Their breaths shorten in the distance between their mouths, as they hover in a state of "almost". He nudges his nose against her downy cheek, sliding, nuzzling, skin against skin, trying to absorb her closeness so that he never needs another map again.
Her lips feather against his own as she whispers one more time, "Is this close enough?", but before the question mark has even been dotted, he has already swallowed it, as he pulls her firmly against his mouth with a deep moan.
And oh, is it close enough. It's close enough and it's closer than enough, and yet, he still tries to pull her closer. She grips his neck in the crook of her fingers and climbs astride his lap, and with soft lips, they navigate the terrain of each other's faces. Then with eager hands, they begin their survey of each other's bodies.
She is so close, so /here/ that he becomes frantic with the nearness of her. And he pulls at her, claws at her, presses her to him as tightly as he's able, as he realizes how absolutely desperate he's been without her.
His frenzy is contagious, and within minutes, she's as uncontrolled as he. They dissolve into a tangle of sliding lips, groping hands, and humid skin. The air throbs with their moans, their sighs, and their soft curses.
They tumble to the floor, amidst the spread of cities, states, and countries, and they descend into that realm of togetherness, into that achingly beautiful world where there is no distance, no space between. And as she comes undone, she fists her hands among them, pulling Texas and Michigan into crumpled heaps on the floor.
And after, as they lay gasping, hearts pounding and skin cooling in the quiet of the basement, she reaches for the red pen that has fallen near his hip. On his bared chest, she draws an "x" over his heart. She adds today's date, and the inscription "0 miles away." And then she kisses him so fully, he knows he'll never feel lost again.