Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the X-Files, I've merely borrowed them. :) Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This story isn't very long, but it wasn't supposed to be. This idea came to me after watching the episode The Truth. Reviews are always welcome, of course. Enjoy!
Spoilers: Some references to the episodes Trust No1 and The Truth.
Mulder's Point of View
Mulder was watching her from across the room, something he had taken to doing a lot lately. He couldn't really help it, he figured – he'd spent so much time away from her that he had to keep reminding himself she was really there with him. That, and he was curious.
In all the years he'd known her, he'd never known Scully to keep a journal. Now, however, it seemed that she was keeping one. He had noticed it about two weeks ago: it was a rather non-descript black book, leather bound and unassuming. She kept it in one of her bags, and whenever things were at a lull or they had a moment to relax she would pull it out and start writing. He hadn't asked her about it, content to just sit and watch her. Some days she'd only write a few lines and then put it away; other days she'd sit there and scribble away in a fervor, biting her bottom lip in concentration.
Today seemed to be one of those days. She was sitting in a chair across from him in their hotel room, auburn hair falling against her cheek as she wrote.
"Mulder?"
She had stopped writing and was looking at him now, her blue eyes mirroring the curiosity he felt.
"You're staring at me," She said matter-of-factly
"Not staring," he replied, giving her a small smile, "Just watching."
She smiled at him and tucked her hair behind her ear. Sometimes Mulder wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was.
"Everything okay?" She asked
He nodded.
"You seemed lost in thought. I missed seeing your face, that look you get when you're concentrating on something."
He watched her cheeks flush slightly and was warmed by the sight.
"I'm almost done," she said softly
She went back to writing. He took a moment to glance out the hotel room window and watched a lone hawk glide through the sky. They were on the run, as they had been for the last few months. After their encounter with the Cigarette Smoking Man in the Anasazi pueblos they'd fled New Mexico, although he had every intention of going back. For now the important thing was to disappear for a while, let the manhunt for him cool down. He had made sure they crossed through several different states, even backtracked once or twice just as a precaution before finally bringing them to Montana. It wasn't quite Canada, but close enough should anything happen.
They'd only been in Montana a few days now, but in those few days he'd decided it was beautiful here. This state was a mural of blues and greens and browns, all of it seemingly untouched, unaltered. He just wished they were here under different circumstances.
There were times Mulder missed the old days. Going in to work everyday curious as to what he would find next. He'd always been paranoid, he knew, but not constantly afraid for his life and the life of his partner, as he was now. He was angry with these people, more angry than he could recall being ever before. To chase and torment him was one thing, but to chase and torment Scully and their son was entirely different. To make Scully fear for the life of William so much that she gave him up … well, he would make them pay.
His mind was seized then by another thought then, a painful thought. William. His son. Their son. The miracle baby that the doctors said could never exist. The most precious life, most precious person Mulder had ever held in his hands. Such a fleetingly short time he'd shared with the little boy – it pained him to think of how little he had known of him. It tormented him to think of how he hadn't been there for Scully and their son; how he had failed to protect him. Words floated back to him as if from another life. 'I am a guilty man. I have failed in every respect …
He stood then, unable to ignore the terrible ache growing in his chest. His heart hurt so badly he thought it might explode out of his chest. He felt his partner's eyes on him and looked over to see her watching him as she closed her book. He knew he must have a pained expression on his face by the way she was looking at him, as if he were about to break. Without a word she came to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the smell of her. He wanted to cry, but tears seemed such an inadequate testimony to his grief.
He held her for a while, drawing strength from her presence. He felt guilty when he thought of how she must have felt these last months, working so hard to keep William safe and then coming to the decision to give him up. That little boy had meant everything to her – to them.
He finally released her and when she stepped away from him there were tears on both their faces. He tried to smile at her, to reassure her, but found that he couldn't. He was lost.
Scully's Point of View
Scully knew that he was trying so hard for her, trying to reassure her and be her rock. She could see his pain reflected on his face, could feel the grief rolling off of him like waves; it seemed to pass through her and collide with her own grief, resonating against the walls of her heart. It was their grief, a pain they both shared. That thought seemed to strengthen her. They were together again now – they could do anything.
She slipped her small hand into his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"It's okay, Mulder," She said softly, gently, "I know. I understand."
"I know you do," He replied
"It's that unspoken communication thing," She told him
He let out a low chuckle and she smiled, relieved that she had made him laugh.
"We should probably get something to eat," Scully suggested
"Can we just order a pizza?" Mulder asked, "I don't really feel like going anywhere."
"Of course. I'll call somewhere and order. The usual?"
He nodded and she watched him walk over and sit on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard.
She made short work of ordering the pizza and then sat on foot of the bed, grabbing her book from its spot on the table. She glanced at it, wondering if now was really the best time. Scully knew he was curious about the journal, that he would sit and watch her write and wonder what she was writing about. She wanted to share it with him, and this was the only way she could think of to do it.
"Mulder," She began, "I know we've dealt with a lot in the last nine years, and we have our own ways of coming to terms with everything. After …" here her voice broke and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself before continuing, "After I gave up William I felt so lost, so fragile. I started keeping this – not a journal, per se, but more a book of letters."
She handed it to him and he took it with a look of such reverence, as if he couldn't believe she was trusting him with it.
"I know you've wondered what I was doing with it and what I was writing, but you've never said anything. Know that I've intended to share it with you all along; I just wanted to finish my half. I want to try something with you – if you say no or don't want to I'll understand. I just want to be able to share it with you. Open it."
She watched him do just that, and he seemed a little unsure of what he saw inside.
"Like I said," She continued, heart racing, "It's a book of letters. Inside is a letter to every person I care about. It's my way of not losing them – of feeling like I'm still connected to them. I'd like to try keeping this book of letters with you, if you agree. Every time you feel like you're losing touch, or if there's something you really want to say or share with someone, write them a letter. We'll both take turns, or just write when we really need to. We may never be able to send them, but at least we'll have a way of sharing them – and the pain – with each other."
She waited for him to say something. His eyes were fixed on her, but his expression was unreadable. Maybe he thought she had lost her mind.
Then, very slowly, he set the book down beside him and moved to sit beside her. His hands cradled her face and before she could form another thought he was kissing her. She did not hesitate to kiss him back, amazed that they had finally reached this point in their relationship. He was very gently, and she could almost feel the love he had for her like a tangible thing between them.
When he pulled away from the kiss he wrapped her in his arms again. His voice was very soft next to her ear.
"Thank you, Dana. Thank you for sharing this with me. I'd be honored to write in your book."
"Our book," She corrected him
"Our book," He agreed, "Do I get to read the ones you've already written?"
"Of course," She answered, chuckling, "That's the point. You should probably wait for the pizza though. It's a lot of reading."
"I think we've done enough waiting in our lives."
Mulder's Point of View
He opened the book and smiled when he saw who the first letter was to.
My Dearest Mulder,
I was thinking about something today. A long time ago, you asked me to call you Mulder. "I even make my parents call me Mulder," you said. Over the years, your name has become more than just a name for me. It's like my term of endearment for you. If I were saying that to anyone else it'd sound crazy, but I know you'll understand. You always do.
When you were gone, Mulder, it was like my world had turned upside down. Nothing made any sense. I was so afraid I'd never see you again, that you'd never know I was carrying your son. That you'd never get to see our baby. I searched for you. I never stopped searching for you; I have followed you all over this Earth, found you almost before you even knew you were missing. There was no way I was going to give up. Then when I saw you lying dead in that field … I thought I'd certainly die right then. I stood at your grave, crying for all the missed chances to tell you that I love you. I was sure I'd never recover. Then, when Skinner found you alive … I can't tell you the relief I felt. Oh, and I could have done without your little "amnesia" scare. Not funny.
There's more, of course – nine years more. But I'll skip to the important part: William. The doctors said I'd never bear children. We sure showed them, didn't we? Typical Mulder and Scully fashion. I know you didn't get to spend as much time with your son as you wanted to. What little time you did spend with him wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for me either. Please know that I did not come to my decision easily or take it lightly. If I thought there was any other way … but there wasn't. At least now he has a chance of living his life free from fear of persecution. I'd like to believe that in some way he'll remember us. The sound of our voices, maybe. Before we left my apartment to come get you, I had Monica help me gather up every picture of William I had, and the baby book my mom started for him.
Wherever this journey – this life – takes us, Fox Mulder, know that I'll be right there with you. Just as I've always been. Know that I love you, and that there is nothing and no one who can ever change that.
Forever yours,
Dana
He took a deep, silent breath to steady himself. Her words shook him, made his heart beat faster. He was reminded of an email he'd sent her while they were apart, professing his uncertainty of his resolve to live life without her and William. What a dark place he had been in then, ready to give up, wanting so badly to see Scully - to see their son. All that had stopped him was the knowledge that his presence would only endanger them. That had been a painful truth – the two people he wanted to see the most in the world were the two people he couldn't be anywhere near.
Mulder looked up from the book just as someone knocked on the hotel room door. Ever cautious, Scully approached the door and glanced through the peephole before answering it to the pizza man. Unconcerned, Mulder went back to reading.
The next letter in the journal was addressed to William. At the sight of his name, written so neatly in Scully's familiar handwriting, he felt his breath hitch in his lungs. He found himself wondering what kinds of things she would say to him, what she would tell him about. He was curious, but he didn't think he could read that particular letter yet. The pain was still too fresh, the wound still too raw.
Instead, he flipped through the pages, taking stock of all the letters. She had thought of almost everyone, it would seem. There were letters to her mother, her sister, all her brothers, Skinner, Monica, Doggett, the Lone Gunmen … the book was already at least a quarter of the way full. He also noticed a few more letters to William, and even one or two more to him.
"Mulder?"
She had the most amazing voice.
"Hmm?" He mumbled, looking up at her
"Take a break and come eat."
He set the book down on the bed and went to the small table in the room, where she had set the pizza and two glasses of ice water.
They ate in silence for a bit, and Mulder was struck by the realization of how much better he felt in Scully's presence. Never in his life had there been a woman who made him feel the way she did. Even Diana, the woman he had once shared his life with, paled in comparison. Scully challenged him, encouraged him and strengthened him. She was the one concrete truth he'd held on to through the last nine years; their love the one thing no one could take away, no matter how hard or how often they tried. He did not want to think of where he would be now if she had never come into his life.
"You feeling okay, Mulder?" She queried
"Just thinking," He responded, setting down his pizza slice
"About?" She prodded gently
"Everything. What the last nine years has done to us. Where I would be if you had never walked into my office. Sometimes I wonder if it was fate, or chance, or God working in his mysterious way that brought us together. I keep coming to the same conclusion: it doesn't matter how or why we met. Just that we did."
Scully smiled at him, one of her beautiful I-know-just-what-you-mean smiles that he loved so much.
"There were some nights I used to lie awake in my bed at night and wonder what I would tell William when he cam to me with questions. How would I answer him when he asked me about miracle of his birth, or how he came to be? What would I tell him when he asked of his father and why he couldn't be here with us? I dreaded the day he would come to me for these answers."
He could not restrain a chuckle then, a hidden part of him relieved that although they had been apart for so long he still knew his Dana.
"Why do you laugh?" She asked him, curious
"It's just so like you, Scully, to worry about questions our son wouldn't ask for five or six years down the road."
She laughed then too, a soft tinkling sound that soothed the ragged edges of his nerves.
"So what answers did you come to?" He asked
"That maybe it wasn't just chance, or fate, or God, but a combination of the three. Everyone seems to think that those three things are all separate, but maybe they're not. Maybe each one is just a different road leading to the same destination. At any rate, I think you're right: it doesn't matter how or why we met, just that we did."
She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, a gesture he had come to know and rely on in their years together. He knew this woman, knew her voice and her expressions and mannerisms. You come to know a person in so many ways. Despite their time apart, he still knew her; still loved her. He would always love her.
Chance meeting your perfect other.