"I am always sure that you understand
My feelings, always sure that you feel,
Sure that across the gulf, you reach your hand.
You will go on, and when you have prevailed
You can say: at this point many a one has failed.
But what have I, but what have I, my friend,
To give you, what can you receive from me?"
-T.S. Eliot
He sat back, sucking on the end of his pen with the same sort of abandon James Dean would have employed in smoking a cigarette. In his mind, a tiny girl passed by, swinging her lunchbox in a slish-slosh manner-a child he had known so long ago. He almost waved, but gave-up on the gesture when he found she wasn't real. He wondered, maybe, if there had been a time when he could have changed things. That he could have prevented all the harm from touching those he loved, Samantha, Scully, and to a lesser degree, Diana Fowley. He no longer had feelings for Diana, but he still cared what happened to her. Samantha's disappearance and what he'd learned of the truth behind it-their father trying to save her from the alien virus- had struck him hard, but it made sense. All the pieces had fit together. His fists clenched with the inward anger of all the lies and of his own grief.
Then there was Scully, logical, trustworthy, beautiful Scully. She was his partner, his best friend, whom he'd picked over his own flesh and blood, chosen over his own sister. To find the answers behind Samantha's abduction had been the whole reason Agent Mulder had taken on the X-Files. But then, Dana had been diagnosed with cancer. And, when the truth about his sister had finally been made available to him, he'd turned it down in favor of saving Scully. He'd all but abandoned the cause that had for so long driven him, in order to save his partner. He'd sacrificed it all for her, he realized. And, now, he had to come to terms with how much she meant to him.
He removed the pen from his full lips and placed it on the coffee table beside the worn-out remote control. "Without Scully, you're nothing. You would've quit the X-Files long ago had it not been for her." He muttered. And it was true. She held him together when everything else was collapsing around them, she was the foundation in a quest that he had begun alone. He had started as one man with a personal incentive to uncover all the secrets, but now he had someone. For six years, he had had someone, and couldn't imagine going back to fighting alone. He couldn't think of anything worse than that.
And how had she paid for her devotion to him? In so many ways! Duane Barry, the loss of her sister, little Emily-supposedly the child of her own blood, the inoperable cancer, the virus carried in the bee's sting. . .the horrific list went on . Mulder felt like pounding fist-sized holes into the walls out of his angst and self-loathing. He felt responsible for all of this, all these things which should never have happened to anyone, especially Scully, the singularly most important person to him. She'd sacrificed her reputation among the FBI, her attention to official protocol, and her right to have a normal life. All of this in order to help him, to follow him!
Dana Scully was with him, and would continue to be-she had promised that, and he was eternally grateful. She owed him nothing, it had been her choice. He needed to talk to her; he hadn't spoken to her yet that day. It was Saturday morning, and the two hadn't needed to report to the office. Mulder had risen from sleep around eight-thirty, an hour ago. Not that you could really call it sleep. His nights were often haunted by horrible dreams and thoughts that kept him awake. He would dream of his sister and of Dana. And it was always the same, they needed help, they needed him, and he couldn't reach them. Often, he'd come back to consciousness screaming, his arms outstretched to the women he could not save. He made a point not to stay in bed(actually his couch) very long, even on days he could. He didn't want to dream anymore.
Mulder hadn't made any plans for the weekend-nothing unusual. He didn't have a life beyond his work. It wasn't something he regretted. What he desired were answers, not materialistic weekend romps that meant nothing in the end. He had what he needed out of relationships-the closest camaraderie he could ever have wished for, an impenetrable trust. He didn't know if he wanted more than this exquisite friendship, but he couldn't entertain the possibility for something more. No use bringing complication, no need to get his hopes up. She obviously didn't regard him in the same manner, and was happy with the way things were. He shrugged his capable shoulders, not knowing what he would do once he was at her door. He only knew he wanted to go, that he would go mad if he didn't tell her what was on his mind.
He wondered what he would say to her, as he rose and slipped on his jacket. A 'thank-you for saving me from myself' would be awkward and inadequate. What did he say to the person who had completed him? Yes, he felt there was more, but he was afraid to acknowledge it. Such thoughts destroyed the foundations they had rested on. No, Dana didn't desire that from him. And he didn't know what he wanted. So, he grabbed his car keys and headed for her Georgetown apartment.
Something he had read reverberated through his mind as he took a right corner on the busy street. A slight rain was casting silver glints on the traveled roads, reflecting the traffic lights, and making Mulder all the more pensive. His hands gripped the steering wheel with a loose control. He could have driven to Scully's blindfolded. He hoped she wasn't occupied; he wanted her complete attention. The car was speeding , true, but not at a dangerous pace. And the words to the poem haunted him. He'd picked up the book of verse on an afternoon jaunt to the bookstore. The writer was apparently a very young woman, only eighteen. It was evident in the stanzas he perused that she knew of pain and loss. He'd almost wept at her words, the artful lines. He'd bought the work, and spent an entire evening reading each stanza over and over again, languishing in the sad beauty of the language.
Hadn't there been times? Did they both desire it? He could not deny that his feelings were changing. Or, maybe, they had been like this for awhile. He wrung his fingers in anger. For some reason, he felt guilty, as if he were wronging her. "Wasn't it enough to risk her life? Now, you're going to spring this on her?" He tried to close off the emotions, to push them out. For what good could come from this? If anything were to happen to one of them, the loss would be so much harder to bear. No, he wouldn't speak it. He could tell her anything, and he would, but not this.
**She's going to show you so much as to break your heart forever. That's what you'll teach her, tears. Ah, God! She sees Christ in the sunset--oranges, purples and the streaks of crucifixion. You don't offer sanctuary, only a place apart from instinctual contempt. Both need the strength to carve the truth, but no sacrificing little Virgin Mary lost.**
He nearly missed his destination, his thoughts were so consuming. But, he stopped the car at the right place, shut the door, and made his way to Dana Scully's front door. "Here goes. Don't screw it up." He knocked lightly, making two distinct raps.
He thought he heard her scurrying about on the other side of the doorway. Lifting his wrist, he checked his watch-nine am. It was still early for a Saturday. But, he hadn't known Scully to sleep past this hour. Mulder shuffled his feet patiently, looking down at the floor in mock interest. He couldn't help thinking, that each time he came to her door, he might open it and find she was dying or missing. If she didn't respond to his knocking or calling in a matter of seconds, he worried. He'd always been paranoid. And, enough had occurred to justify that belief. Just as he was becoming apprehensive, he heard the latch come undone and watched the door part from its frame.
He saw his partner, his dearest friend, standing a few inches from him, one hand on the doorknob, the other outstretched to usher him inside. "Good morning, Mulder. I must say I'm surprised to see you so early."
"Did I wake you?" He hoped he had not, and was inwardly crossing his fingers that he hadn't.
"No," She shook her head and pushed a few strands of auburn hair behind her left ear. "I've been awake for an hour or so. I couldn't sleep."
"I know exactly what you mean." Did the same thoughts trouble her? The tall, lanky man removed his smooth, leather jacket and smiled at her. She might know what was bothering him. Often, all she had to do was make eye contact to realize what was going through his head.
"Well, that doesn't surprise me. After all, you sleep on the couch." She chuckled lightly, clutching the lapels of her silk, white robe. Her aqua eyes shone, glittering like fine emeralds. It thrilled him to see her laugh. He'd witnessed her go through so much pain, that each moment of her happiness was cherished by the both of them.
He turned to her quite seriously. "I don't think it's my accommodations that make it hard to get a good-night's rest."
The woman's upturned, pink, bow mouth formed a frown of dissatisfaction. "Is something wrong?" She pressed her warm, white palm over his as they took a seat on her relaxing sofa. Immediately, his eyes drifted to the touch. The heartfelt gesture caused him to falter on the inside, as he valiantly tried not to read more into it. It wasn't the first time they'd touched. Not at all. He really couldn't think of a day that he hadn't put his fingers to her skin in some manner. He believed she expected it from him-the kindly hand on the small of her back as they entered a room, the protective hug after some harrowing experience. And, what about the times they'd nearly kissed? He'd held her so close, and caressed the flesh of her cheek, consoled her as she cried. He would pull her to him, so near that he could feel the shadow of her soft lips against his own. But, that was a shadow. Something always prevented the tortured gap from closing. He knew he wanted it, wanted to have her. But, might such a coming together destroy the invaluable relationship they had lived on for so long?
"Mulder?" Her grip tightened lovingly, and his body tensed in reflection.
"Oh," He subtly edged away, concerned he might betray his emotions. "Nothing's the matter, I'm just tired."
"Maybe, you should go back home and try again to get some sleep."
"No," he twisted his head in refusal, still driven mad by the pressure of her fingers. "I'll be fine."
Quizzically, she studied him, confused by the words that did not correspond with his behavior. "There must be something you wanted to tell me, then. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come over."
"There's nothing," He attempted to hide his sadness, but, she always saw him through.
"Are you sure? You know you can trust me. If something's bothering you, I wish you'd tell me." Her light frame edged closer to him, their shoulders brushing.
"I'm sure," He grinned, and rubbed the back of her well-molded hand. This was reassurance, meant to be convincing. "I just thought I'd come by to visit you. And to see how you were feeling." He offered her a sweet expression, showing clean, straight teeth.
"No wild goose chase you want to take me on today?" Scully prodded onwards.
"No, for once, this has nothing to do with the X-Files. The world's not crashing down at the moment, at least, I don't think it is," He stood and crossed in front of her, their gazes meeting. "Is it all right, Scully, if I wanted to see you? No work or chase, just one-on-one. You know, hang-out."
His partner rose and placed her palm to his forehead, feigning concern, "Who are you and what have you done with Agent Mulder?"
"I'm serious." He took her arm, gently lighting his mouth to her fingertips in a quick show of genuine affection. She was surprised, but did not pull away, only peered up at him with the same intensity he was giving her. She was breathing deeply, not sure of what might happen next. He didn't exactly know what to do either. So, he reluctantly released her hand and pivoted on his foot, turning opposite her.
**I met your eyes again, and let you hold them long. It made me remember that you're the reason. . . I've had miles to want you, you've had a quickening pulse to prove me. **
Dana Scully didn't know how to react, only knew that his actions had affected her. She thought to call him 'Fox' as a measure of further friendship, but, then remembered that he would hate that. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound insensitive. I think it's a nice idea. We never really get a chance to speak when it doesn't have something to do with work." The suddenly vulnerable agent was nervous, praying she would not overstep the line. It would be horrible if she misinterpreted his need for companionship as a longing for something more. Of course, it wasn't impossible that he desired a stronger love from her. Certain moments they'd spent together had suggested so. Confounded, she couldn't help but recall them.
--She peered over his hospital bed, watching his dizzy responses. Skinner, Byers, Langly, and short Frohike had stepped to the hallway, with it's sterile tiles and frantic noise. They'd come shortly before Scully to see how her fellow agent was recovering. And, now, she was alone in the room with him, her groggy friend. The red-head wanted to ask him why he'd decided to venture into such an exotic and dangerous place as the famed Bermuda Triangle. She held to the silver bar of the hospital bed, and figured to save the inquisition for when he was feeling better. He was sitting up, leaning against two stacked pillows that didn't appear very comfortable. Mulder was already wanting to leave this place, restless and energetic as he was. His eyes seemed to hold an abyss of wonder, dancing merrily up at her, while she leaned in closer. The doctor in her believed he should relax and enjoy his chance to stay in bed-the sea waters, and whatever else he'd experienced had left him in a perilous state of exhaustion, and ironically, dehydration. The bruises on his face and back had not yet been accounted for.
"Scully," he called after her as she made her way to the door. They'd just said their good-nights, and she was anxious to go home. She'd worn herself out looking for him on the high seas. She swiveled on her heel and met his wistful gaze once more.
"Yes?" The pale beauty folded her arms across her bloused chest and waited for Mulder's musings. "Who knows," she thought, " it might be interesting."
He motioned for her to lean in close. She did, and it seemed he would kiss her cheek. She could feel his breath washing across the flushing skin of her face, and she again grabbed the bed's metal bar, this time more tensely. A few moments passed until he became satisfied that she was near enough.
"I love you."
She was shocked, but did not betray her reaction. Backing away, she rolled her eyes, "Good-night, Mulder." In order to remain in control of her head, she attributed his sweet confession to medication. Perhaps, he was saying it in all seriousness, aware of his words. But, Scully couldn't allow herself that possibility.
Still appearing as a love-struck schoolboy, he answered her with an identical response, watching her pull away in a shrug. He was still grinning hopelessly when she closed the heavy, plated door on her way out, putting his finger to his lips as to recall some pleasant memory that had risen from the waters of the Triangle.--
"Scully, you're not upset by my coming here, are you?"
"No," She shook her head, hair swinging at the frame of her angled chin.
"Good," he sighed in relief that he had not angered her. He realized that his behavior was a little different than normal, but it wasn't as if he was propositioning her or any other obscene action. "You were quiet there, for a minute. I didn't know if I had said something wrong."
"You didn't. I was just thinking, that's all."
He examined her with curiosity, and she noticed. He was trying to discern what was running through her mind.
"It's not important, Mulder. I guess I'm a little scatter-brained in the morning." Her chin fell low, and she scraped her bare feet with their red-painted toenails across the fuzzy carpet. "Can I get you something to drink: coffee, ice tea?" His eyebrows perked at the mention of the tea, as she anticipated they would. It was a pleasant beginning for the suggested day of leisure.
"That tea sounds good. Could be love, after all." Her partner chuckled whimsically, tossing his head back against the couch.
"Or just Lipton." That was one method of easing her nerves.
**Could I have said it then? Who's to know it would have ever been enough? Talking might have ruined us, too cold and inaccurate as my grasp to your figure.**
He regarded her as she filled his glass with a cool drink, stirring in a packet of sugar with a long-stemmed spoon. She gripped the utensil in a pinch using her thumb and first finger. The hold was dignified and demure. It made him think of all the times he'd taken tea while studying at Oxford. She displayed all the grace and sophistication of the well-to-do women he'd observed in England, and still held all the charms of her youth. His lengthy, capable fingers tapped against the arm of the couch. His eyes followed each stirring of her form with an ardent interest, concentrating on the many separate beauties of her.
"Here," Scully replaced herself on the lounge adjacent to her friend, and handed him the ice tea.
"Thanks," He took an extended sip that seemed to rouse him from his earlier drowsy demeanor.
"Does it taste all right?" The uneasy lady motioned to his glass with girlish uncertainty.
"It's good. How are you feeling?"
"Better. I guess if my doctor hadn't thought I was ready to go home, he wouldn't have released me."
Mulder examined the way she sat, wondering if her position was causing her any severe discomfort. Her head was angled back somewhat, and she was leaning forward almost in a hunch. Obviously, she was in some degree of soreness, but was attempting to mask it.
"Ritter's an egotistical moron." He spoke out without introduction, concerned with the spot where the up-and-coming agent had shot her.
"That's putting it kindly." She winced at a sudden jolt of pain, her palm right beneath her left ribs.
"Scully?" His arms shot out to aide her, each hand on opposite sides of her tiny waist.
"I'm okay."
"No, you're-"
"Really, I am." She cloaked his hands with both of hers as they retreated from her body, and focused fervently on his eyes.
"I think I should leave. You probably don't need to entertain company when you're recovering." He stood, back to her. Mulder knew he didn't want to see her suffer anymore than he had to. He'd lived through too much of that already.
"No," Abruptly, she held to his wrist, rising to meet him. "Please, stay. I need to talk to someone...Mulder, I want to talk to you." Although her request was spoken dulcetly, an urgency resounded in his ears.
**This death has not been pushed away, as hoped, merely shoved aside, almost crushing the tension that once lay between our breaths. It will hurt. Promises don't care, because we're anchored in the neap.**
Without a word, he sat down again on the couch. "Don't worry, I won't go." His voice was so tender and reassuring; it made her feel sheltered-a miracle in itself.
"I was scared, Mulder. I was so frightened I would die."
"I know."
"Fellig was taking out his camera, loading it with film, to capture...my death. I know I've come close before, but I hadn't been expecting it those times. He told me I was next, that I was lucky to die. I asked him why. Mulder, he said that nothing important lasts forever."
"You know that's not true."
"I'm not sure anymore. I challenged him with the question of love. Fellig said he'd forgotten his wife's name. It saddened me. He told me nothing lasted longer than seventy-five years. He made me question the two things I hold most dear-love and faith. And I hate that he caused me to do that!"
"Scully, Fellig was a very bitter, insensitive, old man. You can't let what he said beat down your beliefs."
"I saw death. There was this light and the dark-room curtain was being pulled open. It was blinding, the illumination, but I still saw Ritter shoot...still felt the bullet enter my side." Dramatically, she reached for his hand, pressing it on her bandaged wound, her palm enclosing his. Mulder shut his lids for a moment and inhaled wearily, the silk of her pajamas brushing his skin. "My first thought, when he told me I was to die, was to call you. Fellig said to find my peace and prepare myself. You were my way to do that, Mulder. I didn't know what I would have said to you when you answered on the other end. I just knew it was you I had to talk to. I would have said good-bye," Scully hesitated for a few seconds, letting out a heave, allowing tears to fall. She wasn't accustomed to revealing herself like this, but her partner understood. The scattered times that she'd cried in front of him, he'd always been what she needed, comprehending, sympathetic, protecting her.
"I still have you. . .I still have myself."
"I would have told you that you were the best friend I'd ever had. And, that, I was sorry to have held you back. That sometimes, inside I doubted you, it was wrong, when we both knew you were right. I would have said--"
"It doesn't matter now." Her partner twisted his head to assure her, fending off the demons that threatened to consume her hopes.
"Mulder, I just have to know..."
"Yes?"
The distraught woman averted her gaze to the window behind them, blinking away the salty teardrops along with the sun's rays as they crept betwixt the venetian blinds. "What would you have done...had I died?"
The question struck him. They were very close, but never before had she released her vulnerability in such a way. "Scully," His hand, which 'til that time had rested at her side, traveled up to her cheek, thumb moving in a poignant stroke. She followed this touch, dipping her jaw into the cup of his hand. Her sorrow trailed onto the flesh of his arm as he contemplated how to respond. He questioned if he was strong enough to tell her the whole truth.
**Dead speed in tortured heart has passed. My dearest friend, I'm still lost within the darkness of myself. A year, and a night, and a day, and my fires steaming out. Lips to full for nervous intentions. Six winters while my palms ran the course of faithfulness, tracing the outline of your face in the suffocating air between us.**
"I would have killed Ritter. I wouldn't have been able to fight it. I would have murdered him as soon as the opportunity arose. I'm not ashamed to admit it."
"Why? If you did that, what purpose would it serve besides revenge? You'd lose your freedom, your job, perhaps your life."
"Don't you see? If you had died, then I'd have lost everything already." She nuzzled her weep-speckled head in the smooth bone of his neck, eyelids fluttering into his heated skin. His drawn-out pulse in her ear, breath sighing to her skull.
"I didn't want to die, just when meaning was beginning to surface." The movement of her mouth was like the subtle twitter of butterfly's wings against his body. He enclosed her in his embrace, planting his lips to the top of her head, smelling the thick, freshness of her russet hair. He wished to encompass her forever, a never-ending protection. This moment was sacred.
" I wish that I could preserve it all in the palm of my hand. At least, the emotion lingers when the instant is gone." He drew back, while holding her, peering into her desperate countenance.
Before he noticed what was actually taking place, she'd gone limp in his arms, head lolled against his defined shoulder. She was still weeping, but now her state had elevated to a distinct, raking sobbing.
"I'm sorry."
Scully continued to moan, her body quaking to his. "No, it's not you."
"Dana..."
"I'm scared. I can't help it, even with you here. You, who always makes me feel safe! You touch me and I'm alive more so than I ever have been, but I've failed you!"
"How have you failed me? If anyone has failed, it's me hurting you!"
"I try and think of all the things I could have done, all the changes I could have made to help you. My faith that you admire so much, it's been wasted!"
"That's not true. Your faith has kept you alive, kept you grounded."
"But, what has it done for you?" The greatest anguish buried itself in her eyes, searching for hope. "When I should have faith in your beliefs, I depend on my logic. I try to discount you! Mulder, Diana was right, it probably would have helped to have someone on your side."
"I don't care what Diana said! Just because you have your science doesn't mean you're against me. I've told you before that you're the only person I trust, and I meant it. Your logic and reason are as much an asset to our goals, to our investigations, as are my outlandish theories!"
His hands formed to each of her wet, pinked cheeks. "Scully, do you want to know why I rushed over here this morning?"
She offered a faint, weak nod that he should continue.
"I came, because, I feel responsible for all this pain I see in you! I'm the one who could have changed things, who could have warned you in the beginning that it was dangerous." What if I knew the consequences, but didn't tell her?
"Mulder, when we took our jobs, when we were issued our guns and badges, we knew the possibilities of getting hurt. But, we chose this work anyway. There's no reason for you to feel responsible."
"It's gone beyond the occasional wound, what about your cancer, your sister, your child! Christ, they left you to die in the Antarctic! Scully, when regular field agents expect they might get in harm's way, they're not anticipating anything you've experienced. If you weren't my partner, none of this would have happened to you. And, that's why it's my fault! I didn't tell you how it could be."
"At the start, right when they paired us, you didn't even realize what we were up against. How could you have known? Mulder, we're not to blame for all of this!"
**I took it as an invitation, pressed my trembles against the soothing cotton of your shirt. You accepted my urgency, scarcely definable, long withheld and withered to stand.**
"I can't help but feel responsible. Scully, it's been my quest, you didn't have to take it up. You had a choice. You still do..."
"Are you saying you want me to resign. Do you want to split up, Mulder?" Her voice held that quiet, frightening sorrow which she dared not betray. Dana Scully was always strong in emotional situation, doing whatever was required to fend off tears. Her fingers slid to the shining, golden cross nestled at the hollow of her delicate collarbone. Just by touching it, she felt she was praying. "He can't mean that," She stammered inside. The moments it took him to respond seemed the most difficult of her life. Her evergreen eyes stung and pooled, yet, she did not make the release to cry.
"No, I don't want you to resign, I don't want them to split us up, either. But, that doesn't mean I'm not worried. Right now, things are calm, compared to the usual. We don't know what's next, though. "
"What exactly are you getting at?" The stressed woman sighed heavily, relieved that her partner had not desired a separation.
"I need assurance that you're going to be with me the rest of the way, wherever it leads." I don't want to do this without you, Scully. I don't know if I can.
Her gaze was a torrent of emotion, transparent as it was powerful-his request had touched her. "Mulder, as far as I'm concerned, your way is the only one I'm taking." He still held her head between his skillful hands. Their pulses ran together in frenzied rhythms as Fox Mulder edged farther forward, eyes closed a bit, and caught his companion around the neck. Following the flow of caress, Scully lit her arms to his waist, not completely encircling him. After a silent contemplation, he pressed his mouth full on her tear-glistened lips and leant his chest to hers. Heat melded with the velvet taste of the exquisite embrace, the remnants of her weeping. They were both shaking, tremulously seeking the comfort they'd never before shared.
Scully pulled away from the innocent kiss, bewildered but reeling in acknowledged passion. "I don't know if now is the right time for this, Mulder."
"I'm sorry. But-"
Again her fingers rose to the necklace, this time, she unfastened its fragile, minute clasp. It slipped from her throat and rested itself in her careful hold. "When we know the way, once everything's okay..." She paused mid-sentence; there was little need in continuing. He understood what she was alluding to when the thin, gilded cross lay in his palm. Her fingers locked his own over the symbolic item, "Here. This is yours, now. Put it back around my neck when all we have left to do is find each other, when the questions turn into answers."
**We stumble through solitude, as children awake to escape dreaming of what has already been realized, plunging into one another's screaming mind. How slowly we're giving ground, not ebbing as is with the draining of new morning. I'll no longer apologize for wanting you close.**
My feelings, always sure that you feel,
Sure that across the gulf, you reach your hand.
You will go on, and when you have prevailed
You can say: at this point many a one has failed.
But what have I, but what have I, my friend,
To give you, what can you receive from me?"
-T.S. Eliot
He sat back, sucking on the end of his pen with the same sort of abandon James Dean would have employed in smoking a cigarette. In his mind, a tiny girl passed by, swinging her lunchbox in a slish-slosh manner-a child he had known so long ago. He almost waved, but gave-up on the gesture when he found she wasn't real. He wondered, maybe, if there had been a time when he could have changed things. That he could have prevented all the harm from touching those he loved, Samantha, Scully, and to a lesser degree, Diana Fowley. He no longer had feelings for Diana, but he still cared what happened to her. Samantha's disappearance and what he'd learned of the truth behind it-their father trying to save her from the alien virus- had struck him hard, but it made sense. All the pieces had fit together. His fists clenched with the inward anger of all the lies and of his own grief.
Then there was Scully, logical, trustworthy, beautiful Scully. She was his partner, his best friend, whom he'd picked over his own flesh and blood, chosen over his own sister. To find the answers behind Samantha's abduction had been the whole reason Agent Mulder had taken on the X-Files. But then, Dana had been diagnosed with cancer. And, when the truth about his sister had finally been made available to him, he'd turned it down in favor of saving Scully. He'd all but abandoned the cause that had for so long driven him, in order to save his partner. He'd sacrificed it all for her, he realized. And, now, he had to come to terms with how much she meant to him.
He removed the pen from his full lips and placed it on the coffee table beside the worn-out remote control. "Without Scully, you're nothing. You would've quit the X-Files long ago had it not been for her." He muttered. And it was true. She held him together when everything else was collapsing around them, she was the foundation in a quest that he had begun alone. He had started as one man with a personal incentive to uncover all the secrets, but now he had someone. For six years, he had had someone, and couldn't imagine going back to fighting alone. He couldn't think of anything worse than that.
And how had she paid for her devotion to him? In so many ways! Duane Barry, the loss of her sister, little Emily-supposedly the child of her own blood, the inoperable cancer, the virus carried in the bee's sting. . .the horrific list went on . Mulder felt like pounding fist-sized holes into the walls out of his angst and self-loathing. He felt responsible for all of this, all these things which should never have happened to anyone, especially Scully, the singularly most important person to him. She'd sacrificed her reputation among the FBI, her attention to official protocol, and her right to have a normal life. All of this in order to help him, to follow him!
Dana Scully was with him, and would continue to be-she had promised that, and he was eternally grateful. She owed him nothing, it had been her choice. He needed to talk to her; he hadn't spoken to her yet that day. It was Saturday morning, and the two hadn't needed to report to the office. Mulder had risen from sleep around eight-thirty, an hour ago. Not that you could really call it sleep. His nights were often haunted by horrible dreams and thoughts that kept him awake. He would dream of his sister and of Dana. And it was always the same, they needed help, they needed him, and he couldn't reach them. Often, he'd come back to consciousness screaming, his arms outstretched to the women he could not save. He made a point not to stay in bed(actually his couch) very long, even on days he could. He didn't want to dream anymore.
Mulder hadn't made any plans for the weekend-nothing unusual. He didn't have a life beyond his work. It wasn't something he regretted. What he desired were answers, not materialistic weekend romps that meant nothing in the end. He had what he needed out of relationships-the closest camaraderie he could ever have wished for, an impenetrable trust. He didn't know if he wanted more than this exquisite friendship, but he couldn't entertain the possibility for something more. No use bringing complication, no need to get his hopes up. She obviously didn't regard him in the same manner, and was happy with the way things were. He shrugged his capable shoulders, not knowing what he would do once he was at her door. He only knew he wanted to go, that he would go mad if he didn't tell her what was on his mind.
He wondered what he would say to her, as he rose and slipped on his jacket. A 'thank-you for saving me from myself' would be awkward and inadequate. What did he say to the person who had completed him? Yes, he felt there was more, but he was afraid to acknowledge it. Such thoughts destroyed the foundations they had rested on. No, Dana didn't desire that from him. And he didn't know what he wanted. So, he grabbed his car keys and headed for her Georgetown apartment.
Something he had read reverberated through his mind as he took a right corner on the busy street. A slight rain was casting silver glints on the traveled roads, reflecting the traffic lights, and making Mulder all the more pensive. His hands gripped the steering wheel with a loose control. He could have driven to Scully's blindfolded. He hoped she wasn't occupied; he wanted her complete attention. The car was speeding , true, but not at a dangerous pace. And the words to the poem haunted him. He'd picked up the book of verse on an afternoon jaunt to the bookstore. The writer was apparently a very young woman, only eighteen. It was evident in the stanzas he perused that she knew of pain and loss. He'd almost wept at her words, the artful lines. He'd bought the work, and spent an entire evening reading each stanza over and over again, languishing in the sad beauty of the language.
Hadn't there been times? Did they both desire it? He could not deny that his feelings were changing. Or, maybe, they had been like this for awhile. He wrung his fingers in anger. For some reason, he felt guilty, as if he were wronging her. "Wasn't it enough to risk her life? Now, you're going to spring this on her?" He tried to close off the emotions, to push them out. For what good could come from this? If anything were to happen to one of them, the loss would be so much harder to bear. No, he wouldn't speak it. He could tell her anything, and he would, but not this.
**She's going to show you so much as to break your heart forever. That's what you'll teach her, tears. Ah, God! She sees Christ in the sunset--oranges, purples and the streaks of crucifixion. You don't offer sanctuary, only a place apart from instinctual contempt. Both need the strength to carve the truth, but no sacrificing little Virgin Mary lost.**
He nearly missed his destination, his thoughts were so consuming. But, he stopped the car at the right place, shut the door, and made his way to Dana Scully's front door. "Here goes. Don't screw it up." He knocked lightly, making two distinct raps.
He thought he heard her scurrying about on the other side of the doorway. Lifting his wrist, he checked his watch-nine am. It was still early for a Saturday. But, he hadn't known Scully to sleep past this hour. Mulder shuffled his feet patiently, looking down at the floor in mock interest. He couldn't help thinking, that each time he came to her door, he might open it and find she was dying or missing. If she didn't respond to his knocking or calling in a matter of seconds, he worried. He'd always been paranoid. And, enough had occurred to justify that belief. Just as he was becoming apprehensive, he heard the latch come undone and watched the door part from its frame.
He saw his partner, his dearest friend, standing a few inches from him, one hand on the doorknob, the other outstretched to usher him inside. "Good morning, Mulder. I must say I'm surprised to see you so early."
"Did I wake you?" He hoped he had not, and was inwardly crossing his fingers that he hadn't.
"No," She shook her head and pushed a few strands of auburn hair behind her left ear. "I've been awake for an hour or so. I couldn't sleep."
"I know exactly what you mean." Did the same thoughts trouble her? The tall, lanky man removed his smooth, leather jacket and smiled at her. She might know what was bothering him. Often, all she had to do was make eye contact to realize what was going through his head.
"Well, that doesn't surprise me. After all, you sleep on the couch." She chuckled lightly, clutching the lapels of her silk, white robe. Her aqua eyes shone, glittering like fine emeralds. It thrilled him to see her laugh. He'd witnessed her go through so much pain, that each moment of her happiness was cherished by the both of them.
He turned to her quite seriously. "I don't think it's my accommodations that make it hard to get a good-night's rest."
The woman's upturned, pink, bow mouth formed a frown of dissatisfaction. "Is something wrong?" She pressed her warm, white palm over his as they took a seat on her relaxing sofa. Immediately, his eyes drifted to the touch. The heartfelt gesture caused him to falter on the inside, as he valiantly tried not to read more into it. It wasn't the first time they'd touched. Not at all. He really couldn't think of a day that he hadn't put his fingers to her skin in some manner. He believed she expected it from him-the kindly hand on the small of her back as they entered a room, the protective hug after some harrowing experience. And, what about the times they'd nearly kissed? He'd held her so close, and caressed the flesh of her cheek, consoled her as she cried. He would pull her to him, so near that he could feel the shadow of her soft lips against his own. But, that was a shadow. Something always prevented the tortured gap from closing. He knew he wanted it, wanted to have her. But, might such a coming together destroy the invaluable relationship they had lived on for so long?
"Mulder?" Her grip tightened lovingly, and his body tensed in reflection.
"Oh," He subtly edged away, concerned he might betray his emotions. "Nothing's the matter, I'm just tired."
"Maybe, you should go back home and try again to get some sleep."
"No," he twisted his head in refusal, still driven mad by the pressure of her fingers. "I'll be fine."
Quizzically, she studied him, confused by the words that did not correspond with his behavior. "There must be something you wanted to tell me, then. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come over."
"There's nothing," He attempted to hide his sadness, but, she always saw him through.
"Are you sure? You know you can trust me. If something's bothering you, I wish you'd tell me." Her light frame edged closer to him, their shoulders brushing.
"I'm sure," He grinned, and rubbed the back of her well-molded hand. This was reassurance, meant to be convincing. "I just thought I'd come by to visit you. And to see how you were feeling." He offered her a sweet expression, showing clean, straight teeth.
"No wild goose chase you want to take me on today?" Scully prodded onwards.
"No, for once, this has nothing to do with the X-Files. The world's not crashing down at the moment, at least, I don't think it is," He stood and crossed in front of her, their gazes meeting. "Is it all right, Scully, if I wanted to see you? No work or chase, just one-on-one. You know, hang-out."
His partner rose and placed her palm to his forehead, feigning concern, "Who are you and what have you done with Agent Mulder?"
"I'm serious." He took her arm, gently lighting his mouth to her fingertips in a quick show of genuine affection. She was surprised, but did not pull away, only peered up at him with the same intensity he was giving her. She was breathing deeply, not sure of what might happen next. He didn't exactly know what to do either. So, he reluctantly released her hand and pivoted on his foot, turning opposite her.
**I met your eyes again, and let you hold them long. It made me remember that you're the reason. . . I've had miles to want you, you've had a quickening pulse to prove me. **
Dana Scully didn't know how to react, only knew that his actions had affected her. She thought to call him 'Fox' as a measure of further friendship, but, then remembered that he would hate that. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound insensitive. I think it's a nice idea. We never really get a chance to speak when it doesn't have something to do with work." The suddenly vulnerable agent was nervous, praying she would not overstep the line. It would be horrible if she misinterpreted his need for companionship as a longing for something more. Of course, it wasn't impossible that he desired a stronger love from her. Certain moments they'd spent together had suggested so. Confounded, she couldn't help but recall them.
--She peered over his hospital bed, watching his dizzy responses. Skinner, Byers, Langly, and short Frohike had stepped to the hallway, with it's sterile tiles and frantic noise. They'd come shortly before Scully to see how her fellow agent was recovering. And, now, she was alone in the room with him, her groggy friend. The red-head wanted to ask him why he'd decided to venture into such an exotic and dangerous place as the famed Bermuda Triangle. She held to the silver bar of the hospital bed, and figured to save the inquisition for when he was feeling better. He was sitting up, leaning against two stacked pillows that didn't appear very comfortable. Mulder was already wanting to leave this place, restless and energetic as he was. His eyes seemed to hold an abyss of wonder, dancing merrily up at her, while she leaned in closer. The doctor in her believed he should relax and enjoy his chance to stay in bed-the sea waters, and whatever else he'd experienced had left him in a perilous state of exhaustion, and ironically, dehydration. The bruises on his face and back had not yet been accounted for.
"Scully," he called after her as she made her way to the door. They'd just said their good-nights, and she was anxious to go home. She'd worn herself out looking for him on the high seas. She swiveled on her heel and met his wistful gaze once more.
"Yes?" The pale beauty folded her arms across her bloused chest and waited for Mulder's musings. "Who knows," she thought, " it might be interesting."
He motioned for her to lean in close. She did, and it seemed he would kiss her cheek. She could feel his breath washing across the flushing skin of her face, and she again grabbed the bed's metal bar, this time more tensely. A few moments passed until he became satisfied that she was near enough.
"I love you."
She was shocked, but did not betray her reaction. Backing away, she rolled her eyes, "Good-night, Mulder." In order to remain in control of her head, she attributed his sweet confession to medication. Perhaps, he was saying it in all seriousness, aware of his words. But, Scully couldn't allow herself that possibility.
Still appearing as a love-struck schoolboy, he answered her with an identical response, watching her pull away in a shrug. He was still grinning hopelessly when she closed the heavy, plated door on her way out, putting his finger to his lips as to recall some pleasant memory that had risen from the waters of the Triangle.--
"Scully, you're not upset by my coming here, are you?"
"No," She shook her head, hair swinging at the frame of her angled chin.
"Good," he sighed in relief that he had not angered her. He realized that his behavior was a little different than normal, but it wasn't as if he was propositioning her or any other obscene action. "You were quiet there, for a minute. I didn't know if I had said something wrong."
"You didn't. I was just thinking, that's all."
He examined her with curiosity, and she noticed. He was trying to discern what was running through her mind.
"It's not important, Mulder. I guess I'm a little scatter-brained in the morning." Her chin fell low, and she scraped her bare feet with their red-painted toenails across the fuzzy carpet. "Can I get you something to drink: coffee, ice tea?" His eyebrows perked at the mention of the tea, as she anticipated they would. It was a pleasant beginning for the suggested day of leisure.
"That tea sounds good. Could be love, after all." Her partner chuckled whimsically, tossing his head back against the couch.
"Or just Lipton." That was one method of easing her nerves.
**Could I have said it then? Who's to know it would have ever been enough? Talking might have ruined us, too cold and inaccurate as my grasp to your figure.**
He regarded her as she filled his glass with a cool drink, stirring in a packet of sugar with a long-stemmed spoon. She gripped the utensil in a pinch using her thumb and first finger. The hold was dignified and demure. It made him think of all the times he'd taken tea while studying at Oxford. She displayed all the grace and sophistication of the well-to-do women he'd observed in England, and still held all the charms of her youth. His lengthy, capable fingers tapped against the arm of the couch. His eyes followed each stirring of her form with an ardent interest, concentrating on the many separate beauties of her.
"Here," Scully replaced herself on the lounge adjacent to her friend, and handed him the ice tea.
"Thanks," He took an extended sip that seemed to rouse him from his earlier drowsy demeanor.
"Does it taste all right?" The uneasy lady motioned to his glass with girlish uncertainty.
"It's good. How are you feeling?"
"Better. I guess if my doctor hadn't thought I was ready to go home, he wouldn't have released me."
Mulder examined the way she sat, wondering if her position was causing her any severe discomfort. Her head was angled back somewhat, and she was leaning forward almost in a hunch. Obviously, she was in some degree of soreness, but was attempting to mask it.
"Ritter's an egotistical moron." He spoke out without introduction, concerned with the spot where the up-and-coming agent had shot her.
"That's putting it kindly." She winced at a sudden jolt of pain, her palm right beneath her left ribs.
"Scully?" His arms shot out to aide her, each hand on opposite sides of her tiny waist.
"I'm okay."
"No, you're-"
"Really, I am." She cloaked his hands with both of hers as they retreated from her body, and focused fervently on his eyes.
"I think I should leave. You probably don't need to entertain company when you're recovering." He stood, back to her. Mulder knew he didn't want to see her suffer anymore than he had to. He'd lived through too much of that already.
"No," Abruptly, she held to his wrist, rising to meet him. "Please, stay. I need to talk to someone...Mulder, I want to talk to you." Although her request was spoken dulcetly, an urgency resounded in his ears.
**This death has not been pushed away, as hoped, merely shoved aside, almost crushing the tension that once lay between our breaths. It will hurt. Promises don't care, because we're anchored in the neap.**
Without a word, he sat down again on the couch. "Don't worry, I won't go." His voice was so tender and reassuring; it made her feel sheltered-a miracle in itself.
"I was scared, Mulder. I was so frightened I would die."
"I know."
"Fellig was taking out his camera, loading it with film, to capture...my death. I know I've come close before, but I hadn't been expecting it those times. He told me I was next, that I was lucky to die. I asked him why. Mulder, he said that nothing important lasts forever."
"You know that's not true."
"I'm not sure anymore. I challenged him with the question of love. Fellig said he'd forgotten his wife's name. It saddened me. He told me nothing lasted longer than seventy-five years. He made me question the two things I hold most dear-love and faith. And I hate that he caused me to do that!"
"Scully, Fellig was a very bitter, insensitive, old man. You can't let what he said beat down your beliefs."
"I saw death. There was this light and the dark-room curtain was being pulled open. It was blinding, the illumination, but I still saw Ritter shoot...still felt the bullet enter my side." Dramatically, she reached for his hand, pressing it on her bandaged wound, her palm enclosing his. Mulder shut his lids for a moment and inhaled wearily, the silk of her pajamas brushing his skin. "My first thought, when he told me I was to die, was to call you. Fellig said to find my peace and prepare myself. You were my way to do that, Mulder. I didn't know what I would have said to you when you answered on the other end. I just knew it was you I had to talk to. I would have said good-bye," Scully hesitated for a few seconds, letting out a heave, allowing tears to fall. She wasn't accustomed to revealing herself like this, but her partner understood. The scattered times that she'd cried in front of him, he'd always been what she needed, comprehending, sympathetic, protecting her.
"I still have you. . .I still have myself."
"I would have told you that you were the best friend I'd ever had. And, that, I was sorry to have held you back. That sometimes, inside I doubted you, it was wrong, when we both knew you were right. I would have said--"
"It doesn't matter now." Her partner twisted his head to assure her, fending off the demons that threatened to consume her hopes.
"Mulder, I just have to know..."
"Yes?"
The distraught woman averted her gaze to the window behind them, blinking away the salty teardrops along with the sun's rays as they crept betwixt the venetian blinds. "What would you have done...had I died?"
The question struck him. They were very close, but never before had she released her vulnerability in such a way. "Scully," His hand, which 'til that time had rested at her side, traveled up to her cheek, thumb moving in a poignant stroke. She followed this touch, dipping her jaw into the cup of his hand. Her sorrow trailed onto the flesh of his arm as he contemplated how to respond. He questioned if he was strong enough to tell her the whole truth.
**Dead speed in tortured heart has passed. My dearest friend, I'm still lost within the darkness of myself. A year, and a night, and a day, and my fires steaming out. Lips to full for nervous intentions. Six winters while my palms ran the course of faithfulness, tracing the outline of your face in the suffocating air between us.**
"I would have killed Ritter. I wouldn't have been able to fight it. I would have murdered him as soon as the opportunity arose. I'm not ashamed to admit it."
"Why? If you did that, what purpose would it serve besides revenge? You'd lose your freedom, your job, perhaps your life."
"Don't you see? If you had died, then I'd have lost everything already." She nuzzled her weep-speckled head in the smooth bone of his neck, eyelids fluttering into his heated skin. His drawn-out pulse in her ear, breath sighing to her skull.
"I didn't want to die, just when meaning was beginning to surface." The movement of her mouth was like the subtle twitter of butterfly's wings against his body. He enclosed her in his embrace, planting his lips to the top of her head, smelling the thick, freshness of her russet hair. He wished to encompass her forever, a never-ending protection. This moment was sacred.
" I wish that I could preserve it all in the palm of my hand. At least, the emotion lingers when the instant is gone." He drew back, while holding her, peering into her desperate countenance.
Before he noticed what was actually taking place, she'd gone limp in his arms, head lolled against his defined shoulder. She was still weeping, but now her state had elevated to a distinct, raking sobbing.
"I'm sorry."
Scully continued to moan, her body quaking to his. "No, it's not you."
"Dana..."
"I'm scared. I can't help it, even with you here. You, who always makes me feel safe! You touch me and I'm alive more so than I ever have been, but I've failed you!"
"How have you failed me? If anyone has failed, it's me hurting you!"
"I try and think of all the things I could have done, all the changes I could have made to help you. My faith that you admire so much, it's been wasted!"
"That's not true. Your faith has kept you alive, kept you grounded."
"But, what has it done for you?" The greatest anguish buried itself in her eyes, searching for hope. "When I should have faith in your beliefs, I depend on my logic. I try to discount you! Mulder, Diana was right, it probably would have helped to have someone on your side."
"I don't care what Diana said! Just because you have your science doesn't mean you're against me. I've told you before that you're the only person I trust, and I meant it. Your logic and reason are as much an asset to our goals, to our investigations, as are my outlandish theories!"
His hands formed to each of her wet, pinked cheeks. "Scully, do you want to know why I rushed over here this morning?"
She offered a faint, weak nod that he should continue.
"I came, because, I feel responsible for all this pain I see in you! I'm the one who could have changed things, who could have warned you in the beginning that it was dangerous." What if I knew the consequences, but didn't tell her?
"Mulder, when we took our jobs, when we were issued our guns and badges, we knew the possibilities of getting hurt. But, we chose this work anyway. There's no reason for you to feel responsible."
"It's gone beyond the occasional wound, what about your cancer, your sister, your child! Christ, they left you to die in the Antarctic! Scully, when regular field agents expect they might get in harm's way, they're not anticipating anything you've experienced. If you weren't my partner, none of this would have happened to you. And, that's why it's my fault! I didn't tell you how it could be."
"At the start, right when they paired us, you didn't even realize what we were up against. How could you have known? Mulder, we're not to blame for all of this!"
**I took it as an invitation, pressed my trembles against the soothing cotton of your shirt. You accepted my urgency, scarcely definable, long withheld and withered to stand.**
"I can't help but feel responsible. Scully, it's been my quest, you didn't have to take it up. You had a choice. You still do..."
"Are you saying you want me to resign. Do you want to split up, Mulder?" Her voice held that quiet, frightening sorrow which she dared not betray. Dana Scully was always strong in emotional situation, doing whatever was required to fend off tears. Her fingers slid to the shining, golden cross nestled at the hollow of her delicate collarbone. Just by touching it, she felt she was praying. "He can't mean that," She stammered inside. The moments it took him to respond seemed the most difficult of her life. Her evergreen eyes stung and pooled, yet, she did not make the release to cry.
"No, I don't want you to resign, I don't want them to split us up, either. But, that doesn't mean I'm not worried. Right now, things are calm, compared to the usual. We don't know what's next, though. "
"What exactly are you getting at?" The stressed woman sighed heavily, relieved that her partner had not desired a separation.
"I need assurance that you're going to be with me the rest of the way, wherever it leads." I don't want to do this without you, Scully. I don't know if I can.
Her gaze was a torrent of emotion, transparent as it was powerful-his request had touched her. "Mulder, as far as I'm concerned, your way is the only one I'm taking." He still held her head between his skillful hands. Their pulses ran together in frenzied rhythms as Fox Mulder edged farther forward, eyes closed a bit, and caught his companion around the neck. Following the flow of caress, Scully lit her arms to his waist, not completely encircling him. After a silent contemplation, he pressed his mouth full on her tear-glistened lips and leant his chest to hers. Heat melded with the velvet taste of the exquisite embrace, the remnants of her weeping. They were both shaking, tremulously seeking the comfort they'd never before shared.
Scully pulled away from the innocent kiss, bewildered but reeling in acknowledged passion. "I don't know if now is the right time for this, Mulder."
"I'm sorry. But-"
Again her fingers rose to the necklace, this time, she unfastened its fragile, minute clasp. It slipped from her throat and rested itself in her careful hold. "When we know the way, once everything's okay..." She paused mid-sentence; there was little need in continuing. He understood what she was alluding to when the thin, gilded cross lay in his palm. Her fingers locked his own over the symbolic item, "Here. This is yours, now. Put it back around my neck when all we have left to do is find each other, when the questions turn into answers."
**We stumble through solitude, as children awake to escape dreaming of what has already been realized, plunging into one another's screaming mind. How slowly we're giving ground, not ebbing as is with the draining of new morning. I'll no longer apologize for wanting you close.**