Comments, complaints and just plain talk to sheryl_martin@tvo.org
Summary: In light of recent events; Scully evaluates her relationship with Mulder...Rating: G, V...Spoilers: Small Potatoes, Memento Mori... but nothing surprising...
Chasing Dreams (1/1)by Sheryl Martin
Dana Scully looked at the body slumped beside her in the small booth; the tongue lolling out one side of the closed mouth and the eyes rolled back up until the whites were only showing. Picking up her glass, she looked at the bartender who was staring at her with a curious glance.
"Steve, bring over the entire bottle of Southern Comfort. I think she needs it."
Strutting over to the table, the beefy man put the bottle down on the table; filling the glass in front of the unmoving body.
"She was here for her birthday recently." He smiled. "I can't wait to see how she explains away that bill to the Ambassador."
Scully smiled, then pushed the half-full glass towards the woman. "Shut up and drink."
Opening one eye slowly, Jackie St. George chuckled. "Well, what did you want me to do? After you tell me that you nearly kissed Mulder..."
"It wasn't Mulder."
"You thought it was Mulder." Taking a mouthful of the amber liquid, the Canadian sighed as it slipped down her throat. "Got too much blood in my alcoholstream."
"It wasn't Mulder." The petite redhead repeated.
Holding up a hand, her friend smiled. "Okay, okay. But you THOUGHT it was Mulder, right?"
"Well..."
"You thought it was him."
"..."
"And you weren't drunk or anything..." The end of the sentence curved up in a question. Scully shook her head angrily, running her finger along the edge of her own drink.
"We shared a single bottle of wine. My father would have laughed himself silly if a Scully got drunk on that much."
"Right." St. George smiled triumphantly. "So you have to admit that you did feel something for this guy - who you thought was Mulder. So you feel something for Mulder."
Rubbing her forehead, the agent sighed. "Jackie, I've gone over this enough times in my mind. Right now I can't..."
"Can't what?"
"I can't think about this. I can't deal with this." Taking a sip, Scully closed her eyes. "I'm dying..."
"I don't want to hear that." St. George's teeth ground together as the words grated out into the room.
"That won't change it. I'm dying, and unless someone comes up with a miracle I won't be alive long enough to do anything, much less pursue a romance with anyone..."
"Least of all Mulder."
"I didn't say that." She held up a warning finger as the Canadian's face lit up. "And I didn't say that I would if I wanted to. But right now I can't think about this."
"Then when?" Slamming the glass down on the table, St. George sighed. "Dana, you can't live your life like every day's going to be your last."
"Why not?" The fire flashed in the redhead's eyes. "You don't know what it's like; to be always thinking of what might happen tomorrow - how every pain, every ache in my body scares the hell out of me because I think that it might be another nosebleed leading to being in that hospital bed; that when I go in I'll never come back out and that there's no cure. That my mother will have to bury another child before her time; and that my brother's children won't have an aunt; my future counted in months and weeks instead of years..." She stopped, catching her breath.
St. George took a sip of her drink, watching her gulp for air.
Putting a hand to her forehead, Scully steadied herself. Closing her eyes, she took deep slow breaths and sat still.
"No."
She opened her eyes to see the woman staring at her with steely blue eyes.
"No what?"
"No, you're not going to do this to yourself. Or the rest of us." Tossing the words out calmly, Jackie reached for the bottle; refilling her own glass to the top. Then she reached down between them, swiftly snapping Scully's pistol from the holster and laying it on the table between then. "I'll clean up the mess."
The redhead stared at the weapon blankly.
"Hell, save yourself the trouble if you want to die. Blow your head off here and save us all the trouble of your wailing and crying." St. George pushed the pistol closer to her friend. "Because if this is the attitude you want to take; that you want to put your entire life on hold... well, you might as well finish physically what you're doing to yourself mentally."
Grabbing the pistol, Scully shoved it back in the holster at her hip; ignoring the stares from the bartenders. "I didn't mean it that way. And you know it."
"I know that you're cutting yourself off from all this because you don't know what to do." Waving a hand around the booth, St. George sighed. "You could die tomorrow; hit by a car on the way to work. Or I could have some zealot blow up my Embassy because they don't like the way I fly the flag. Or Mulder could get shot trying to sneak those videos back into the store without paying." The last drew a smile reluctantly onto Scully's face. "But none of us wander around with the idea of making every day our last; and certainly not putting our lives on permanent hold because of what could be."
"I will die." The words came out in a low whisper.
"Hell, so will I!" St. George erupted. "And so will Skinner and Steve and Mulder and your mother and the rest of the known world..." She paused. "Except for that guy on Baywatch. I'm convinced he's the Anti-Christ. But that's not the point." She wagged a finger. "And if you don't want to put your life on hold, then go do the things you want to do."
"Like go to Disneyworld?" Scully felt the smile growing despite herself.
"Well, I've heard things about Mickey that I can't tell you... but that's between the Mouse and the Mounties..." She grinned. "But if you don't take a chance and go for it now; then when?"
"I'm not attracted to Mulder."
"Who mentioned Mulder?"
"You did."
"When?"
"When I told you that I almost kissed him."
"So you admit that you're attracted to him?"
"I didn't say that..."
"You didn't not say that, Dana..."
Rubbing the thick beer glass with a cloth, Steve the bartender watched the animated conversation kick into high gear; the two women breaking into laughter every few minutes. Reaching under the bar, he picked up the small note pad that he kept the emergency numbers in. Flipping through the pages, he stopped; reading aloud.
"Scully - Call Mulder. St. George - Call Nantus. Scully and St. George - call Skinner, Mulder, Nantus... RCMP and Marines on standby."
Letting out a soft whistle, he resumed cleaning the glass.
It was going to be a long night.
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