BLURRING THE LINES
BY
AllyinthekeyofX
Summery –'I'd agreed with him that the world hadn't ended. So why do I now wish it had?'
Scully needs more than she thinks Mulder is prepared to give.
PROLOGUE
I am angry at him. Not the usual anger I feel when he's ditched me or when he gives me one of those sardonic smiles of his when he is listening to my opinion but not really giving my words the credence I think they deserve or even anger that he has, for whatever reason known only to him, pressed his internal self-destruct button once again. Because after almost seven years together as partners I can justify to myself the anger I occasionally direct toward him when he manages to disregard that partnership and go his own way as though I weren't here. I can justify it, compartmentalise it, analyse it, move on. It's a skill born from years of practise and truthfully, the man is virtually impossible to stay annoyed with for long; one smile, one upturn of that beautiful mouth, one glance at me from beneath impossibly long lashes that frame eyes that I lost myself in years ago and I am able to shrug off his latest thoughtless indiscretion and move on.
But this time I just can't seem to let go of the feelings that bubble dangerously beneath the surface of my carefully constructed and meticulously maintained facade, a lingering sense of annoyance that keeps me from returning his smile, reacting to his playful banter as he tries to reach me from whichever place I've hidden myself in this time. As though he has a right; that he has now claimed a part of me for himself that I have given unwillingly and without thought as to what the consequences might be over this game he seems intent on playing out to the bitter end.
Because whichever way I look at it, to him at least, I am sure it's just a game. A progression in our partnership that keeps me tied to him and within his control, dangling the proverbial carrot in front of me and watching as I follow dutifully along just as I have always followed him. And even though I occasionally assert my own independence, try to persuade myself that I am still a person in my own right rather than one half of a human jigsaw, I know I am kidding myself - because I belong to him. He knows it, I know it; hell, I think half the Bureau knows it and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. So he carries on playing his game and I carry on waiting for him to throw me the next crumb from his table.
Sometimes it makes me hate him. Makes me want to wound him in the way he has been wounding me for years – those gentle touches, lingering glances, teasing smiles that speak to so much more than we have ever allowed ourselves to feel. Actions precipitated by a deep and abiding loyalty to each other that transcends professional boundaries and sometimes leaves me feeling more confused about my feelings towards this man than I ever have about anything in my life.
But it's okay – because the lines have never been crossed before.
There is no doubt in my mind that he loves me. No more than I doubt my own love for him. He is my imperfect other, my protector, the force that grounds me and keeps me from falling in to the darkness that, after all we have seen and experienced, sometimes steals silently upon me and threatens to overwhelm all that I have fought so hard to maintain. He knows me just as I know him. He can turn those fathomless eyes on mine and look deep in to my soul, seeing my hurt, my joy, my confusion, my pain and somehow, someway, he has always managed to make things right. Like a soft blanket that chases away the chill of a dark winter night, Mulder can warm me right to the very depths of my being with a single touch.
So why now, do I feel so cold?
The memory of his lips on mine, so soft, so gentle, feeling his breath tickling my face as he slowly withdrew, his eyes locked on mine, asking me a question I didn't know how to answer, seeking affirmation that this was right; that I wanted it too.
And God knows I thought I did. Because as much as I have tried to deny it to myself, he has been the singular object of my desires for a very long time, he has invaded my dreams with his presence; a manifestation of all I want him to be to me but am too afraid to act upon other than in my subconscious as I awake, gasping out his name as the dampness spreads between my legs, my muscles tense, overwhelming my senses, throbbing to stillness as I try to breathe. And afterwards always a lingering feeling of shame; of wanting; of crushing un-fulfilment as I realise I am, as always, alone. That he isn't here with me. That the physical manifestations of my desire are simply nocturnal echoes of the man who, over time, has enveloped me so completely that I sometimes find myself questioning who I really am; who I want to be. But as hard and as frustrating and as heartbreaking it has been to hide this part of myself from him, I have managed to stick to the rules we have imposed upon ourselves that no matter what, to protect ourselves, to protect each other and to protect the work, we must never allow ourselves to become more vulnerable than we already are. He understood that – closed himself off to me long ago but seemingly unable to fully disengage from the physicality of us – but the touches and the glances and the conversations we have occasionally had with our eyes have all been okay; they have been manageable for both of us, lines sometimes blurred but never crossed.
Until he kissed me; until I allowed him to kiss me - a kiss that to a casual observer would have seemed innocent, chaste even. Just two people caught up in the moment as the world celebrated the start of a new millennium, of hope and dreams to be fulfilled as time began anew with a symbolic wiping of the slate and had he kissed me on the cheek, allowed his lips to graze my skin as he so often had done in the past then it would have been okay.
Because the line wasn't crossed; the boundaries that have existed between us for long would still have been intact.
Now I know I need more from him, an affirmation of all we mean to each other that I know he isn't prepared to give me; that for all the right reasons I know he is justified in not allowing this to go further. That his reasons will enable us to survive.
And even though I had smiled and agreed with him that the world hadn't ended, I now find myself wishing it had.
Continued chapter 1
I
