THIS chapter is now
done!!!!
Author's Note: Some
people have commented on the fact that I refer to Mulder as he & I, and I
promise it starts to make some real sense here. And as for how Mulder has
changed, that's coming too, I'm just building… THANX!! Bye!
I See You
Part V
"Where is he,
Scully?"
"What are you doing
here, sir? I thought we—"
"Agent Doggett told
me that he wasn't really up for travel. He suggested that he might be… more
comfortable if I came here to talk to him."
"He's upstairs. Let
me—"
"Good morn-
afternoon, sir."
Surprised, the two
of you look up at me as I move down the stairs. He looks nervous, more so than
Doggett. You are watching me, regretfully, a small worried frown resting
distinctly on your soft pale features. But you revealed your secret in the hand
that leads him to the couch. Nothing's going to happen as long as he's here. You don't wait for him to sit,
collapsing heavily onto the couch with a deep, breath sigh.
Here, there is
control: in the carefully cleaned furnishings, in the light blues and creams,
in Skinner's stiff, professional posture, in his intentions, in the absence of
privacy and warmth and quiet tears. You
are comfortable. It is still and you already know what Skinner will ask. You
know his answers, but do you know mine? Skinner sits in the
armchair that is aligned perpendicular to the couch.
I sit next to you,
very close, so he cannot. You mistake my choice for a desire for
comfort, and reach out to hold me in your arms. Gladly I accept. The warmth and
light radiates from you. From your skin. Your body. Your clothes. Your eyes.
Your scent. I know he and Skinner are watching, but I still lean into your
embrace, feeling the give of your flesh and the pressure of you bones, grateful
for you presence. Inhaling your scent, memorizing the textures that are only
visible at this close range, enjoying the shapes and curves that are normally
out of my reach.
"How are you feeling
Agent Mulder?"
"Good, considering…"
"Yes, I see… I take
it Agent Scully is taking good care of you."
"Of course."
"You two may remain
here until you've healed sufficiently to be independent."
This is Skinner's
house, but still he shifts nervously. He is sitting next to him, wanting
to squeeze between us, to feel the give of your flesh, the pressure of you
bones, the heat from you soul. But he must remain, quietly waiting on the arm
of Skinner's chair. He is eyeing you possessively, wondering why you would
believe me. How you would believe me. He knew you would. You had trusted him,
Fox Mulder, unquestioningly. You would trust me, Fox Mulder, unquestioningly.
You ignore any doubts because you don't want them.
You want to believe.
You've imagined my return for so long, it was only natural
the event had seemed suspect, seemed unreal, too good to be true. He is pleading to you with his eye, willing
you to see him.
But you can't see
him until you stop seeing me.
"Agent Mulder, I
know you told me you don't remember much, but…"
"The last thing I
remember is setting up the equipment. I sensed something, and moved towards it.
Away from you…"
You wait a moment,
expecting I need to collect my emotions,
as I remind him to be quiet with my eyes.
"Suddenly, there was
a bright light… There were people. All the people who had been taken… It was
bright, bright hot white blue. I looked upward and…"
"What is it,
Mulder?"
"Then I blinked.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in that coffin and I hurt like hell."
He and I close our
eyes, flashing back to the light that snapped to airtight darkness. You hand rubs
warm circles on my back, subtly, as
Skinner nods solemnly.
You gaze turns to
Skinner for a moment, and you breath a weary sigh. There is something odd about
Skinner's chair and it's bothering you. It's a heavy, over-stuffed, blue
armchair, upholstered in something smooth and semi-silky. The fabric is tight
and the low backed chair is round, made of circles and over-rounded rectangles.
Slowly, your arms drop away from me and I turn to watch your gaze.
One arm, however, is
slightly depressed. Along the smooth, convex curves, there is a sudden concave
impression. You blink, and for a moment, you can see him flicker in and out of
your vision.
A tiny gasp reveals
your discovery, and Skinner turns to stare at your shocked expression.
Blinking again, you almost
expect him to appear there;
But you don't want
to believe.
"What is it, Agent
Scully?"
Skinner follows your
gaze to find nothing but the arm of his chair. Worriedly he glances around,
looking at me questioningly.
"Agent Scully? Are
you alright?"
Sitting up, I snake
an arm around your waste and reach a hand up to turn your face to mine. Your
pupils are dilated and your shocked eyes have darkened to a dusky purple, and
you flush slightly with embarrassment.
"Nothing, I'm fine,
sir."
"Are you sure?"
"I just kind of
drifted off for a moment."
He has risen from the arm of Skinner's chair
and tries to caress your soft hair. It moves slightly, as though caught in a
minute draft. Disappointed in your reaction, he stalks from the room, head lowered.
Skinner shift
restlessly again in his chair, and you glance towards me, eyes now white and
wide, overly dried and studded blue,
pity drawing a slight, nearly imperceptible furrow from your brow. The wry grin
on your thin lips is weak at best as you trace your vision heavily along the
scars marring my face. Your arms
tighten around me, and your head drops to rest your cheek against my chest. I
allow the sigh to escape, and then
inhale your warmth and smell, feeling the heat of your ones pressing against my
flesh.
You inhale deeply,
quivering slightly, with a tiny throaty sound, grateful I have allowed you this
contact, hoping it will be enough to stay the onslaught of tears. I hold you
tighter as your memory take you back to before he disappeared. Before it all:
the beginning.
With his joking
reassurance that the lumps were only mosquito bites, you trembled slightly in the
cold darkness, slightly fearful of him, realizing you trusted this near
stranger's words in a moment of fear. As the fear dwindled, something else
crept inside. You believed him.
Despite the science.
The rationale. The more logical explanations. Your firm denial, and refusal to
accept that which is not based in science.
You believed him
enough to believe that you were to be the next victim.
You were wrong
twofold. Your presence in that cold, nighttime hotel room proved it. Perhaps he
was right about it all.
You laugh at
yourself then, realizing how right you had been in those moments of silence as you stared up into his eyes, fighting
tears even then.
You surprised yourself
that night when you fell into his arms, finding strength and warmth in him, where you had only seen hatred,
animosity, suspicion, and paranoia before. You expected at the very least
distaste. Not a warm embrace and caring caresses.
He surprised himself
that night as he responded, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close to
hide his face as he knew he looked terrified.
He had expected
control. He expected perfunctory nods. Solemn expressions. Careful, scientific
scrutiny. Detached, professional interest. Stiff, impersonal words, laced with
admiration, awe, and a bit of fear.
But before him bathed
in moonlight, highlight in silver, blue, and black, something melted and
shattered, and the cold distance dissipated, leaving behind intense warmth and
vulnerability. The aching, instinctive trust and need that reminded him of a
child.
Momentarily, he
thought it was an act.
Then your flushed
skin me his own until bone prevented her from drawing nearer. Then you trembled
in his arms. Then you let out tiny sounds of controlled, hidden tears. You were
trusting him with your life, with the vulnerable inside that you never showed
anyone. Guiltily he closed his eyes, knowing that you shouldn't have had to
reveal this part of yourself.
He was allowed to
trust no one, but within seconds of feeling your tiny body pressed to his, he
trusted you. Despite your control Despite the perfunctory nods. Solemn
expressions. Careful, scientific scrutiny. Detached, professional interest.
Stiff, impersonal words, laced with admiration, awe, and a bit of fear.
I felt your breath
on my chest as you memories let go, leaving you near tears on Skinner's couch.
Looking down, I could see only the top of your dark red hair, carefully parted
and smoothed, glinting brighter copper in some places.
You drew back with a
shuddered sigh, eyes unfocused and dreamy, drawing back like a child rising
from a nap, still reluctant to leave her bed. Still holding on, you lean back
slightly, allowing your sleepy eyes to fall on Skinner.
"Are you sure you're
all right, Agent Scully?"
"Fine sir, I just—I just
didn't quite get enough sleep last night. Before he—I didn't come strait home
after the funeral… I was out late, and then…"
"You don't need to
explain. If you would like me to call someone to come out and join you two,
help you—"
"That won't be necessary.
Oh, I'll probably call my mom, but she doesn't need to come out here."
"Very well. Agent
Mulder, are you sure there's nothing you're leaving out?"
"If I remember
anything else, I'll make sure to give you a call."
"All right, I'll leave you two to get some rest.
Here's the number of the doctor that saw him at DC General. If he needs some
pain medication or anything, or even if you just have questions, she should be
able to help you."
Skinner rose,
handing you a small slip of paper, which you fold and quickly slip into your
back pocket. Disentangling yourself from my arms, you and Skinner was slowly to
the front door. You open the door to let you out, and he takes hold of you arms
and asks you to step outside for a moment.
"I'll be right back,
Mulder, I'm just going to walk him out to his car."
I nod, knowing he's
going to talk about me, but I only lean back on the couch. Closing my eyes, I
recall the scent of your hair, as it had been resting just under my nose.
Smiling slightly, I wonder if it is shampoo or soap or lotion or something else
that produces that smell. It is distinctly you, a mix of soap and flowers and
rain and green apples. Mainly it centers around your head, floating in a cloud
about your hair, wafting to me when
your hair moves. The soft smoothness of your skin, like a warm, living fabric,
rich and creamy, lightly scented with more of your unique mixture. All shades
of pinks and peaches, creams and corals. Always very light, easily flushing
from the slightest warmth or embarrassment. The stunning blue of you eyes, incomparable
to other similar shades. They blended and glowed from a deep violet to a clear,
almost aqua blue, like the ocean as the sun move across the sky, creating shadows
and points of light.
I hear movement and
open my eyes, expecting to find you watching me, probably with your arms folded
and grinning at my sprawled figure. You constantly worry about my sleeping
habits, and when you do catch me napping, my unusual positions and locations
amuse and amaze you, as well as puzzle you.
But instead of pink
and coral curves, I find only my scarred angry self.
"She's going to figure it out eventually."
******