I See You

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."

******