(UPDATE: Thank you to parmakai66 for the review, it was very helpful. I've revised and hopefully worked out a few of the kinks. It reads a little more like a script now, which makes the thoughts sound more like voiceover speaches than private feelings, which is fine with me. I'm not sure if it adds or subtracts from the atmosphere of the piece, but hopefully it makes it a little easier to follow. I may decide to just do one POV for this chapter and the other's for the next, but for now this is my quick-fix.)
Basically I was unsatisfied with it being as short as it was, and seeing as how nobody felt the need to review, I decided to stretch it out a little bit. I may or may not continue, and it's still in rough form, so any help with anything is greatly appreciated. All you need to know is that this is written in both of their points of view. Scully's thoughts are in italics, Mulder's are not, and for the most part they switch with every paragraph. Also anything spoken is in regular font. These characters do not belong to me, but this story does. Please review!
Scully: I'm pouring my thoughts into this file as though I were speaking to you from my heart. In most instances of human nature, the outward personality starkly contradicts the inner self. Those who are outwardly wild and seemingly complex are simple in spirit. Their emotions do not confuse them and therefore they are able to express them without shame or fear that they are misreading themselves. Similarly, those who are outwardly serene and confident are generally full of turmoil on the inside. That is you and I. Our anger is terrifying because it is one of the few emotions that allow us to throw aside our masks. Our love is overwhelming because of the intensity with which we feel, something that in truth is a gem in this world and should be sought after and cherished. Yet for the most part we remain alone. We are forced into strength and independence by the very tact we perfected as young children in the hope that we would be able to protect ourselves from being feared and therefore die alone. And as the years went by the outward lie began to melt into the inner truth, confusing us. Maybe I don't love you. Maybe you don't love me. Maybe we're just pretending there's something there that isn't, because we are so afraid that at this point in our lives, if we don't find it now we'll succumb to the fate most of our life's energy has been aimed at trying to avoid. All instances of love I have experienced have taught me that love and pain intermingle and eventually become the same. They have taught me that love is a tasking struggle to not overwhelm another while also trying not to starve yourself, and is something that leaves me close to insanity, and in deeper pain with every breath. That is why I'm confused. What I have with you gives me nothing but comfort, happiness, relief from my constant inner battles. Could this be what love really is? Not dramatic in any way, but startling in its simplicity? This is why I am afraid of you. I've spent all my life in the middle of chaos. I don't know how to handle something so calm. The look on your face as I look up from my file makes it impossible not to smirk.
Mulder: You've noticed me staring at you as my thoughts overtook my actions. I try in vain to read the expression in your eyes, but as always I'm stumped. Having spent as much time in the field with you, I'm much better at reading your posture. But you're sitting down now and I might as well be blind for as much as I can get out of that look on your face. Have you guessed what I've been thinking? Do you feel the same way? Or am I merely the love-hungry fool I fear to be, seeing signs where they don't exist? In all other aspects of life my mind answers everything with ease. I'm smart, I'm not going to be modest about it. But when it comes to you I just can't seem to wrap my brain around the idea. One thing I know about you is that I can never predict what you're going to say.
Scully: "Mulder, are you alright? You look sick." I tease you. I think I know what you've been thinking. Sometimes I wish I were as bad at hiding it as you are. Then at least some of the confusion would lift. What I wouldn't give to have the courage to tell you all that I think every day and every night. One thing I know about you is that I can always predict what you're going to say.
Mulder: I begin to apologize and then suddenly change my mind. "No, I'm not."
Scully: Talk about a curve ball. I am too late to mask the apprehension in my face. "What's wrong?"
Mulder: I've opened a metaphorical file neither of us are qualified to handle. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. Not this casually after an entire morning of pained silence, and especially not with you all the way on the other side of the room. "Nevermind, Scully, I just got a little stomach thing." I say lamely, pretty certain you can see straight through me.
Scully: I put down my lunch with perfected suspicion, diverting attention away from the carnival going on in the air between us. "What kind of stomach thing?" You smile. Dear God that childish spark in your eyes makes the breath catch in my lungs. And then what you say next is nothing short of complete torture.
Mulder: "Just a little heart burn," I say pointedly. Why am I such a pussy? What good is being clever when you're the only one who knows about it?
Scully: Why am I such a coward? "Yeah," I say, being sure to look you directly in the eye. "Me too."
It's all the courage I have for the day. I return to my file.