Classification: V
Rated: PG-13
Key Words: Mulder/Scully UST
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Chris Carter created Mulder and
Scully - I'm just taking them for a spin.
Archive: Gossamer, please. Email me before
archiving elsewhere. I don't see why I'd refuse.
Summary: Does she hope for something to
happen, or know that something will happen?
Comments: Thanks again to ArtemisX5, who found
time to beta this story even with 12-hour
shifts at work! Artemis, this story would
have sucked without you. Thankyou so much :)
Oh, BTW, there's a theory that nothing is
inevitable, except human choice and death. That
theory inspired this story.
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"...everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, lights, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me."
- Pablo Neruda, 'If You Forget Me'
Scully wakes up sweating, in late autumn. The sky
is metallic, bleak, and there are dead leaves
clinging to the trees and rotting on the sidewalk.
She sees this from her window while eating a
strawberry poptart and pulling on stockings. There
is a disturbing quality to this day, she can tell
already. A restrained thunderstorm that might
never break.
Brushing her teeth with one hand, lining her eyes with
the other. The mirror is smudged and needs to be wiped
clean, but she doesn't have time. This morning there is
a meeting with Skinner, and she will be punctual, as
always. Her lipstick next, a red that's brighter than
usual. She thinks today's weather will require bright
things.
The top she has chosen is bright too, but a different
kind of bright - a white, stark bright. She covers it
up with her black suit jacket and trench coat, and
tucks it into her black skirt. She wears black often
- not in mourning, but because she feels it suits her
best. Also, it is professional, but more than that,
it is clear-cut, it is simple and true, and it cannot
be mistaken for anything else but black.
The bag and shoes by the door, she slips on the
latter, picks up the former, and then she is gone
from her apartment.
Scully smiles because she is not really leaving her
home. She is going to her home. Mulder will be late
today, he always is. He'll arrive half an hour late,
she predicts. He'll walk in with a mumbled apology
and slide his coat over the empty chair beside her.
She decides to walk for a while before hailing a cab.
The air tastes sour and clamps on her skin, heavy
and electric. Her heels slice into the leaves, her
tongue slides across her teeth, she bites her lower lip.
She considers her dream during this two-minute stroll.
Another dream that has mussed her hair and made her
sweat. These dreams are dangerous, she thinks,
reckless. They are too steamy for this time of year;
they are hot, fever dreams. They belong to summer.
"Taxi!"
A cab up to the curb beside her. Inside it is dark
and cramped, and smells like cigar ash. The driver
probably sits in this cab, she thinks, in the wee
small hours of the morning, smoking cigars. She
wonders, when do cab drivers sleep? She figures they
must alternate, there must be shifts. No one can
drive without sleep. Except Mulder, but he doesn't
count. His insomnia is more a personality trait than
an illness.
It's strange how she accepts it now. Accepts him now.
As she pays the cab driver, Scully wonders when she
started mentally referring to her workplace as 'home'.
She realises that she already knows why. It isn't hard
to figure out; she doesn't need Mulder's psychology
degree. The day is bleak but seeing her partner will
make her smile, even if it's only inwardly.
He has taken to greeting her by kissing her cheek,
pretending these kisses are casual gestures. Kisses
from him used to barely exist to her - it seemed he
gave them grudgingly. Now he can't make them seem
casual, no matter how hard he tries. Each kiss
lingers longer than the last.
Scully walks into the Hoover building, nodding to the
security guard. She is smiling, thinking of how she
will spend Friday evening with Mulder. She's been
doing this for a while now, whenever she can. They
eat out and watch a movie. Something else that would
be casual, if they hadn't spent so long doing almost
nothing together but work.
It's almost too strange for her to handle, yet
somehow not strange enough. Something is shifting
inside her - perhaps inside both of them. She is
sometimes afraid to hope, but more often afraid to
stop hoping.
This morning she questions the difference between
hope and knowledge. Does she hope for something to
happen, or know that something will happen?
She is still smiling as the elevator slides up the
building, now thinking of how she'll be spending
Saturday with him, and Sunday too. They have chosen
a trivial case, one where no one has been hurt and no
one will. A case in Maine, by the beach. She wonders
if it is a present from Mulder - an apology for
interrupting her last vacation. Now she gets to spend
a weekend with him as a constant interruption.
Her smile widens when she sees he is waiting for her
in the corridor, early for once. He's holding two
styrofoam coffee cups. He smiles too, and weaves
towards her through the morning crowd of people.
As he hands her the coffee he leans forward a little.
For a second Scully thinks - oh my God, he is...he's
going to kiss me in front of all these people.
She imagines the heads turning, the shocked whispers.
Suddenly she wants him to kiss her. She wants him to
push her against the wall and bruise her mouth with
his. She wants to make love with him, right here in
the crowded corridor. Right now.
But then he straightens, and she tries not to
look disappointed.
He gives her a grim look - his 'oh shit, not another
pointless meeting' look. But she's not fooled, she
knows that he's really smiling. His eyes are smiling.
Scully is surprised to realise they're both happy. Neither
of them had expected to feel like this again.
"Come on Scully," says Mulder, "time to face the inevitable."
The inevitable can mean so many things.
Today, she thinks, I'll take him out to lunch.
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