Night-time thoughts about commitments made…
Very Early Wednesday Morning
Fox Mulder's Apartment Hallway
"I've never walked you to the elevator before, have I?"
"No you haven't, Mulder... and it's kinda sweet, unless you plan on doing this from now on." "You have a problem with that?"
She smiled and said softly, "It's just not us."
"I can't see myself doing it anyway...." he said, returning the smile. He stepped back from her slightly and leaned against the wall, hiding the elevator buttons with his body. He glanced down the hall, unable to resist returning to that moment. She followed his gaze, instinctively knowing where his thoughts were. She became so immersed in reliving the memory herself that she started visibly when he spoke again. "Does it seem like a million years ago?"
"No... no, on the contrary, I remember it like it was yesterday."
Mulder turned to look at her once more, trying to reconcile the fact that the woman in front of him had so nearly been lost to him after that moment. It was strange how he remembered every last second of their prolonged discussion in this very hall, but the specifics of the following four days — outside of his time inside the alien ship — were fast becoming murky.
"Want to know something?"
"Always, Scully."
"As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I had this vague feeling of being picked up and carried by the paramedics. All the while, I knew something was horribly wrong. But all I could think about, all I could do, was hope and pray to God that no matter what happened, I would still remember this. That this memory wouldn't be taken away from me. And it wasn't. As I held you out there on the ice, I remembered..."
Her face flushed at the disclosure. She looked away from him and back again down the long hallway.
In danger of being overwhelmed by his emotions once more this evening, Mulder pushed the down button for the elevator. It really was time to call it a night. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her for one last hug, pulling back quickly to plant a kiss on her forehead. "G'night, Scully."
The elevator announced its arrival with a short "ding" and opened its doors.
She lifted her eyes to his one final time and stepped into the elevator. "'Night, Mulder."
* * * * *
I'm lying here blinking in the darkness at my clock radio, seeing the red numbers change ever so slowly. It's now showing 2:20. She left over twenty minutes ago, so I assume — lack of traffic and all — that she's safe at home by now. I almost asked her to call me when she got home. Fortunately, the thought of doing so felt strange enough that I didn't. I can only imagine what her response might have been. One thing's for sure...I'm probably going to lie here for quite some time yet. Not sleeping. Which is not unusual in itself, but on the one hand, I really feel tired. I should be sleeping. But my mind is racing with thoughts of tonight. And I think my mind is going to be racing with thoughts of this night for a long time to come.
I knew what her question was going to be. I knew the question that she wanted to ask but didn't. I'm not sure I know why she didn't, though. I would have asked. If it had been my turn — knowing that she wouldn't have a chance to ask me back — I would have gone for it. Instead she copped out on the both of us and asked if we could start meeting once a week "just to talk".
This, despite the fact that I almost heard the question falling out of her mouth. I almost wanted to answer it regardless. I could hear her voice asking it in my head, even as she later stood in my doorway, saying goodnight in that never-before-heard tender voice that sent vibrations through my shorts. ["Mulder, when did you know?"]
Many things would be implicit in that question. First and foremost, when did I know she loved me? Then, when did I know I loved her? Perhaps also, when did I know how impossible it was to fight? And the thing is, I'm not sure I'd even know how to begin answering that question. But it would have been the final thing to bring "out there". Lay it all out on the table as they say.
How would I have answered such a question? Let's see. There was that conversation in the car when I was staking out Tooms. There was just something about her that night...something different. It damn well made me uncomfortable. So much so that I uttered that ridiculous thing about making my parents call me Mulder. Good one, that. It's made her avoid calling me "Fox" again until tonight... what is that? Five friggin' years? Didn't matter that everyone around her has called me by that God-forsaken name at one time or another. But that night, the way she said it. It made me want to jump her. Then that bit about not putting her life on the line for anyone else but me. What the hell was that, Dana Katherine Scully? What could I do but play along? Played the "iced tea and love" thing to throw her off. It didn't really work, but it got me the upper hand again. God knows what would have happened if it had been iced tea. On my way home that night, even though I almost was delirious from lack of sleep, I kept seeing her face. Could she possibly have any sort of interest in Spooky Mulder? How? Why? And then the next day...well, she flat out lied for me. I had known her to be "by the book" to that point. Talk about your revelations, Scully....
Even so, if that had been the only time, I would have eventually let it go. After all, who knows what motivates the female mind sometimes. Least of all Scully's mind. All of that could have been a mothering thing. She wanted me to get some sleep, right? Take care of myself, that kind of stuff.
So when did I really know? When we were shut down the first time. She chased after me with more than just professional interest. What did she say to me that one time? About how it would be more than a professional loss if I were to leave the Bureau? Like that didn't reveal a whole shitload! She kept after me despite what I assume were my first attempts at pushing her away. You know, that thing that I do for her own good. That thing that causes her pain. Contrary to what some people may think, I didn't pursue psychology at Oxford just to pass the time. I did learn a few things. And while there's still that matter of physicians being unable to heal themselves, I am aware of most of what I do. And the reasons why I do them. It's just a matter of admitting it. Self analysis can be pretty ugly.
I missed her during those weeks. It was a strange feeling that I had never felt before. Couldn't identify it. I couldn't tell if I was missing something that I had just gotten used to. Like the idea of her being by my side. That partner thing. Or if it was something else. But before I had a chance to play too many more head games with myself, Duane Barry happened. That's when I really knew, about me anyway. Or — more accurately — that's when it sort of occurred to me. I wasn't to the point of admitting anything yet. All I knew was that I wasn't feeling the mere grief that came with losing a good FBI partner. I was feeling the agonizingly hopeless pain of losing a lover that I never had. It was then that I realized what it was about me and Scully. I loved her too much to ever let her love me in return. It was too dangerous.
I've lived by that rule for the past three years. I think, in some sense — tonight notwithstanding — a certain part of me always will.
* * * * *
"Tell me about your life, Scully."
"That's not a question, Mulder."
"No? Well, here's a question. Does your life ever seem lonely? I mean, I really don't know, but I hate that it might be. Because of me."
"Are you saying that your life is lonely?"
"I asked you first..."
* * * * *
I'm crawling into bed and the familiarity of it is comforting. But I wonder how much sleep I'm going to get tonight. What a night it's been...
I should have known that getting into a "game" like that with him would be serious stuff. And of course, am I surprised that we ended up not playing by the rules? No. Mulder never plays by the rules. From his first question — or was it observation? — I knew that it wasn't going to be an innocuous give and take of something like "What's your favorite animal?" Where on earth did he get that "lonely" thing? And the weird part is, that wasn't even his first choice for a question. It was something that — for some unfathomable reason — just popped into his head. I think I actually saw it pop into his head when I brought in our tea. Something in his expression changed when he looked at me.
And good God, how was I to answer that one? Yes? No? Maybe? All three were true, to some degree. But I have problems with this whole loneliness business. Or what some might perceive as loneliness. I've lived most of my adult life on my own, without roommates even. And I've liked it. I like having my own space, my own time, my own solitude. To me, being alone has nothing to do with being lonely, unlike what some people think. But then I don't imagine that's what Mulder meant. After all, he's seen me go from having the occasional date to — to what? The same monklike existence that seems to define his life, I guess. I mean, we know each other well enough to know for a fact that there have been no important relationships in either of our lives for several years now. Have we both been inexplicably waiting for one another? I can't even answer that for myself. I don't know that I've fended off all other interest just to wait for him. I really and truly haven't had much opportunity to meet anyone. But I must admit, I've not been wanting to change that either. Haven't taken any steps to rectify the situation, so to speak. But have I been lonely in the wait? Sometimes, I suppose. On the odd night, I sometimes wondered "what if".
But for the most part, because it's Mulder, I haven't really felt lonely. Even when he's not with me, I feel his presence. I suppose ten or more hours of contact on a regular daily basis tends to make me live quite easily with the status quo. I've felt many emotions "because" of him, but loneliness? I don't think so. Maybe — unconsciously — I've always held this sliver of hope that things would be different for us someday.
Anyone hearing his statement would have found it profoundly egocentric: "Because of me." As I've had occasion to say to him more than once, not everything in my life is about Mulder. But maybe that's almost a technicality. Almost a lie. Because most everything in my life has become about Mulder. He has infiltrated areas of my life that I never thought possible. Areas of my life that I never knew existed.
I thought it would be hard to talk to her about things that I've barely been able to admit to myself. But I learned tonight that there's nothing that I won't tell her if she ever asked. Nothing. It's kinda weird and should leave me feeling naked and vulnerable, but it doesn't. It feels safe. I think it's that trust thing that I've somehow managed to give her since the very first moment she stepped into my office over six years ago. I don't immediately trust anyone. I still haven't figured out what it was about Scully. Even as I suspected her motives — accused her of being a spy, even — I seemed to have that uncanny feeling that I could trust her. Maybe that was my inherent spookiness showing through again. I just knew.
Of course, I don't know what possessed me to spout that loneliness stuff at her. I mean, I saw her come out of the kitchen with the tea and suddenly... I don't know. My original question flew out the window. It was the same feeling I had when she appeared at my door a few hours earlier. She seemed so fragile again. So breakable. Nothing that I normally dared associate with Special Agent Scully. But I suddenly had this image of her sitting at home by herself. Night after night. Trying to dig her way out from under the crap that I continually heaped on her. The thing is, Scully's always been there for me. Even when she doesn't want to be. Even when her instincts tell her to run far away. It's a loyalty that I'm pretty sure I've abused. Several times over the past few months I've heard her say no. No, she wasn't about to go out on that limb for me again. Especially not without so much as a goddamn thank you; I can be such a prick sometimes. To make matters worse, I played dirty. Went over her head. I'm not proud of it but I won't deny doing it. For me it was the only way. To escape whatever pain I thought I was feeling, I dug deeper and deeper into the work. In many ways, Scully did the opposite.
But the more I distanced myself from her, the worse it became. Not to mention I hated myself for it. I remember thinking about her on one particularly — what, "lonely"? — and self-loathing night. With the help of a choice bottle of booze and some disgusting videos, I beat myself into mindnumbing oblivion in more ways than I care to remember. That night, I wondered what she would think of me if she really knew me. Knew what I was doing. And in some pathetic and depraved sense, I wondered whether she did the same thing herself. Whether — as a result of her unfortunate association with me — there were nights when she was left with nothing but a shell of herself. With nothing inside. I wanted so much for that not to be the case for her. Because even though there's nothing inside, the aching continues. You think you've emptied yourself of everything, but the loneliness never goes away.
That thought hadn't occurred to me again until this evening. And I needed to know.
* * * * *
"So what's next?"
"Why me, Scully?"
"Is that your question, Mulder?"
"Yeah, I know I'm over my quota for this game but..."
"Doesn't matter, I guess, so long as you know I still have the last one."
* * * * *
It kills me that Mulder has been used and abused by the women in his life. And were I to be completely honest, I'd have to admit that there's a certain part of me that wants to make them all hurt for what they've done. Whatever they've done. Which leads me to my other significant unasked question of the night: Diana Fowley. I didn't ask this one for a different reason. I desperately want to know, but I've sensed that he's not ready to tell. And maybe I was also afraid to ask. I do believe that he will tell me about her in his own time. When the time's right. That probably won't be for me to decide, but I can respect that. I'm betting that the story will be interesting and worth the wait.
When I met Phoebe Green, it was still early in our partnership. I surely had no claims on him then. Not that it stopped her from irritating the hell out of me. The dislike was almost instantaneous from the first second that I saw her. God only knows why she felt it necessary to treat me like some sort of pathetic competition for his favors. No way that I could stack up against her and she knew it. She was the non-stop leggy sort that I had always imagined was Mulder's "type". She even had a brain. If he had wanted her in the least, it would have been no contest. But he didn't want her. He had learned his lesson on that one.
Over the years, it seems like Mulder has taken all of his bad relationship experiences to heart. And accepted the blame for them himself. They've somehow left him convinced that he's not worthy in some way. That his all-consuming quest for Samantha — and I remember that conversation in Oregon when he told me that "nothing else matters" — left so little for anyone else. What he said earlier tonight, about not knowing how to give of himself to love me, made me hurt for him. Not worthy of being loved? Not you, Mulder. Never you.
So why him, he asks. Some questions just don't have clear answers. I could list al l of the things that I admire in him, but mainly, I think I love him because he's Mulder. Flawed as he is, I could live forever and never meet anyone like him again. Underneath all those complex layers, Fox Mulder is the epitome of honest simplicity. That's a challenge to find no matter where you look.
* * * * *
Scully loves me. Funny how I've known it for so long but it's never felt this good before. Maybe because it was always something fleeting to me. Something so ephemeral that at any moment it might not be there any more. So open to being destroyed by one more bone-headed move on my part. One more impulsive decision or crackpot theory. Funny how that's never stopped me from making them. Or maybe not so funny. It was simply that belief that she would be better off without me. I've gotten very good at pushing her away and drawing her in at the same time. Now I have to learn to stop doing it.
As great as this feels, it's also damn scary. Because for as much as I've hurt her in the past, we've now opened up the potential for me to hurt her so much more. When I say that I'm not good at this, Scully, I mean it. My parents weren't like yours. I never had the benefit of seeing anything overly loving between the two most influential people in my life as I grew into adulthood. This is aside from the fact that family life went to hell in a handbasket for awhile after Samantha was taken...
But what's the answer to the mystery of why Scully feels the way she does about me? Despite my having known for a long time that she loves me, every time I've considered why, I've drawn a blank. I've been involved with a few women in my day, but I've not loved many of them. And quite frankly, from the results that I've seen, none of them have ever really loved me in return. Surely not Phoebe. And not Diana, even though she obviously cares about me in some warped sense and maybe even wants me still. But that was never love, or things would have turned out differently between us years ago. So I have no frame of reference as to what would make me appealing to Scully. And the fact that we are so inherently different makes it doubly hard to understand.
Her meandering answer to my question didn't really clarify things for me, either. How did she end up saying it? Something like she loves me because I'm me...? Oh hell, maybe that's good enough. Not like I could ever explain my feelings for her in actual words either. I suppose that's why they're called "feelings".
* * * * *
"It's getting really late, Mulder, I think I better make my way home before I turn into a pumpkin."
"I think you're getting your fairy tale facts mixed up. Cinderella doesn't actually turn into a pumpkin."
"No? Well, it's been a while since I read it."
"You're not forgetting something are you, Scully? You won the coin toss...you have one last question that's supposed to be the question to end all questions."
"Are you sure you're ready for that?"
God knows I wasn't. But I almost asked him. It almost came out. When did you know, Mulder? When did you know that I loved you? (Was it before I even knew?) More importantly, when did you know that you loved me back? Tell me it wasn't just at that moment of you almost kissing me in the hall.
But I didn't. I couldn't. It would have been too much too soon. So I swallowed those words, before they had a chance to leap from my mouth. He knew, though, given my botched job at concealing it. I could tell he knew. The thing about Mulder is that when he's not specifically out to hide something from me — which is most times — I can read him like a book. He lets me do this, I guess. It's his way of letting me know that he trusts me. He lets me in in ways that I've never been able to give him back in return. But I'll work on that. I promise.
For some reason, he almost wanted to tell me. I could sense that, but I don't know why. Why he would have wanted to go into some long detailed explanation. Because I don't think he'd be able to pinpoint the exact moment. But in any case, I wasn't ready to hear it. It wasn't the right time. I wanted to ask but I really didn't want to know. Even now, in my mind, I can hear Mulder saying, "That's so you, Scully." The fact is, I may not even be ready to explore the concept of when I first knew.
Would it be a surprise to you, Mulder, if I admitted that I felt something from the very first day? I didn't have to look far beyond that slightly condescending facade of self-protection to see someone that I wanted to get to know better. Maybe it was the intriguing combination of vulnerability and strength that I saw as early as our first case in Oregon. I know he doesn't believe that he's a strong person. I've always suspected that he thought that and tonight he actually said so. But you're so wrong about that, Mulder. How can anyone survive what you've had to face in life and not be strong? So what if it's not the typical macho male strength that's so worshipped by your gender. In my opinion, that fact has been your saving grace. You would have self-destructed long ago if you were the macho male type. No, Mulder, your strength lies in your childlike ability to trust basic emotions and instincts. And you know to give in to them when needed. I envy that.
So I can admit that I felt something from the very beginning. (That's no big revelation, Dana.) But when did I know that I actually loved him? I really don't think there's ever a specific moment when something like that happens, so I honestly don't know. But I've heard it said that when you lose someone, someone else comes into your life. Or you let someone else come into your life. Not meant to replace the departed individual, of course; just a realization that someone else is there. Knocking at the door. Asking permission to come in. I was strangely accepting of my father's death, but when it looked as though Mulder might follow him, I went uncharacteristically ballistic on our suspect. The intensity behind those feelings at the time shocked me. It felt as though something had crept up behind me and swallowed me whole.
And with each time that I very nearly lost him, I became more and more consumed by this "thing". The honest truth is, I don't think I've ever been in love with anyone. As dysfunctional as Mulder's relationships seem to have been, I think he's at least felt those emotions. I never have. So for the longest time, I didn't know what they were. I've since accepted the fact that being in love involves a tricky and complex set of emotions. Particularly when one decides not to act on anything.
Then again, Mulder has always confused me where his real feelings are concerned. While some might think it pretty much says it all when a man literally goes to the end of the earth to rescue you, with Mulder, that could have been just another day at work. He made the comment in the hallway that he owes me everything while I owe him nothing. There have been times when I've wondered about that. Like how much of what he's done is actually meant as repayment, and nothing to do with love. But that's horribly unfair, I know. Even if half of what he feels for me is a mere fulfillment of "need", I have to believe that the other half is love. Knowing full well that he hasn't received much in return for what he's given in the past, I can't really hold that against him.
So I guess I'm really not able to answer that question of when I first knew. I can only admit that I've probably been in love with him for a long time. As in, for many years. But I can pinpoint the precise moment when I finally realized that I could no longer hide it from myself. Not two seconds after I learned from the guys who Diana Fowley was, I had to admit finally that I had fallen in love with my partner. And it was too late to decide whether or not it was a good idea. Something drastic had to be done.
As surprising as it might sound, the chain of events that followed hard upon us turned out to be my savior. The disbandment of the X-Files, the brief change that it gave us, the Dallas disaster, the conversation in the hallway, the brush with death, the events of tonight...it's brought about a welcome change of pace to a many-years-too-long mating dance. Even for two people as sorely lacking in experience as we are.
Neither one of us may be good at it, Mulder, but we'll learn. Together. Slowly.
* * * * *
Wednesday Morning 7:00 am
J. Edgar Hoover Building
"Good morning."
Mulder was sitting at his desk, already up to his elbows in file folders. He looked up at her, his eyes slowly traversing the entire length of her body. "And a good morning to you too...how'd you sleep?"
She dropped her briefcase on her desk and flipped the switch on her computer. "Not too great. How about you?"
"Not a wink." He continued to observe her movements, a smile growing on his lips. "How do you feel?"
"Never better. You?" The famous Mulder grin broadened.
She stared at him for a long moment before allowing a hint of a smile to grace her lips. "Pretty damn good, Mulder. Now where's my coffee?”
End