From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Wed, 8 Sep 1999 17:03:04 -0500
Subject: Acquiescence by MelC
Source: direct

Reply To: noodle@globalserve.net

Acquiescence
By MelC


Rating:  PG
Spoilers: Milagro
Disclaimer:  As if they belonged to me.  No, they don't, and I 
hope CC forgives me for borrowing them for a while. Like a 
fanfic writer so perfectly summarized before, they belong to
the man who won't let them have sex.  Actually, I'll amend 
that, they belong to the man who won't even let them kiss, 
let alone have sex.
Archive:  God!  I'd be flattered!
Feedback:  This idea came to me following the airing of 'Milagro'
and I finally 'got the guts' to share it. (Off topic - is it just
me or are some of the best X-File eps (By the Sea, One Breath, 
Momento Mori, Tithonus, Milagro) Scully-centric?) Feedback is 
hugely appreciated!  Please?!?!?  This is my first "exposed" 
fanfic and not only do I need help, I need criticism 
(I can take it!).  Please e-mail me at noodle@globalserve.net




A.D. Skinner flashed his badge and squeezed his way through the 
small cluster of curious onlookers that had gathered outside 
Agent Mulder's apartment.  The phone call had been confusing 
at best - almost cryptic.  Something about gun shots and blood 
and a suspect named Padgett.  More importantly, it also mentioned 
Agent Scully, and the fact that yet again she had paid a physical 
price for the job she did.
"FBI" Skinner said as he flashed his badge, barely acknowledging 
the uniform at the door.  When he walked into the room, despite 
the bustle of detectives and agents, his eyes immediately 
gravitated towards the dark stain on Mulder's carpet.  Years on 
the job had taught him that a stain like that usually meant a 
casualty.  His mind racing, he remembered that he had been told 
that the suspect had been found in the basement, and that Scully, 
though shaken, was physically fine.
"Where are Agents Mulder and Scully?" he asked the nearest 
detective, not making eye contact, but scouring the room for 
details.	  
"They were in the kitchen last I saw" the detective replied, 
"Perhaps you can convince them that it would be best to give 
a statement now."  The detective sounded irritated, and the 
tone of his voice snagged Skinner's attention and made him turn 
to him.  
"You haven't taken a statement yet?"
"No, I can't get near her - her partner's acting a little" he 
carefully chose his words, "protective right now."  The 
detective's tone betrayed his suspicion that there was more 
to the story than they had been able to put together.
Skinner debated pushing the issue with the detective, but opted 
to look for Scully and Mulder, and answers.  Turning away from 
him he headed towards the kitchen to get those answers.  But 
when he saw them, he knew that it would be best to wait, that 
now would not be the best time.

* * * * * *

Scully was seated on the floor, her back pressed against the 
cabinets.  Her chin was resting on her knees, which she had 
drawn up protectively to her chest.  Mulder crouched before 
her on his haunches, close, but not touching her.
It had happened again. If it wasn't so terrifying, he would 
have laughed at the irony of it.  Scully was undoubtedly the 
strongest woman he knew.  In fact, she was the strongest person 
he knew.  Yet time and time again, over the past six years, 
she had constantly been forced to take on the position of the 
stereotypical damsel in distress.  Constantly, Mulder reminded 
himself, he had failed to be her stereotypical Prince Charming.  
He was more like her clean-up crew, showing up after the fact, 
after she had been saved, spared, or returned.  Each time he 
tried to deal with the inner turbulence caused by the dueling 
feelings of absolute relief and gratitude, and absolute terror 
and loss.
When he had burst into his apartment after hearing the shots, 
he wasn't sure what to expect.  This time, however, he had 
experienced a new sensation.  It was something approaching, 
but so much worse than, the feeling he had as he held his 
dying father in his hands on a bathroom floor in Martha's 
Vineyard, or watching Samantha get back into the car with 
Cancerman, rejecting him for his nemesis.  This time he had 
felt so much that it became nothing.  And when Scully opened 
her eyes, and he saw the frantic terror in them, it caused a 
part of him to crack.  That same part broke when she began to 
cry, sobbing and clawing at him, revealing that she too had 
been altered and changed.
They stayed like that for a while, with Mulder releasing his 
hold only momentarily to shut the door and afford her some of 
the privacy he knew was so important to her, especially now.  
But, before she was finished, and before he wanted to let go 
of her, there was a loud banging at the door.  Reluctantly 
Mulder released his hold and rose to let in D.C.'s finest, 
before they took it upon themselves to do so.  Apparently the 
gunshots and screams had prompted some neighbourly Samaritan 
to dial 9-1-1.  So now, almost an hour later, his apartment 
was crowded with prodding fingers and flashing bulbs, and 
despite the entreaties, requests and eventual demands of the 
detectives present, Scully had not spoken a word.
"Scully." He reached a hand out to touch her arm and stopped, 
just before making contact. "What . . . when do you want to 
talk to them?" He inclined his head in the direction of the 
living room and re-clasped his hands in front of him.
Scully lifted her head and focused on Mulder's collar.  She 
inhaled and opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, 
but froze for the smallest second, then changed her mind, 
exhaling in a long, slow breath.  Mulder watched her as she 
tried to categorize what had happened to her.  He knew she 
wasn't at the point yet where she could rationalize it, and 
he knew that was terrifying to her.  But there was a comfort 
to be gained in the simple act of compartmentalizing the 
experience, for now, so she could function, for now.  Almost 
imperceptibly she shook her head back and forth, frowning ever 
so slightly as her eyes began to glisten.  Pursing her lips, 
she kept her eyes focused on Mulder's collar.
"Mulder, I don't understand what happened."  Her simple statement 
was spoken in a low voice, and he knew it wasn't an invitation 
for further discussion.
Mulder knew what had happened, and he also knew that his theory 
of psychic surgery performed by a dead man was not the explanation
his partner needed to hear.  Reclining so that he too sat on the 
floor, Mulder rested his hands on his bent knees.  Like his 
partner, he was unable to make eye contact, and his eyes wandered 
from the soft hollow in her neck, down to the front of her blouse. 
There was no sexual subtext to his gaze, and when his eyes took 
in the bloodstains on her blouse, the void of feeling returned.
Absent-mindedly he licked his thumb and reached out towards 
Scully's throat.  Softly at first, he rubbed at the small fleck 
of dried blood that had crusted there.  When it began to smudge, 
he rubbed at it with more vigour.  His eyes welled over in anger 
at its mere presence, and its seeming refusal to fade away.  
Perhaps it was the pressure, or his face, that broke Scully's 
trance and caused to her gently, but firmly, place her hand over 
his to still his movements.
For a moment, neither moved.  Thinking that he had hurt her, 
Mulder quickly looked up into Scully's eyes.  Scully met his 
stare, and in his eyes she found the same saving grace she had 
found there years before in an empty hallway at Holy Cross 
Memorial.  Beneath his fingertips Mulder could feel Scully's 
heartbeat, and this was reassuring to him.  Scully reached out 
with her other hand to grasp the free hand Mulder had draped 
over his knee.
It was at this point Skinner had stuck his head in the kitchen 
passageway.  He had opened his mouth to say something, but 
quickly changed his mind and left them alone.

* * * * * * * * * 

"Well?"  It was the same detective.  The irritation and 
impatience in his voice was unmistakable.
"You're going to have to wait."  Skinner replied.  The detective
opened his mouth to object, but Skinner interrupted him.  
"I said, you're going to have to wait detective."  Skinner 
turned from him again, already dismissing him, and walked over to
a group from forensics who were dismantling and packing up Bureau
surveillance equipment.
The detective strangely found himself quickly acquiescing.  
Something in the tone of this man's voice told him that this 
was not debatable.  He walked over to front door of the apartment.   
"Let's clear this hallway," he instructed one of the officers at 
the door, "a guy can't get a damned thing accomplished in this 
chaos."

The End

It's just wee, and it's a first-ever effort.  A little idea 
perched itself on my shoulder months ago when the episode 
aired and this is what it told me to write.  I just dusted
it off and thought I'd put it out there in the universe to 
see 'what gives'.  Please let me know.  All feedback treated 
kindly and fed Hagen-Daaz at noodle@globalserve.net