From: "Susanne Barringer" Date: Fri, 26 Feb 1999 18:45:53 -0500 Subject: NEW: Against Her Door (1/1) by A. Kristian Das I'm not the author; I'm posting for a friend. Feedback goes to: the_dasman@yahoo.com ____________ NEW STORY: Against Her Door (1/1) AUTHOR: by A. Kristian Das Classification: VAR (mild) Keywords: First-person vignette, Angst, UST/Friendship/Verge of MSR Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: The Movie, but if you haven't seen the movie yet, how the hell can you call yourself an X-Phile? Summary: Mulder stops by Scully's, but should he disturb her? Archive: Elemental, if they'll have me. Gossamer OK. Please keep my name attached. Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein are not my property, no infringement intended. Very special thanks to Susanne Barringer whose talent is an inspiration and whose infinite critical wisdom helped me put the polish on this story. Feedback: This is my first fanfic, send constructive criticism to: the_dasman@yahoo.com . Please use only this email address. +++ I lean my forehead against Scully's apartment door. I listen and can hear her milling about inside. Sometimes I think that her move from Annapolis to Georgetown has been the highlight of my life. It allows me to drop by more often, now that she's so much closer to the office and to my apartment. But it also makes it worse for Scully--having me drop by so much must be taxing on her. I still remember her reaction to my late-night visit in June when I dragged her to do the autopsy of that fireman killed in Dallas. If I hadn't knocked on her door that night, maybe that whole crazy adventure from the cornfields of Texas to the bowels of an alien spacecraft in Antarctica would never have happened, and I wouldn't have almost lost her again. All's well that ends well, but you can only tempt fate so many times. Maybe the next nightmare I drag her on won't be as forgiving. Maybe the next time I'll lose her forever. From inside the apartment, I hear Scully talking on the phone with someone. She sounds happy, her tone is light, a few giggles accent her sentences. Maybe she's talking to her mother. Or maybe it's a guy. A guy with a safe job, good genes, decent bank account. And maybe he isn't as boring as most of her dates turn out, or so she tells me. Maybe this guy has a good personality and a good life and could sweep her off her feet, smile at her, tickle her toes, take her to funny movies, make love to her like a real woman deserves, and still allow her to keep some semblance of self. If that happened, would she leave the FBI? Would she still leave me? When you love someone, you should set them free, goes the old cliche. I don't know how to describe my feelings for Scully exactly, but there is no one else in the world who matters more. I guess that means love. In a perfect world, I would want her body and soul, as my partner in work, and as my partner in life. Although I have thought about what it would be like to love Scully, it's almost as if I've put her on such a high pedestal that I can't think of her sexually. It's as if she deserves so much more than I can offer, that I know it's not my place to try to woo her. Sexual gratification means almost nothing in comparison to what I feel she has already given me as my friend and partner. Her trust in me and her love for me are so profound as it is, that sex would almost cheapen it. Almost. I'm a man, after all. But if she offered me a choice tomorrow: make love to her once or keep her friendship for life, there is no question which one is the right choice. I would rather be celibate for the rest of my life if it meant I could keep her by my side forever, lose myself in her eyes as we argue theories, clasp her hand when in need of comfort, feel her intensity radiating off of her body as she sits next to me in a rental car. But then I think of all that she loses being with me, all that she risks. Maybe we should dissolve our partnership and take the plunge into romance. She deserves love, not danger, and perhaps I should try to give it to her. Then I think of that pedestal again, and I know it cannot be. I wish there were a middle road where we can be friends and where I don't put her into danger, and where a relationship she has with another man will not change what we have together. Would she really be happy? Would I? My head is still resting on her door. Her voice is chirping away. Suddenly I decipher the words "I'm leaving now. I'll be there in like ten minutes, okay? See ya." And then a click. I hear her foyer closet door open. She's getting her jacket and she's about to step outside. This is where I should make a hasty getaway, but something freezes me in my place. She's unlocking the door and all I'm able to do is pull my forehead off the door so I don't fall onto her when she emerges. "Jesus, Mulder!" I've startled her. "What are you doing here? Oh my god, are you crying? Are you okay?" She reaches out and puts her hands on my biceps. I didn't even realize I had been crying. I have tear streaks on my cheeks, and I hastily wipe them away. "Sorry, Scully, sorry, it's nothing. I just came by to say 'hey,' but you're heading out." "Mulder, you've been crying, tell me what's wrong." I can't make eye contact. She peers up at me and puts her hand on my jaw. "Is your mother okay?" I smile at this. "Yes, Scully, my mom's fine, as far as I know. Listen, I don't want to hold you up. We'll talk tomorrow." I pull away from her and gesture towards the elevators at the end of the hall. Scully firmly plants both her hands on my left forearm and tugs, but I don't move. I can't bring myself to violate her home when I'm in this state. Why did I come here? "Mulder, you're not holding me up, I was just going out for a quart of milk. Come on inside." It is so 'Scully' of her to assure me with a little white lie that I'm not interrupting her plans. "You weren't going out for milk, Scully. I'm sorry I eavesdropped, but I heard you on the phone. You told somebody you were on the way. I don't want to make you late for your... date." I want her to go on the date. I really do. That way she wouldn't have to listen to my sob stories. Scully stares at me for a moment. "Mulder... It's not a date, not really. Do I look like I'm dressed for a date?" She holds her arms out to let me see. She's wearing a light pink sweater under her suede jacket, faded blue jeans, and short black boots with square heels. My insides flutter at the sight of her simple and casual elegance. She's innocently youthful but very feminine at the same time. The sides of my mouth pull up in a grin. "I think you look really nice, Scully," I say, never more serious in my life. She smiles. She smiles her big, lots-of-teeth-and-gums smile, the one I rarely see. Scully probably only makes this smile when she's far away from me and the misery that follows me. She pulls me hard by my wrist. This time I let her pull me into her apartment. "You're sweet, Mulder. Look, I was just meeting a friend at the library on campus. Like I said, it's not really a date, so he can wait, Mulder. You're on my doorstep with tears running down your cheeks. Anybody can wait." I don't know why, but what she says make me shudder with emotion. I don't even know what I'm feeling or what brings it on, but before I know it, I'm sobbing, my body shaking uncontrollably, my fists clenched over my eyes in fear. Scully is on me in a second, one arm wraps around my waist as the other snakes up to the back of my head and she pulls me down into the crook of her neck. "Mulder, shhhh... it's okay... I'm here, partner, I'm here." I release my hands from my face and encircle her body, squeezing tight. I'm still crying, but the shakes have subsided. "Thank you, Scully. Thank you," I whisper into her ear. She's crying now, too, silently. "For what?" "For your faith. Your trust. Your love. It must be so hard." She gently presses her lips to my jaw, my cheek, then my ear. "It's not hard, Mulder. Painful sometimes, but not hard." "Thank you, Scully." "You don't have to thank someone for their love. You just have to love them back, Mulder." "Yes I know." "I know you do." +End+