From: Jill Starbuck Date: Sat, 27 Feb 1999 17:20:01 -0800 (PST) Subject: Submitting a fan fic......... TITLE: Cheap Wine and Couch Musings AUTHOR: Jill Starbuck E-MAIL: RATING: G, but it's leans in the slightly shippy area. SPOILERS: Memento Mori. ARCHIVE: If you like it, archive it. Just let me know first, and keep my name on it. SUMMARY: A peek inside the dynamic duo's head's. DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, etc, etc. are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions, Fox Broadcasting, and the wonderful actors who portray them. No money was made, no permission was obtained, no infringement was intended. This fan fic is strictly for enjoyment only and not to be used for commercial gain. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Cheap Wine and Couch Musings By Jill Starbuck See top for disclaimers, etc. 1/2 Some people believe that our lives are mapped out for us before our feet even touch the planet. That by some divine intervention, it has been plotted on a map, the coordinates given, and the rest is history. Whether this is true or not is not up to me to decide or enforce. But it is something that I have wondered about. About whether I stumbled into this life that I had, with no pre-meditated thought, no divine intervention, no map and compass. Whether it was just a big, unavoidable accident. But not necessarily a bad accident. On the other hand, perhaps someone up there did have it all planned out, long before my mother informed my father that she was pregnant for the third time. Perhaps someone had decided that when I was just shy of my 29th birthday, my life was about to thrown in an orbit as dizzying as any carnival ride. And that I was about to meet someone who would try, and strengthen my faith in the human spirit, would definately try my patience as both a scientist and a human, and would above all, end up becoming one of the people who I would gladly trust with my life any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Mulder's strength, his ability to stand when the shit is flying, and to not back down even when he is stretched to the breaking point, is something that has never ceased to amaze me. And how he defends those close to him, rescues them from the jaws of death, escaping with his life on a very fine thread, is something that has caused flutterings in my stomach that are to difficult to ignore. But what I want and what Mulder wants are two very different things. He is so wrapped up in his search for the truth, in the need to see Samantha returned safe and sound before he is too old to enjoy it. And, to a certain extent I want that too. To watch Mulder's pent-up anger, the absense of a normal childhood, his sadness, to vanish forever, not for the few seconds when his face breaks into the heart-warming smile that makes me want to take his face between my hands and kiss his beautiful lips, his soft hazel eyes, and hold him in my arms until time as we know it ceases to exist. To see that hole in his heart that has been there since he was twelve years old close up, and to see him, finally, complete. But what would happen to us? His Truth found, his Quest achieved, would he close the file cabinet, lock the door, and raise his hand in a final farewell? Would he be the kind to slap me on the back and say "It's been real, Scully, but I have to go now."? I couldn't say goodbye. Over the last six years, our lives have become intrically entwined, so much so that the other person only has to breathe, and their prescense is known. A friendship not built on common interests, but on blood and sweat and tears, on fear and on trust. A friendship that has become more valuable to me than my own life, and I would gladly give up that life if it allowed Mulder to live. But I couldn't let him walk out that door, couldn't let him give a final farewell. I would fade away to nothing. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Cheap Wine and Couch Musings By Jill Starbuck See top for disclaimers etc. 2/2 I have seen things in this world that defy scientific fact. That defy rational thought, reason, and threaten to pull the solid carpet out from under our feet and put us right back where we started. Things that would force us to create a new world order. But of all the things that I have seen, have touched, there is one that is more beautiful, more intelligent, and definately more puzzling than any of these. I remember that March day as if it were yesterday. That day when my life, my world, got a good swift kick in the ass from the no-nonsense, petite Dana Katherine Scully. The day when my preference for leggy brunettes grew it's silver wings and flew out the basement door. She had an almost matronly quality as she walked confidently into my office, stuck out her hand and announced she had been assigned to work with me. Her clear blue eyes shimmered with a challenge, as I started cracking my stupid jokes, and accusing her of being sent to spy on me. But she took everyhting that I could throw at her, everyhting that had sent other potential partners running from the depths of the FBI, and begging their superiors to reassign them, or they would quit. I admired her for that. She was definately a tough one. Smart as a whip, they all said. Cold as ice, also. It was the most discussed topic at the water-coolers in the halls. How do you melt Dana Scully? Why is she so anti-male? They don't know her like I do. That beneath that cool exterior, her professional mask that says "Challenge me if you dare", Scully is a woman. A woman with the same needs, wants and desires that all women have. Once in a while, though not too often, she lets those feelings, those needs slip, when she allows me to put my arms arounds her, and bury my nose in her sweet-smelling copper tresses. She gives me a chance to indulge in the forbidden. Allows me to think about her as more than my co-worker, my friend. Scully doesn't want to be considered as someone in need of comfort, of understanding. She was like that all throughout her ordeal with cancer. She awoke every morning, facing another day that could very well be her last, she didn't let the fright, the anger show. She opened up even less to her family, and to God. Scully's faith in God used to be so strong, so powerful, but while she was sick, the Lord could not offer her solace. Her only solace was her work. Her only comfort, the only thing that kept her going, was working beside me. I have always seen Scully as my anchor, my rock, the one person who has the guts to pull me down before I do something stupid. I think Scully sees me as her anchor as well. Her rock, the one she can count on....and the one she can hold when it becmes too much. The End. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I love feedback!! E-mail me at . All e-mails will be answered.