From: "Barry Alberts" Date: Wed, 27 Jan 1999 19:21:56 -0500 Subject: submission Here's another one!- Thanks, hope I'm formatting correctly and all! Title: Cluttered Heaven Author: Lindsay Alberts Address: BarryAlberts@MSN.com Rating: G Category: Vignette, Mulder and Scully friendship/romance Spoilers: the pilot, Fight the Future Summary: Scully reflects on the day she met her best friend Disclaimer: The usual suspects. They don't belong to me, not harm intended, don't sue. Once again, I have signed my name on the return card in the back pocket. Hey, they've always come back before! Cluttered Heaven I knew it from the beginning. From the moment I cracked open the door to his office, and peered inside. "Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted." Perhaps that should have been a warning, a signal, as to what the next five and a half years would be like. An endless tirade of his dry humor, mixed with emotional monologues on the existence of reality of this or that. But if the warning was there, I did not heed it. Perhaps I should have. But if I could do it again, I still wouldn't. As he turned to look me over, I was caught off guard. His head snapped around, revealing his face. A slightly pouty, full mouth, a bumpy but endearing nose, the high forehead. But most of all, his eyes. The eyes of a little boy. Eager to meet the new day, to see what exciting new adventure or paradox or anomaly would present it's self. Over the years, those eyes have always told the truth. I have seen them laugh, argue, refuse to believe, cry, plead, and hope, but I have never seen them lie. His mouth may be spoken falsely, but I could always see the truth in those eyes. At that moment, his eyes, covered by glasses, danced at this new challenge. A partner- friend of foe? As I introduced myself, he let his feelings be known. "Oh isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded. So who did you tick off to get this detail, Scully?" "Scully." I never asked him to call me that. Perhaps since he wished to be called by his last name, he thought it would be proper for the same to be true for me. But it has become my name. On the occasion that he has called me by my first name, it sounds strange. Although I know that when he does it he is expressing his love in his own way, it still founds foreign to my ear. A tiny part of my brain wants to scream, "No, that's not my name!" To him, and when I'm around him, I am Scully. I shook his hand. His grip, firm but not crushing belied the power in his arms. Power to be used when necessary. "Actually, I'm looking forward to working with you. I've heard a lot about you." I tried to make conversation- an attempt that he once again brushed away. "Oh really? I was under the impression that you were sent to spy on me." How could I respond to that? For some reason, this statement did not anger me. Perhaps it was the playful, flirtatious way in which he said it. But I knew what he was doing, and he was aware that I understood. He was testing me. Our relationship has always had that quality. We push each other. It's not dislike, just a mutual, clairvoyant agreement. The yin and the yang are needed to complete the whole. From there, we dove right into the case. Or, should I say, he did. He continued testing me over my credentials, then changed gears without pretense. My credentials. For my undergraduate degree, I rewrote Einstein. An irony I later came to realize. But he wasted no time in pointing it out to me. To become a doctor, a scientist whose belief in a proven answer is vital, I had to write a paper. I chose a topic- Einstein's Twin Paradox. And from there I wrote a "new interpretation" of the laws of the universe. In a way, I said that these basic ideas of nature were invalid- a practice he does on every X-File. A practice I continually try to stop; am I fighting myself? As he said goodbye that first day, instructing me to be there bright and early the next morning, he assured me that we would, "leave for the very plausible state of Oregon at 8." I often wonder if that had a deeper meaning. Today, That office where we first met is my heaven. Every bit of it exudes him. It even smells like him, thought I would never I admit to anyone that I even noticed. The photos, posters, drawings, and reports that cover the walls all speak of him. It sounds odd that a place where I have endured such crap, such horrific scenes, and such amazing headaches would be my sacred ground, but it is. Just as that room is my sanctuary, he is mine. Who else, save for my family, can I trust so fully and unconditionally? Never in my right mind have I ever doubted my faith in him, even if my opinions do differ from his. It is a respectful difference. Although we must overcome that difference, it is merely a part of our relationship. It wasn't until I met him that I noticed the void in my life. It wasn't really a void, but something intangible was missing. Though I had my family and my career, I didn't have a partner. Not just in the sense of my job. He is my partner, my soulmate, my best friend. A connection that transcends romance; a higher love and, ultimately, friendship. My other half. Once, while we were working on the Dallas bombing case, he said something to me that perfectly expressed my feelings for him. "As difficult and as frustrating as it's been sometimes, your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over. You've kept me honest, you've made me a whole person." Aside from the incredible vulnerability and openness of that statement, he touched a nerve that I had never fully realized before. I think of him that way, too. Without his unyielding beliefs in the unbelievable, I would be all science. All work and no play. My imagination would shrink to roughly the size of a walnut, or in this case, an alien implant. My openmindness would constrict so that only a tiny trickle of interest and light would flow through. Together, we truly make each other. Our two extremes blend together to form a single, entire, slightly normal, human being that is capable of functioning in the real world. "Scully, wait'll you see this.' My vision tries hard to focus on his face as he bursts into that anomalous haven. His face is bright with excitement, his eyes sparkle with a glint that I am so familiar with, yet cannot describe in any logical sense. Logical- once again I am hung up on that word. "Scully, ya there?" My mind has clouded over; I once again focus and nod. Only he can be so aware of my subtle mood swings. Only he can understand, respect, and adjust to them. "I saw this in the paper." He flings a supermarket tabloid down on his desk at which I am seated. That desk, littered with papers and reports of all kinds. "This." His long finger jabs hysterically at an article on the German Shepard in some town in Indiana that speaks Latin. I sigh, but not without delight. This next round of the game begs to top everything we've already encountered; it will be interesting. The verbal volley, the clash of fundamentals, all perpetuating this cycle I love so dear. And I know he loves it too. As his voice fills the room, spilling details over the space, I step back for a moment. Five years ago, I never would have imagined myself in this situation, with this type of person as my ally. But I love the person I have become; the person he has helped me create. And I do believe he loves that person as well.