From: "b.l.u.e. sunshine" Date: Fri, 23 Jun 2000 18:50:06 CDT Subject: story Source: direct Title: Crossroads (1/1) Author: Miss Blue Rating: PG 13 for some sexual content... Setting: post all things. Keywords: MSR... if you're not a Shipper, run for the hills- this is a pretty Shippy piece... even kinda mushy i think... *hides under the couch* i'm ashamed. Spoilers: Anasazi, mild Colony, i think. EXTREMELY mild Millenium... anything seventh season is fair game, expecially The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati... nothing too serious. Disclaimer: blah blah blah- you know the drill... Mulder and Scully belong to Fox, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, and all those men (AND women, dammit) in suits, that make it possible to watch Mulder and Scully and their amusing, touching, sometimes frightening, and occasionally angst-ridden antics, every week... and i like to think that they're also property of David and Gillian- for breathing life into Chris's ideas... no infringement is intended, and i'm certainly NOT making any money... oh, and the Little Prince and the quotes from it are owned by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. or they WERE- i think he's dead *laughs* Blue Notes: okay, this sorta hints at some soul-matey stuff, so i'm gonna just pretend that TFWID never took place *laughs maniacly* Melissa Whatser-Face never existed. so ha. =P i'm gonna dedicate this story to Melissa, as usual- Mellie, me loves ya sis *fuzzy hugz n tigah lix* oh- and i hope everyone likes this... it's my first decent X-Files fic... i gave up trying when i was twelve, and began writing original stories with my own characters, and that's where i developed my (ahem) talent... i'm really very proud of a lot of my own stories... i'm not sure about this, but i've read much worse on the Net... i've also read much better, but i'm not gonna get into that... this story also for Lydia Bower, because her amazing Dance Without Sleeping inspired me to try again... oh yeah- and btw, this is told in the second person... i'm not sure why i chose this style, but it's how i often write in my journal... i like the way it sounds, and i think that maybe Scully would write in HER journal like this, because of the way she used it 'to detatch' herself, in Irresistable (you DO remember, don't you?) and in this case, she wouldn't be detatching herself because it was disturbing, but so she could look at her experience from a more objective point of view. *giggles* do i sound as full of crap as i think i do? XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX You lie in the bath with your head propped against an inflatable water-pillow, hair piled up on top of your head, reading 'The Little Prince'- Mulder would laugh, would be amused to know that you- the rational scientist, Doctor Scully, professional to the end- have a secret weakness for this sweet, sad and wistful children's book. Not quite a children's book, you remind yourself- though it was one of your favourites as a little girl- it's a book that works on so many levels, a book that leads you to discoveries each time you read it anew- discoveries about yourself as well as about the book. You wonder suddenly if Mulder has read it- maybe you'll throw an obscure quote at him one day soon, just to find out, because you know it wouldn't matter if it had been years since he'd last read it; Mulder remembers little things like that. It's who he is. You once knew someone like him- someone who remembered things upon hearing them, someone who soaked things up like a sponge and read between the lines- got inside your head and *knew* how you felt without really knowing. That person was your sister- Melissa had been like that; knowing things she couldn't possibly know without actually being inside your head, your skin. You have the feeling that Mulder knows things- senses things in you that you often don't even acknowledge yourself, things that have been long ago buried but sometimes surface, reminding you of who you used to be. He rarely expresses his knowledge of secrets hidden inside, but you know he *must* know of them- the way he looked at you the few times you spoke of your decision to leave medicine- he knew your reasons were excuses for escaping something- knew there was some piece of the puzzle missing, and his eyes betrayed that knowledge. He hadn't asked about it again after the first few times, and you hadn't volunteered any information. Had he known about Daniel, even before you'd told him? The rational side of you says that it isn't possible- doesn't make any sense, but it *does* make sense, in an odd way. You and Mulder have a connection that is almost tangible at times- you could feel it being stretched to the point of pain while you were in Africa, searching for the answers that would save his life. You had felt it still there, even when you'd been told he'd been trapped in the burning boxcar in Mexico, you had felt the bond still there, unfrayed by supposed death. A connection that seems timeless, as if you've known eachother all your lives- beyond that even. A connection that transcends time and space, life and death... Colleen Azar had been right in saying that you are more open to things than you think. Daniel had been wrong- so wrong- in thinking that he knew you still. You are *not* the Dana Scully that he knew- you're not the Dana Scully that *you* knew. You had been both wrong and right- wrong that you were longing for the life you didn't choose. You were curious to know what it would have been like, wistful maybe, for what might have been, but you knew you could never have been happy with him. Ruining the life of his wife and daughter- his life too, for while he would have done his best to make you happy, you could have been nothing but *un*happy with him, and you'd have ended up resenting yourself for choosing that path, resenting him for being a choice to make, and he'd have resented *you* for resenting *him*. You were right in telling Mulder that there may be only one right choice to make, and that there were signs along the way. You *are* *right* in thinking that Mulder is the right choice- the right path. He could be nothing *but* the right choice. "To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..." Oh Mulder, you think, you *are* unique in all the world- and you've most certainly tamed me. I think maybe we've tamed eachother, and that used to frighten me a little, because I don't like needing anyone... but I'm not afraid anymore. There's no reason to be afraid. You get out of the tub set the book down on the seat of the toilet, pulling the plug as you go, wrapping yourself in a fluffy red towel to ward of the cold air making goosebumps rise on your skin. You towel yourself down and head into your bedroom, flicking the switch and blinking at the sudden bright light. You remember that the bulb had burned out early yesterday, and you'd substituted a too-bright kitchen light instead of going to the store and buying a lower-watt bulb. You slowly dress yourself in blue flannel pajama pants, and a black sweatshirt of Mulder's that he forgot here once and you'd never bothered to return, liking the way it seemed to swallow you up, wrapping you in his special MulderScent. A guilty pleasure that you've never even tried to deny herself, as you so often do with things like icecream, or sleeping in until noon on weekends, or a sick day when you aren't sick with anything but cabin fever from being cooped up in a stuffy basement office with 'nobody but the FBI's most unwanted'. Denying yourself this small thing would be simply impossible. You feel safe engulfed in this shirt, pressing your hands- covered mostly by the sleeves- against your face, and breathing in his smell, a smell that fades more and more each time you wear it. You'll have to give it back, just so he can give back to it the smell that's leaving it much too quickly to suit you, and then steal it back again. Use the key marked 'Mulder' on your ring, and steal it off his bed, or the back of a chair- perhaps still folded in the drawer, in which case you'd have to leave it for a week until you can be sure he'd worn it... then try again. You stifle a laugh at the thought of it. It would be crazy- totally unlike you. Fun. Lately all the reasons for not being with Mulder- in that one last way there is to be with him- have been brushed aside. You simply don't recall *why* you ever payed them any attention. You don't remember why you never told him how you felt until last night. You don't know why it took seeing Daniel again to realize just how different you are from the woman first assigned to the X-Files. You've seen so much and are no longer so unyielding in your belief that there are only rational, scientific explanations for the things you've seen. There is no scientific explanation for your connection to Mulder- no explanation for the visions you had the other day. You once told Mulder that nothing happened in contradiction to nature, only in contradiction to what we know of it. You fell asleep on his couch last night. You were aware that he was speaking, you heard his voice but not his words, and you didn't want to talk anymore. You just wanted to feel, and so you leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt under your cheek- the warmth of his arm, breathing the smell of him to your toes. You were faintly aware of him brushing a lock of hair away from your face, getting up and tucking his fleece Indian pattern blanket around your shoulders. When you woke up a few hours later the first thing you'd seen was the little glowing spaceship in Mulder's fish tank, and you'd smiled, thinking that only Mulder would have something that tacky in his house- even if it was only in a fishtank. You'd yawned and stretched, wondering where Mulder was, before realizing that he was probably in his room, sleeping as any sane individual would be doing at this late hour. You frown, vaguely remembering hearing something about 'this late hour' recently. Something Mulder had said before you drifted off... Something... What? You had said "What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong? And there were signs along the way to pay attention to." And then he'd said "And all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn, and... we wouldn't be sitting here together. Well, that says a lot. That says a lot, a lot, a lot. That's probably more than we should be getting into at this late hour. " Is that what he'd said? You sat up, wide awake. He knew exactly what you'd meant... You had to see him, even if only watch him sleep- you needed to make sure he hadn't vanished. You had the irrational feeling that he would have disappeared now that you'd finally pushed the last wall down together. Now that you could at last be with eachother completely. Body as well as soul. You walked slowly to his room, wondering why you were doing this at two o'clock in the morning, at the same time pulling your button-down cardigan off over your head, tossing it to the floor outside his room and tugging down the small tee-shirt so that it covered your stomach, and then touched the almost-closed door to his room, smiling, glad that he'd finally started *using* it- finally allowing himself the comfort of a real bed. You slipped under the covers beside him, pulling them up to your chin, and rolled over on your side to look at him. He lay facing you, his face so peaceful in slumber- his hair slanting spikily to one side and slighty onto his brow, his face smooth, his lips curved into a small smile- like a little boy. A part of Mulder will probably always be twelve. You reached out, tracing the shape of his lips with a finger, before lying back down, closing your eyes and wriggling closer to him. You turn off the light beside your bed, and turn off the main light, looking at the empty expanse of your bed for a long moment, before sitting down on the edge of it, staring down at your feet and wriggling your toes, smiling slightly at the shiny pink nail polish. "You always keep me on my toes."- This would sure surprise him- Mulder would never have guessed that you paint your toenails barbie-doll pink. A remaining habit from your's and Melissa's little slumber parties every Saturday night. You'd paint eachother's toenails the most horrendous shades you could find and make references to whatever colour you'd chosen all through the rest of the week, laughing when no one else even recognized that a joke had passed between the two of you. Mulder sometimes sees that silly side of you, although you rarely reveal it to him. He sometimes sees that you have trouble not tossing too many innuendo-laden comments back his way. He sees that you have trouble not smiling at his many Mulderisms. That you don't *always* want to eat salads and garden-burgers and healthy things- that you'd like to gorge yourself on junk, and forget the reasons you shouldn't. Mulder sees these things. Mulder knows. Mulder. "Scully?" His voice was thick with sleep. "Hi." You smiled at him. Sorry that you'd woke him, but not the least bit sorry that you were graced with the presence SleepyMulder, a lovely side of him that you see all too rarely. "What are you doing up?- I thought you were knocked out for the night." He propped himself up on his elbow, his chin resting on his hand. "I woke up about ten minutes ago... I think something must have woken me, but I'm not sure what." You stifled a yawn with your hand, and he reached out to take it in his. Your eyes locked as he brought your hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. "Mmm..." You could tell that he wasn't particularly interested on the whys and wherefores of it- just glad that you were there, lying beside him. "Mulder..." "Are you happy, Scully?" His voice was soft, his eyes betraying the true meaning of his question. "Yes, Mulder. I'm happy." You murmured. "I mean- with the way your life is now. With-" You knew he was going to say 'with me' and all you wanted to do was kiss him. How could he not know? After everything you've been through, seven years- how could he not know? "Yes, Mulder- I said yes." You reached up, your hands cupping his jaw, his razor stubble tickling your palms. "Yes." you whispered, and then pulled his face down level with yours and kissed him. His lips were soft and warm and slightly salty. His tongue slid across your lips, and you parted them immediatly. Your tongue snaked out, tangling with his, your hand slipping to the back of his neck, gently kneading the muscles there. He pulled you tightly against him and you could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed up against your lower stomach. You laughed deep in your throat and kissed his neck, his ear, his nose. Everywhere your lips could reach they touched. And every time they touched his skin you became more and more addicted to the taste of him. "Scully-" You took your name from his lips, replaced it with your lips and tongue. "Shhh, Mulder- don't talk." He listened well. The talking he did was another kind now. Using his tongue and lips still, but the only sounds were the sounds of your mutual pleasure. How could you have gone so *long* after your first kiss without kissing him again? His hands reached out to cup your breasts and you smiled, pulling your tee-shirt up and off with no trouble. Even through the fabric of your bra you could feel the heat of his hands. He rubbed your nipples with his thumbs, then reached behind you to undo the bra. You were both kneeling now, his hands on your breasts, yours on his upper arms, your lips at his throat, nipping and licking at his rapid pulse. His hands dropped from your breasts and slid down to the now-unbuttoned front of your jeans, pulling them down over your hips, and you kicked them off. His hand slid between your legs, under your panties, and two fingers began circling your clit. Your head fell back and a ragged sigh escaped you lips. "Oh- Mulder..." He pinched it lightly, then slid even farther up, dipping inside- Oh, God. You couldn't take any more of this - it had been over seven years since you'd made love with *any*one and all you wanted was to have him inside you- Now. Oh please now. "Mulder- I need you. Don't make me wait." He grinned. "Scully, are you sure you don't wanna do this the drawn-out-and-romantic way?" "There'll be plenty of time for that- later. I want *this* now." The ringing phone brings you back to yourself, and you blink, staring at it as if you've never seen it before. You are surprised to find yourself in your own room- it felt like just a moment ago you really *were* in Mulder's. The thought brings a smile to your lips, and you pick up the phone. "Hello?" "Hey, it's me." You can hear his smile as though it sends little HappyMulder vibrations down the telephone line. "Hi, Mulder. What's up?" Mulder never calls without a reason, though it often takes more than a little prodding on your part to find out what it is. Mulder never just *calls*. He chuckles. "One guess, Scully." You smirk. "I'm not sure I wanna know." "Aw, c'mon... You weren't acting like this last *night*." "I'm going to ignore that, Mulder." "Maybe that's a good idea." "So, why did you call, Mulder?" "Scully, I have something I need to ask you..." He sounds a little nervous, and very un-Mulder like. "Hmm?" "Would you mind if I picked you up tomorrow night around seven?" "Why, Mulder?" You ask warily- hoping that he doesn't want to drag you to some place where a supposed UFO was sighted. "Um... I wanna take you out. On a *date*- You should probably wear a dress, okay, Scully?" "What? - Take me where?" You chuckle at his enthusiasm. "To a restaurant. A *real* resturaunt, Scully- with waiters." You laugh. "Alright, Mulder. It's a date." "Okay- at seven." "Seven." You repeat. "G'night, Scully." "Good night, Mulder." You smile, knowing that he can hear it in your voice. You set the phone back in its cradle and stare at it for a moment, you feel giddy- energized. All it took was seven years- seven years of chasing monsters and leads on his sister and men who may or may not have information about what happened to you... Seven years of missed chances and excuses and miscommunications and finally- *finally* a chance *taken*- to reach this point... It took seven years, but it's happened. You have a date with Mulder. ~end~ XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX all comments and criticisms to bluetigah@hotmail.com- feedback is SO appreciated and i'll reply to it all... i swear! *holds up her right hand* scout's honour.