From: katchat42@juno.com
Date: Sat, 16 Aug 2003 03:29:46 GMT
Subject: No Subject Provided
Source: direct


Title: Dana Scully's Diary
Author: Katchat
Rating: PG	
Category: Vignette  H/R
Keywords: UST
Spoilers:  Just about anything before seasons 8&9 

Disclaimer:  These characters do not belong to me, although I am the
one that nurtures them and keeps them alive.  And I don't even get
child support.

Summary:  A look into the mind of Agent Scully

Dana Scully's Diary

Believe it or not, I didn't always care what Mulder thought of me.

There was a time when I was content to just be me, to live as I
pleased, to look as I pleased, to believe as I pleased.

When I first met him, I remember thinking that our partnership would
never go beyond the lines of professionalism.  My first notation of
him was that he was in fact, rather good looking.  I had to admit he
caught my eye.  But my next thought was that he was way out my league.  
He struck up an immediate conversation about a case that was obviously
the focus of his entire life at that moment.  I tried to play along,
offering him witty banter in response to his own.  I knew that I was
as smart as he was, if not more so.  But I'd never managed to grab the
attention of a man so good looking, so I figured that wasn't about to
happen anytime soon.

I never really cared what I looked like before Mulder.  Even after I
met him, I continued to lead my non-feminine lifestyle.  I didn't even
own a curling iron.  I didn't really care if my suit didn't fit quite
right.  I wasn't willing to sacrifice the extra sleep in the morning
to spend time with makeup.  Long ago, I had given up on these things.  
My goal was to be a scientist, to be a brilliant investigator, an
equal to my many male counterparts in the profession I had chosen, not
some bimbo with a french manicure and mini-skirt.  I didn't want to be
noticed for anything but my mind.

To my surprise, Mulder and I began to form a strange bond with each
other.  We started out as co-workers, then colleagues, then partners,
then friends.  While our personalities were so drastically different,
and our opinions and theories on opposite ends of the scale, our work
brought us together in a way I never thought possible.  We
investigated such strange and often dangerous things that we learned
to always watch each other's backs.  We often had to stand up for one
another and defend our work.  We could only trust each other.  We were
alone in our work.

And for many years, it was about the work to me.  It was about solving
cases, about bringing to light the truth.  But after awhile, it became
about Mulder too.

It became not only about investigations. It was about pleasing him.  
Wanting to measure up.  Wanting to be noticed by him.  Wanting to be
appreciated for my contribution to the X-files.

So I worked hard.  I took care of him.  I helped him with his quest.  
I offered him a place of release, a friend who could understand him,
even if I didn't agree with him.

But somehow, it didn't seem enough.  I was still just Scully to him,
falling into the category of "one of the guys".  In his eyes I could
see my own reflection.  It was of a closest friend, but not really a
woman.

This point really struck home with me when I discovered with surprise
that I was jealous.  Jealous when other women held his attention.  
Jealous that I couldn't make him look at me that way.  I can remember
one occasion when we were in meetings all day, and I noticed a leggy
brunette casting suggestive glances Mulder's way.  I felt a sudden
urge to defend my territory, to flash her a warning signal that this
was my turf.  But when I glanced at Mulder sitting beside me, I was
horrified to discover that he was returning the woman's flirtations.  
Rage filled me.  How dare he?  I'm sitting right here!

Then it dawned on me.  Why should that matter in the least?  Why
shouldn't Mulder be noticing this woman sitting across from him.  
After all, she was going to great lengths to get his attention with
her much too short skirt and her tight blouse unbuttoned a little
lower than modesty required.  What was stopping him from flirting?  
We had no such relationship, there were no barriers for him, no
exclusivity.  We'd never even shared so much as a goodnight peck on
the cheek.  He wasn't breaking any rules.

I studied this brunette for a moment, noticing her well tended hair,
her makeup, even her seemingly distasteful outfit.  I glanced down at
my own pantsuit, a baggy brown ensemble that did absolutely nothing
for my figure, but had enough room for my badge and gun and wallet and
keys.  I sighed.  I was wearing a purse.  It wasn't fair at all.  How
come that woman looked so incredible and I looked like a lumpy sack of
fruit?

Mulder left that afternoon with the leggy brunette, and I sat alone in
our office listening to the woman's annoying giggle as they walked
down the hall.  It was there that I made a decision.  It was time for
me to adopt some femininity.  After all, there was nothing that said I
couldn't be a brilliant scientist and a beautiful woman at the same
time.  That Bambi chick could pull it off.  So could I.  No more ugly
brown pantsuits.  No more late night chinese takeout.  No more
sleeping in.  No more home hair coloring.  I was going to be a woman
if it killed me.

So over the next few weeks, I took charge of my appearance.  I
shopped, I made appointments at salons, I got up extra early and
jogged, I even shaved my legs every day.  Surprisingly, I felt better
about myself.  More powerful, more confidant, even smarter.  I could
tell that Mulder began noticing the shift in my life as well.  I'll
never forget the look on his face when he offered to buy me lunch and
I opted for a plain salad.  He watched in near horror as I sparsely
garnished the green leaves with low fat dressing and dug in as though
I were eating a supreme pizza.  He started looking at me differently
too.  I refused to blush one day when I caught him checking out my
legs during an interview with a suspect.  I casually re-crossed them
and tugged at my black skirt.  Let him eat his heart out.  It was nice
to be noticed not just for my brain, but as a woman as well.  I didn't
see that leggy brunette anymore either.

But my glory was short lived.

I can remember sitting alone in a sterile examining room at the
hospital, refusing to allow tears to fall as I felt a new heavy
burden.  I had cancer.  I was going to die.

It was harsh and cruel.  It was a nightmare that became painfully
real.  I wasn't ready to die.  I felt my life had hardly begun.  
There was so much left to do, so much I needed to do.  I couldn't
leave Mulder alone, not on this path we had chosen.  I still wanted a
life, a family, a home outside of the FBI.

I decided I wouldn't give up.  I was determined.  I wouldn't be a
victim.  I'd be a survivor.

Thus began a new era in my life.  I found out just how much I really
meant to Mulder.  The pain in his eyes when I informed him of my
condition was unmistakable.  It was obvious that losing me was not a
thought he would allow.  He fought just as hard as I did.  He was
determined to find a cure.  He took risks, he received criticism, he
put everything on the line, but didn't think twice about it.  All that
mattered was my life which was hanging by a thread.

And somehow, he did it.  He saved me.  Of course, the doctors can't
explain my remission, but I know.  I'd be dead if not for him.

This was the time in my life when I truly fell in love with Mulder.

You take stock of your life when you are facing death.  You examine
your relationships, your words and actions.  I had plenty of time to
think about Mulder when I was lying in my hospital bed.  Plenty of
hours alone to ponder what was really important to me.  I couldn't
deny the facts.  I really did love him.  More than that, I needed him.  
For so long I had fought for my independence.  I had done everything
on my own--medical school, the FBI--I had climbed these ladders
without assistance.  But I needed Mulder.  I depended on him, I found
solace in him, I was alive because of him.  He was a part of me, a
half that made me complete.

But he's still an idiot.

Or maybe I am, I don't know.

Maybe I'm the one who built up these walls between us that are
invisible, yet so tangible at times.  Perhaps I set the limitations
for our relationship.  Maybe I'm the one who made the rule that we
could never speak of our true feelings for one another.  Maybe I try
to keep him at arm's length, to remain professional at all times even
though I often have to fight the urge to pin him against his cluttered
office wall and show him how good a kisser I am.

It must be me.  For there are times when he gazes at me so intently,
that I would give anything to know what he was thinking.  The look in
his eyes is one of restraint, of withholding.  For he dares not cross
the lines we've drawn.

That's why he's a fool.

Can't he hear my screaming thoughts?  Can't he read my eyes, my
actions?  Can't he tell that I love him beyond belief, beyond my own
ability to fathom?  It seems obvious!  I don't shave my legs every day
for my own enjoyment.  He's got to notice how hard I'm trying.  He
should be able to understand that I follow him to New Mexico and rural
Oregon and some mosquito invested wilderness not just because I'm
intent on finding the same truth as he, but because I need to be with
him.  Aren't my actions proof enough?  Do I really need to smack him
across the face and say, "Hey idiot, I love you by the way"?

I don't know.  I suppose we will continue on this road of silence,
neither of us bringing up the subject that both of us ponder
constantly.  It's just our way, I guess.  I may hate this, hate
concealing these overwhelming emotions within me, but I know that I
wouldn't trade a moment of silence with Mulder for a lifetime of
colloquy with another.  It's the path I've chosen, the life I wish to
lead.

And I do have my momentary rewards.  There are occasions when I catch
the spark in his eyes when he glances at me.  He often tells me when I
look nice or compliments something about my appearance.  He's been one
to give me a playful hug when I'm having a bad day or a firm embrace
when life really reeks of angst.  We've even been known to flirt now
and then.  So, it's not a total waste, this unresolved tension between
us.

And maybe one day, all this will change.  Maybe we'll shed the
barriers that keep us apart and let things be as they should. One day,
I hope that we solve these mysteries we fight so hard to unveil and
lay to rest the memories that haunt us.  One day, I hope it all comes
to a conclusion, so that we are free from these burdens, free to start
a new chapter in our relationship that is strikingly different from
this current one.  Free to love.

So, I guess I'll keep eating salads and shaving.  I know that day is
coming.