From: AHaynes33 <ahaynes33@aol.com>
Date: 20 Feb 1999 05:33:56 GMT
Subject: REVISED: "Friendly" by Anne Haynes

I really hate typos and places where I don't quite complete revisions.  Since I
found two really annoying mistakes in my original post of "Friendly," I felt
the need to repost the corrections.  Nitpicky? Moi?

DISCLAIMER: Everybody in this story belongs to Chris Carter,
Ten-Thirteen, and Fox.  I mean no infringement.

Category:  V, M/S Something, 1st Person
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers: US Season Six through "One Son"
Summary:  There are reasons for everything.

"Friendly"
by Anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com


I know she wonders what the hell was going on with me over 
the past few days.  She was a little dynamo, a poking, prodding, 
guilt-tripping, button-pushing, bitch-slapping, kick-a-sucker-when-
he's-down dynamo.  She pissed me off so badly I couldn't even 
see straight.

And sitting here now, waiting for the three stooges in Skinner's 
office to pronounce our fate, I'm overwhelmed by the knowledge 
that she didn't walk out on me for good two days ago.

It was close.  I pushed one too many of HER buttons this time, 
cowardly son of a bitch that I was.

"You're making it personal...."

What the FUCK was I thinking?

I wasn't thinking.  Not about what had been done to her. I wasn't 
thinking about three months, a computer chip and too damned 
many nights in too damned many hospital rooms when I was 
sure she wasn't going to make it through the next day.

I CAN'T think about those things.  Does she understand that?
When I think about them, a cold, black ball of darkness eats 
through my soul like acid.  I'm paralyzed, afraid to let her out of 
my sight, out of my mind.  And we can't function like that.  I 
know I can't.

She can't either.

So I don't.  I just don't think.

Next to me on the small sofa outside Skinner's office, Scully
shifts uncomfortably.  I follow her furtive gaze and see that
Skinner's red-headed assistant is looking at us like we're 
some sort of fungus that's begun to take hold on the furniture.
I know some of the reasons why the woman doesn't like me, 
but I'd never really noticed that she's equally disenchanted 
with Scully.

We haven't been at our best these past few months.  Either
of us.

I feel Scully's soft sigh more than I hear it.  She's not big on
waiting.  Normally, I'm not, either.  But I'm trying to use this
time to figure out something big. 

I'm trying to figure out how to tell Scully about Diana.

The really funny thing about me and Diana is, there's not
much to tell.  I think I used almost those exact words 
to tell Scully about Phoebe, but that was the understatement
of the year.  What I could tell about Phoebe, about the
ways she messed me over, could fill volumes.

With Diana, there's nothing like that.  Well, there hadn't been.
Until now.

I met her when I was in the academy.  At the time, her theories
about the paranormal were intriguing, in an academic way, but I 
was more interested in her legs. And her hands--great hands.
I wasn't looking for love, and she wasn't really offering it.  Sex 
and companionship was a nice compromise, and she gave me
both.  She knew there'd been someone who'd burned me.  She
hinted there was someone unattainable in her life, too.  Meanwhile,
we became friends.  Good friends.  Intimate friends.

Somewhere along the way, I discovered the X-Files.  Looking back,
with the knowledge I have now, I wonder if that was as much a 
coincidence as it seemed at the time.  But when it was happening,
it seemed almost like fate.  Like I was discovering a part of myself
that had been missing.  That was meant to be.

Maybe it was---just not the way I thought.

By that time, Diana and I weren't really lovers anymore.  Every once
in a while, usually in vulnerable moments---after my first hypno-
regression session with Dr. Werber, for instance---we'd end up in
bed together.  But even then, it was so damned friendly.

And I didn't have that many friends.

I don't think Scully understands that. If Diana had been like Phoebe,
if I'd been addicted to her and passionate about her, if we'd been 
tempestuous lovers who burned like fire for each other, I wouldn't 
have thought twice about believing Scully's evidence, no matter 
how circumstantial.

But Diana was my friend.  When it ended with her, it ended well.
Mutual sadness at the inevitable distance.  Mutual realization
that we weren't going to be keeping in touch, not past the first few
months of cards and phone calls now and then.  My work was just
beginning to take off, and her job kept her on the move all the time.
Like so many old friends, we lost touch.  

But it was a friendly end.  And I'm a man who doesn't seem to 
come across many friendly ends.

I just wanted to believe this one would stay that way.  Friendly.

You see, in a weird sort of way, Diana gave me hope for Scully 
and me.  That this amazing thing Scully and I have with each other 
could be good.  That it could last.  That it wouldn't go up in flames.

Scully and I have passion.  We tamp it down and hold it in check, 
but we've both seen it smoldering beneath the surface, stoking 
itself despite our best efforts. But what we have is also friendly.  
Affectionate, despite the volatile conflicts that lie ever between us.  
And the way things were with Diana, the way we'd managed to 
carry out our relationship without destroying each other---Scully
has no idea how I clung to that.  How I reminded myself that a 
relationship could be good.

How can I explain that to Scully without sounding like I don't 
trust her?

I do, Scully.  I trust you. I trusted you enough to go against 
every instinct, ever desire I had where Diana was concerned.  I
trusted you enough to peel away my good memories and dare
to look for the disease at the core.

And Scully was right. 

I found it, just like she knew I would.

I don't think she knows what that did to me.  I don't think she
understands just how completely that visit to Diana's apartment
knocked the foundation of my whole life out from under me.

But I'm going to try to find a way to explain it to her, once we
know what's going to happen to us.  Maybe I'll only be able to
piece it together for her as I'm piecing it together for myself.
But I'm going to tell her about Diana, because that's the only
way I can make Scully understand just how utterly my trust 
belongs to her.

And as hard as it is for me to fathom how she could doubt
that, I realize now just how much she needs to hear it.

Skinner's assistant picks up a file and walks out of the 
office past us.  I slump a little lower as she passes.  Next
to me, Scully relaxes a bit as well.

I look at my partner, at the cool, deceptively delicate profile
turned to me.  "I don't even know where to start now, Scully."

She looks at me, her sharp gaze sweeping over my face as
if she's taking inventory.  For a second, I think I see a hint of
sadness, and my stomach coils. I look away from her, suddenly
terrified.  I thought we'd patched some of the holes I'd chipped 
into our partnership over the past few days, but---

She releases a soft sigh, her fingers brushing across the
back of my hand.  "We start where we always start," she says.  
"With the facts we have at hand."

I turn to look at her again.  Something I see in her eyes lights a
fire in my core.  It's electric, this effect she has on me.  God knows,
she jump-started me just last night, when I didn't know who I was
or what I was going to do.  

She's doing it again now.  And suddenly, I feel utterly certain that
we're going to be okay. Whatever happens now, we can handle it.

I don't need Diana to give me hope about Scully and me. 

I have Scully.

"I think we need to look into Tunisia."  It's as much of an apology 
as I can voice at the moment.  I'll find more ways to apologize in
days to come, Scully, I promise.

She nods, accepting my intent.  

The door to Skinner's office opens.  We look up like two puppies
in a dog pound, not sure if the nice man at the door is going to
give us a good home or take us to the gas chamber.  Skinner
is poker-faced, but I think I see a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
I allow myself to hope.

Skinner gives a nod toward his office.  Scully rises, and I follow, 
as if we're bound together by an invisible but unbreakable thread
between her soul and mine.  As we move toward our once--and
future?--boss, I touch the small of her back, just above the 
compact bulge of her gun.  Her body vibrates at my touch, and
I can't quite tamp down a little thrill.

You still got it, Mulder. 

Now for God's sake, don't blow it.

==The End==

Anne Haynes

My XF Fanfic is stored at http://members.aol.com/ahaynes33/index.htm