From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Wed, 15 Mar 2000 12:47:35 -0600
Subject: Heaven Coming Down by Calesta B.
Source: direct

Reply To: calesta_b@hotmail.com



Heaven Coming Down

by Calesta B.

Category: MSR

Summary: Post-Ep for Theef

Spoilers:  North American Seventh Season

Disclaimer:  Not mine, borrowing etc.

Feedback:  calesta_b@hotmail.com, gratefully accepted & 
           always appreciated

******************************************************************


She can hear him on the other side of the door.  
Waiting.  She knows he is waiting for her.  
She wonders what it is that he thinks he is 
waiting for her to do.

The ride back to their hotel from the 
USF Medical Centre after seeing to 
Weider's recovery was silent.  
He had apologized several times already for 
booking a hotel so far from the action.  
She didn't let him off the hook, 
although she should have.  
Truthfully she didn't mind that the drive took 
them south of the airport.  
It gave her the chance to soak up the atmosphere 
of the Bay Area.  She loved it here. 
This is where I would go if I had the 
choice, she thought. 
Knowing as the thought formed that those kinds of 
choices were no longer something she felt she had.

Truth be told she'd been hoping for a posting to 
Northern California the day 
they assigned her to the X-Files.  
Full of herself, full of that cocky 
attitude that can only come with youth, 
she'd walked those halls at the 
Hoover building, grinning, sure that the 
field job she'd heard rumours about 
in the San Jose office was the job she 
was going to be offered.

Imagine her surprise when she ended up in 
the basement.

But with the determination and optimism that 
came from being a Navy brat and 
moving about the globe every four years 
or so(sometimes to
the place you hoped you'd end up and sometimes not), 
she did not allow 
herself to dwell on the disappointment, 
she focused on the task in
front of her.

Now here she is, listening to her partner 
listen to her on the other side of 
the door.  Taking a deep breath she opens the 
door before he knocks, noting the look of 
surprise on his face without betraying any 
expression on her own.  This is a skill 
she has honed over the past seven 
years.  Idly, she wonders why.  When did it 
become so important to play the 
poker face?  To absolutely not let him, or 
anyone else, know what was behind 
the facade?

He saunters past her into the room and 
turns sharply, so that he is close to 
her.  She closes the door and now she is 
the one who waits.

He looks at her intently, wondering if 
the thoughts that have been coursing 
through his mind should be the ones he 
acts on today, and
why today and not yesterday or tomorrow?  
What is it about this afternoon, 
with warmer temperatures and more sunshine 
than is normal for Northern 
California in March?

He waits for her to ask him what he wants.  
She is silent.  She takes a step 
forward and waits still.  
She feels his tension and nervous energy roll off 
of his body in waves that engulf her, 
just before he physically does the 
same.

'I'm so tired of guessing, Scully,'  
is all he says before pulling her 
closer and kissing her.

He asks a question with his lips.  
She doesn't answer right away, her lips 
feel stiff beneath his.  It is the 
hallway in the Virginia hospital all over 
again.

He had asked her that New Year's night, 
with his eyes, with his kiss, if it 
was time for them.  Her answer, 
hidden in her lips, was no, not yet.

His heart had begun to break at the 
moment their first kiss ended, then 
caught on the 'not yet'. An entire 
conversation spoken with eyes and lips, 
the actual words circling their heads 
were inconsequential, white noise to 
the real communication that was passing 
between them.  If he had to tell her 
what he was feeling in those first
moments of the new century he would have 
to say that if her unspoken answer had
been just 'no - there will be no time 
for us.'  His world would have ended.

Now here they are again.  If asked, 
he could not explain why he felt the 
need to press the issue that afternoon.

He pulls away, looks away.  He tries 
not to let his heart break this time, 
but he can feel it splintering.

Pfaster, his mother, his sister;  
these things have happened in the first 
three months of the new century.  He had 
thought maybe the not yet had been 
erased by the newest horrors in their lives. 
It should have been.

All that and he was tired of guessing.  
Tired of not knowing if this was a 
good day or bad to take that final step.  
Tired of not knowing when they 
were going to be on the same page.  
Tired of not being able to ask her with 
real words.  Tired of this dance, 
tired of wanting to learn a new step and 
having his partner sit this one out.

He feels that he has his answer for 
today, that they are not on the page 
together.  No new steps.  He sighs, 
knowing that 'not yet' is going to be in 
her eyes yet again, he tries to be 
thankful that is not just 'no'.

She knows the question, she knows 
the way he asks it, she knows the way she 
will answer.  She will keep him 
guessing, but only because
he thinks he knows her answer.  
He thinks he sees the 'not yet' flashing 
from her blue eyes again.  She 
thinks it is time she catches up, 
she takes a deep breath and jumps 
onto his page.  
She will learn the steps as she goes.

'Call Skinner,' she says and 
sees the heartbreak in his posture.  
His eyes give nothing away - he will 
not let her see what her rejection 
has done to him, 
she is not the only one to have 
perfected the poker face in the last seven 
years.  She knows he is 
wondering how she can be so cold 
to ignore his kiss, 
to go on as if it had never happened.  
She wants to smile, but cannot.  Not 
yet.

'Tell him,' she pauses, 
staring into his eyes.  
Wondering what she will see 
there when she finishes the 
sentence, the urge to smile
overwhelms her.  She knows it 
has reached her eyes, because 
his are smiling 
in response.  Odd that they 
can share this smile all the 
while their faces are stone cold 
masks of seriousness, Mulder's mask carved of 
despair.

'Tell him,' she says again, 'that 
we have some holiday time coming and we 
have decided to spend a weekend here.  
Tell him that our phones are off and 
we are going to go sight seeing in the city.  
Do not tell him that we are 
going to rent a convertible and drive up the 
coast.  Do not tell him that we 
will stop at the most expensive, 
outrageous bed and breakfast we can find 
once we have reached Mendocino.  
Do not tell him that we will rent only one 
room and that we will likely not 
do any sightseeing once we have reached 
that destination.'

All the while she has moved closer to him, 
erasing the distance he had been 
inserting between them, until they are 
standing toe to toe.  She feels him 
holding his breath.

Their eyes have not lost contact, 
the smile that was threatening to crack 
the stone facade has done so and 
she briefly thinks with a
moment's regret that perhaps 
she will never be able to rebuild it.  She 
panics for a minute, feeling the 
security fall away from her.  And then he 
is crushing her, kissing her.  
And she knows she will not need it again, not 
for him.

Later that afternoon they are just 
south of Mendocino, they have stopped to 
put the top up on the car.  
She has not stopped smiling and he has not 
stopped touching her.  
One hand on hers as he negotiates 
the curves on  Highway One.  
The fog is rolling in off the ocean, 
enveloping the road in 
grey waves. 

She gets out of the car to stretch 
as the top goes up.  Unable to stand the 
distance between them for even the 
shortest moments, he gets out as well and 
stands beside her.  Their arms 
are now touching, and that is enough.

He is staring out at the ocean, 
oblivious to the cars that travel the 
highway between them and the water.  
He doesn't know if he can stand the 
happiness that is rolling through him.  
He is so grateful that he can still 
feel it and still recognize it.  
He wants to know one thing.  Wants to know 
why she decided to learn the new steps with him.

'Why now, Scully?'

She considers, the last seven years 
flashing before her eyes, as if she were 
having a near death experience.  
There were so many other, more appropriate 
moments, too numerous to list.  
So many near misses, so many times one or 
the other was sure they had lost 
it all. This case had not been exceptional 
for them.  The temporary blindness 
she experienced hadn't been as terrifying 
or life threatening as so many of 
the other cases and situations she'd been 
in.

'I don't know,' she answers simply. 
 'I think I was just tired of denying 
myself the things I really wanted.  
A vacation, a weekend in California that 
involves my partner and no X-Files.  
It occurred to me as we were standing 
in that hotel room that I wasn't 
getting any points for my denial.  That the 
pain we seem to be inflicting on 
ourselves in the name of not breaking down 
was hurting.  And it wasn't proving 
anything. That this has seemed to be an 
inevitable conclusion and I didn't 
really know why I was fighting it. And I 
really, really wanted to enjoy those 
kisses. I've been dreaming about them 
for years.'

She has talked herself into his arms.  
He nods his head, nuzzling her hair 
and smiles.  He couldn't have 
said it better himself.

They continue on, she makes good on 
her suggestion of finding the most 
outrageous bed and breakfast 
they can find.  The room is complete with 
fireplace, hot tub, queen size 
featherbed and three bottles of chilled 
champagne.

They do not leave until Tuesday.