From: msrxfiles@aol.com (MSR XFiles) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New-Helper 1/3 Date: 12 Jun 1996 15:38:52 -0400 Hi-ho, campers!!! Well, I wrote this with the desire to do something a little bit different-but never fear, it's a relationship story. Would you expect anything else out of me? So if you don't like the idea of Mulder and Scully having warm, fuzzy thoughts, back out now. Comments can be sent to me at dettiot@udel.edu or msrxfiles@aol.com. Third season spoilers: If you haven't seen Quagmire or Pusher, and don't want to spoil them, don't read this. Sorry international readers-I have great sympathy for you, and one of these days I'll write a story just for you guys. Rating-oh, a PG or PG-13 I'd say . . . there's sex but no details. Lots of thanks to Amy, for doing her usual above-the-call-of-duty editing and proofreading. Disclaimer: Mulder/Scully/Skinner/X-Files-they don't belong to me. They belong to that ex-surfer dude who wants us all to remember when his birthday is, and they also belong to his birthday company and the broadcasters who like furry animals and tortured, angsty FBI agents. No copyright infringement is intended. Helper Part One of Three By Melissa(msrxfiles@aol.com, dettiot@udel.edu) It was funny, her gift. She had always thought she was the most boring individual, if not in America, then definitely in her small town. Cooper, Nebraska might not have been a cultural mecca, but there was still a bustling population of ten thousand people-after all, they were only twenty-five minutes from the state capital. She had lived in Cooper all her life. Went to its public schools, prayed in its Presbyterian church, and married in the front parlor of her parent's house on Pine Street. She had borne no children, but she preferred it that way. She had never thought she was cut out to be a mother. Though Cooper was a fair-sized town, nothing much ever happened there. The people were mostly the same, descended from original settlers. Even the newcomers had the same backgrounds as the old-timers. So when she discovered her unusual talent, she at first thought maybe others shared it. But with the increased perception she now had, she was able to tell that she was alone in town. At first, she hadn't been able to control it. Money would appear in poor people's pockets; quarreling lovers would forget their fight and go on like nothing had happen. She had soon learned to hide it and use her power selectively, to tamp down on the whispers that had started circulating through town about her. Not that she minded the whispers; but she didn't want the authorities to interfere with her. But she did use it occasionally, when she had a strong feeling about something. So when they came to town, she knew that this man and woman needed her help, even if they didn't want to admit it. ********************************** Mulder sighed as he pulled the car into the parking spot in front of the police station. He didn't want to be in Cooper, Nebraska, investigating a case that any two agents could have handled. But after the "Big Blue" case, Skinner had decided to put him on a short leash. He noticed Scully glancing at him as he waited for her to catch up with him. She had been doing that more lately--ever since the Pusher case, but it had been escalating since their last case, when she had sat next to him on a rock and told him that his search for the truth reminded her of Captain Ahab. At which point he had given her a flip answer and tried to distract her, so she wouldn't see how much she had unnerved him. Just like he had before, in the car--she had been herself, opened up to him, and he had asked about iced tea. Shaking away the personal thoughts, he tried to get into professional mode, preparing to begin "an important investigation into alleged robberies," in Skinner's words. Why they had been sent was beyond him, but it was one of those times when he couldn't say anything. Besides, he felt that about all he could handle was a two-bit swindle case at this point. Scully had been brutally honest with him that night, and he was still a little shaken by her words. Not even her kindness later on had helped any. Scully had called her father "Ahab" out of affection, tenderness. But for him, it was a warning: be careful, Mulder, or the white whale will get you. If you search only for the Truth, there's no guarantees that you'll find the Truth you expected. And even though she told him that he had slain the whale after killing that alligator, he couldn't shake the heaviness of impending doom that Scully expected was for him. Implicit in her warning was the fact that he would be alone, and that he would wind up dead before he even found the Truth. And although he knew that Scully wouldn't leave him, her unspoken prediction laid heavily on his heart. As they entered the small police station, he noticed that Scully had stopped glancing at him, much to his relief. He always felt like squirming when he was in her gaze. When he had realized how he truly felt about her, he learned that her eyes could have a dangerous impact upon him. Sometimes, when those eyes were on him, he would want to turn around and stare directly at her, challenging her to see how he felt about her. Other times, he felt like melting at her feet and begging her forgiveness for everything that had happened to her. But most of the time when she looked at him, he wanted to kiss her. Scully dropped her eyes to the file, trying to avoid Mulder's quick looks at her. He had been doing that a lot lately . . .well, he had been doing that ever since she had been abducted. As if he was assuring himself that she was still walking by his side. She always wondered if he thought that one day she would disappear, poof, right in front of his eyes. But she didn't talk to him about it; she knew that he wouldn't believe her, and if he did, he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop himself from doing a lot of things, including chasing after windmills. And she was sure that she was not the best choice for Sancho Panza. After his last windmill, she wasn't surprised when they had gotten stuck with a plain old robbery investigation--it was something to make them cool their heels for a while. But then, she wasn't sure if anyone else in the world would want to be at Mulder's side. And by now, she knew that although she might not be the perfect sidekick, she wouldn't let anyone else take her place. That was why she had tried to talk to him during the last case . . . she could see him slipping into the same pattern that he always did, and as always, it scared her, his desire to believe. She was scared that one day, he would get so wrapped up in one of his quests, that he would run off again--like Alaska, like Miller's Grove. And she would be left alone, when the phone call came telling her that he was dead. She felt a mental shiver at that thought, but since they were approaching the front desk, she put those thoughts out of her mind. The police chief, who was more than happy to let such a minor case be handled by the Feds < he'll probably get a good laugh about how the taxpayers' money was being spent in the bar later tonight>, she mused as he briefed them on the case. As Mulder listened to the police chief recite details and facts, he let himself think about Scully a little. But as his attention wandered, he felt Scully's elbow subtly nudge what she thought was his ribs, but was actually closer to his hip. Doing a mental jump, he made himself listen to the chief as he elaborated on their main suspect. Scully felt some skepticism as the chief outlined the character of the suspect: Louise Jackson, forty-eight. Widowed, no children, lifelong resident of Cooper. Rumors had been swirling around her for the last eight months, because of the "strange going-ons" that were following her. She'd go to a restaurant, and a fifty-dollar tip would be left on the table; Louise would deny leaving it. The chief felt that Louise must have been pickpocketing, in a bizarre reaction to her husband's death a year ago. Mulder almost snorted at such a laughable suspect, but the thought of Scully's elbow prevented such a reaction. Instead, he assured the chief that Scully and he would immediately check out Mrs. Jackson. As they left the police station, they exchanged a look, and almost rolled their eyes in synchronization. But a lead was a lead . . . He pulled the car out of the space and drove down the quiet roads towards Mrs. Jackson's house. *************************** The house was smaller than he thought it would be, but no smaller than any of the other houses on the street. The yard was well-kept, a small garden fighting the drought-like conditions of the early summer. As he knocked on the door, he wondered a little about the woman inside. The door was opened, and they both were silent, for a moment. Mrs. Louise Jackson looked older than her years. She had the sad, wistful air that most grandmothers had, although she had lived less than half a century. As well, she had a slight air of command that fit her grandmotherly attitude. Mulder couldn't tell if she was short or tall, thin or overweight. His full attention was drawn to her eyes, two deep emerald green orbs staring back at them. She gazed at them both for a moment as well, then the slightly hard expression relaxed into cautious pleasantness. "Yes, can I help you with anything?" Scully stared at the woman, feeling dazed. The woman's eyes were so blue . . . Suddenly, she seemed to snap out of the strange confusion, her hand fumbling for her badge automatically. "Mrs. Jackson? I'm Agent Scully--this is Agent Mulder. We're with the FBI, and we're in town investigating the robberies that have allegedly been occurring. Chief Montgomery gave us your name--we'd like to talk with you, if that's all right?" Mrs. Jackson nodded, her face guarded. "Certainly. Come on in. I hardly get any visitors, so you two were a bit unexpected." As they entered the house, Mulder was startled. The room they were in seemed to be too large for the size of the house. Almost cathedral-height ceilings stretched upwards, and tall windows let blocks of sunlight fall over the understated, elegant furniture that was positioned along the walls. The room reminded him of the pictures he had seen of the Palace of Versailles, made even more amazing by the common little house that was on the outside. Mrs. Jackson strode past them, sitting in a small chair near a large fireplace. As Scully crossed to the overstuffed divan next to Mrs. Jackson, Mulder looked in vain for another seat. Then, almost shaking himself in irritation at his hesitation to sit next to Scully, he sat down on the couch. As was their routine, Scully began questioning Mrs. Jackson. He listened to her answers, growing curious. Scully would ask a simple, direct question, and Mrs. Jackson would respond with an obtuse observation, or asked if they would like anything to drink, to eat, would they like to see the rest of the house. Scully pressed on, but before she could get any real answers from Mrs. Jackson, Mulder jumped in. "Mrs. Jackson? You said you didn't commit any crime . . . but how can you explain the events that have happened? The things that you have been blamed-and thanked-for?" She looked at them both for a moment, her eyes calculating. Then, as if her mind had been made up, she sat back in her chair. "I help things." "Excuse me?" interjected Scully. "What do you mean, you 'help' things, Mrs. Jackson?" she asked, her tone chilly. Mrs. Jackson waved a hand in the air. "I don't do anything illegal, Agent Scully. What I said is what I mean. I help things." Sensing somehow that Scully was getting ready to say something, she held up her hand. "I can explain somewhat. Shortly after my husband died, I realized that I had a strange ability. It had never manifested itself before, and as far as I know, I'm the only one that's affected, both in town and in my family history. I don't understand what exactly it is, but I can sense when a person needs help, and I can usually help them. It might be a little extra cash, or a good grade rather than a bad one. It's been as simple as having a light turn green or red at the right time. I'm not psychic--I got myself tested when it first started, and I've got no ability. But I have this . . . talent." Mulder leaned forward, listening intently to Mrs. Jackson's words. Scully had sat back like Mrs. Jackson, but out of skepticism, not comfort. A flood of questions were ready to spring from his mouth when he realized that Mrs. Jackson was looking at Scully, with a curious expression on her face. "You don't believe me, Agent Scully." Smoothly, Scully answered, "What I believe has no real relevance at this point, Mrs. Jackson. But I believe that you think what you're saying is true." Mrs. Jackson shook her head forcefully. "I'm not robbing from other people or causing hallucinations. These things happen, and I've felt more useful the last eight months than I have for the first forty-eight years of my life. I can fix things-I can control things, and while I have to admit it's a wonderful feeling, I don't benefit--other people do, people who needed my help." She stopped speaking, her voice having risen with her last words. She sat silently for a moment, and then cocked her head to the side. "You know," she said, her voice deceptively neutral, "you two could use some help. I sense some tension between the two of you that is . . . unresolved." He could imagine Scully's expression change from calm to indignant. "Mrs. Jackson, whether we need help or not . . . " Focused on Mrs. Jackson, he was surprised when he heard Scully's voice trail off. Turning slightly, he looked at her. The change in her shocked him. Somehow, her hair had become tousled, the neat hairstyle she wore for work now turned into a rumpled mass of red waves. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were slightly parted as she breathed heavily. She was leaning towards him, her eyes utterly intoxicating. In a low, demanding voice, she said, "Kiss me." Almost without thinking, he grabbed her hand, even while shaking his head. He felt a rush of fear as he looked at Mrs. Jackson, who appeared to be in a deep trance. She slowly opened her eyes, looking at Mulder. Mrs. Jackson's eyes were bright blue. In a commanding voice, she ordered, "Kiss her." And although part of his mind set up a siren saying "no, we're on a case it'll spoil everything if that happens scully'd leave me it couldn't work out it's wrong," he felt himself move towards Scully, his head tilting to bring their faces close together. And then, he felt her lips on his. End part one. =========================================================================== From: msrxfiles@aol.com (MSR XFiles) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New-Helper 2/3 Date: 12 Jun 1996 15:39:19 -0400 Disclaimed in part one . . . if you need that part, e-mail me at dettiot@udel.edu or msrxfiles@aol.com. >From Part One . . . . And although part of his mind set up a siren saying "no, we're on a case it'll spoil everything if that happens scully'd leave me it couldn't work out it's wrong," he felt himself move towards Scully, his head tilting to bring their faces close together. And then, he felt her lips on his. Helper Part Two of Three By Melissa(msrxfiles@aol.com, dettiot@udel.edu) As he kissed her, he felt his control slip away. At first, he was scared--this was too much like Modell, this loss of himself. But in a sense, it wasn't. He didn't feel the numbing, draining pressure of another mind. It was like . . . like the little voice in the back of your head, always telling you to do things, to admit things, that you would never do. And the little voice, which sounded like Mrs. Jackson, but didn't, was telling him to kiss Scully. So he did. Her lips were full and soft. As his lips shifted, trying to cover more of her mouth, he could feel her lips part, inviting him to taste her more. It was mind-shattering, the way that they clung together, as if they were made for each other. he thought giddily, before the feel of her tongue slipping into his mouth made him lose all his thoughts. She had almost moaned with pleasure when his lips had touched hers. She knew that she shouldn't be letting this happen: her Saint Dana voice was screaming that people got fired for conduct like this on the job. But it was like there was another person in her head, making her ignore her instincts and give in to the pleasure of Mulder. The feel of his tongue outlining her lips and the inside of her mouth made her dizzy, as she pushed him down on the couch. Somehow, his hands were moving over her back, up to her shoulders, down to her thighs. And then she forgot to think. The woman smiled as she opened her eyes, watching the two cool, professional FBI agents grope and kiss on her couch like teenagers. This was surely the most interesting situation that she had helped on yet. It was funny how repressed their feelings had been. Each had locked their love behind iron doors, and since they had hidden the keys, they thought that they were safe. Little did they suspect that their love held the key to their doors. She stood and moved to the corner of the room furthest from the couple. She had to remain in the room with them, but she was no voyeur, and she wanted their first time to be at least semi-private. Louise smiled again, as she gazed at the bare walls of the house, with only an old wooden chair and a lumpy sofa for furniture. ********************************* He awoke slowly, because he felt wonderful. No nightmares last night. By the warmth laying across his body, he guessed that he had forgotten to close the curtains of his motel room, and the sunshine was warming him. But suddenly, the sunshine shifted. In surprise, he opened his eyes, and saw living sunshine lying across his chest. It was Scully. She moaned a little, lifting her hand to brush away her hair. But as she moved her arm, her hand brushed against something. Her eyes opened, the pupils widening as she gazed up at him. She started blushing, the pale red moving from her cheeks down to her neck. She didn't understand what had happened, but whatever it was, she knew that it had forever changed things between them. She was pulled away from her mocking thoughts by his voice. "Um, Scully? I don't know about you, but I think something very strange happened to us." She sighed. "Mulder, that's pretty obvious." She frowned a little, looking around for their clothes. "Mulder, our clothes are gone," she said, a small note of panic in her voice. Mulder frowned too, and then looked around the room, his eyes widening as well. "Scully, I think Mrs. Jackson must have moved us from her house to here. This isn't the same room." Confused, Scully took a better look at the room. Mulder was right-this small, dingy room was definitely not the last place she remembered. She saw a small, wooden chair out of the corner of her eye. Other than the old, low couch that they were laying on, she could see no other furniture in the room. She made herself look at him, trying to hide her embarrassment. She shouldn't worry, she reassured herself--this is Mulder, your best friend and partner who believes in UFOs and wendigos. He should have no problem coming up with a logical explanation that could rationalize all this strangeness. Mulder felt his frown deepen as he watched her look around the room, her actions a touch more frenzied than before. Obviously, this whole situation had unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. Hell, he was bothered by it. He could remember what happened-could remember the peace and contentment he had felt as they had both shattered apart together, to feel the connection between them deepen and strengthen even more. But he had known for a long time now that he was in love with her. And although he couldn't help the anger he felt at Mrs. Jackson for controlling their actions, he couldn't regret it. Sighing a little, he looked for their clothes as well. They would have to talk about this-and he knew Dana Scully well enough to know that for this type of talk, clothing was not optional, but necessary. Craning his neck, he managed to see a glimpse of cloth behind the couch they were still laying on, each too embarrassed to be the first one to move. From the color, it looked like his suit. Ignoring his flashback to the way Scully had ripped it off him, he wiggled a little, trying to figure out a way to get out from under her without revealing any more than necessary. At the first bit of movement, she could feel her cheeks beginning to flush again. The way he was moving, those tentative, gentle movements, was quite different from last night. But they caused the same warmth to sweep through her body and her thoughts turn to jelly. More angry at the way she was feeling that what he was doing, she snapped peevishly, "What *are* you doing?" He looked up at her, wishing things could be different on a cosmic level, to allow them to enjoy making love, to enjoy waking up together. But it was a fleeting wish, with her icy glare upon him. He tried to smile a little and failed. "Relax, Scully. Our clothes-well, at least what looks like my suit-are behind the couch. I was going to go get it." Her mouth made a small O. "Oh, okay. Lemme check." Rising away from his chest slightly, she looked behind the couch, and was able to see all their clothing. She lowered herself quickly back onto Mulder, afraid of him seeing even more than he had already seen, and afraid of the feel of his body underneath her. The mix of shame, embarrassment, and the slightest flicker of pleasure compounded inside her, making her unsure of how to act. "Um, I have an idea. How about, I roll over behind the couch, and I can toss you your clothes. Then, we can get dressed and get back to work." He looked at her, the range of emotions in his eyes breathtaking. But, after a look of sadness that could have made her heart break if it had lasted a millisecond longer, he nodded his head in agreement. With a quick movement, not allowing any time for debate, she rolled off him and over the low back of the couch. In a moment, she had gathered all his clothes and managed to place them on the end of the sofa without looking at him. And as she dressed, she ignored the pain in her heart. He dressed quickly, not wanting to think too much. If he did, he'd start wondering about how she felt, what they were going to do, whether this was a good thing . . . Waiting a moment, he stood to find Scully rising as well from behind the couch. As she had donned her rumpled suit, she pulled her professional composure back around her, it seemed. With a frown, Mulder began looking at their surroundings again. The large, airy salon they had been in had disappeared. Two windows were partly boarded up, letting in a few streaks of light unto the rough wooden boards of the floor. The dumpy sofa and beat-up chair had both seen better days. Otherwise, the room seemed to be lacking any other features. He noticed a sagging doorway, and moved towards it. Scully joined him at the door. "Not much to look at," she observed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, not exactly the Plaza." With a gulp, he somehow managed to mutter, "Scully-about what happened-we've got to talk." "Later, Mulder." She quickly moved through the doorway into the next room. Her voice made him look at her-really look. His comment on their last case about her losing weight wasn't a joke-she had been, and if possible, she looked even thinner now. The dark circles under her eyes were a common fixture now-he hadn't realized till now that she seemed to be sleeping even less lately. It added up, making Scully look tired and strained. With a silent resolution, he resolved to let Scully be the leader in this situation-into the next room and to, maybe, another stage in their relationship. Whatever lay ahead, he knew that Scully would make the best decision. Even if it meant he lost her. End part two. =========================================================================== From: msrxfiles@aol.com (MSR XFiles) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New-Helper 3/3 Date: 12 Jun 1996 17:25:39 -0400 Disclaimed in part one . . . e-mail me if you need parts one or two. >From part two . . . . With a silent resolution, he resolved to let Scully be the leader in this situation-into the next room and to, maybe, another stage in their relationship. Whatever lay ahead, he knew that Scully would make the best decision. Even if it meant he lost her. Helper Part Three of Three By Melissa(msrxfiles@aol.com, dettiot@udel.edu) She could feel herself cracking. Like a too-old photograph, its edges curled, being forced to lay flat on an album page. The damage from such treatment was only visible at the corners, just slightly detracting from the big picture. But the damage was still there. What had happened had shaken her to her core. Mulder and she, under the influence of that damned "helper," had made love. Dana couldn't rationalize it as just sex, because she knew it wasn't only that, at least for her. She had been in love with him for a long time, and she thought she had admitted it to herself and dealt with it. But after last night, she knew that she had fooled herself. She shook herself, making herself ignore everything except the case. Even if it had become personal, she had to remain professional. As she passed through the sagging doorway, she could feel his eyes on her, like he was trying to memorize her fascinating back. She knew that he was having trouble with it-so was she, but she hoped she was better at hiding it. But they were investigating a case, and even though they had become victims, she couldn't let herself be distracted by personal matters. She had to keep up that professional mask until she could be by herself to think this all through. The room they had entered was a bit larger than the other room, and the windows in this room were not boarded up; in fact, the panes sparkled like they had been freshly washed. The boards of the floor had been recently swept, and though there was no furniture, the room looked better than the rough surroundings that they had woken up in. Suddenly, a voice rang out. "So, I trust you slept well. I hope you weren't too surprised when you woke up." Mulder and Scully both whirled around, forgetting their observations of the room. In a hidden, darkened corner, Louise Jackson sat, her legs folded Indian-style and her hands resting on her knees. In the dark, her eyes-at times blue, then changing to green-flashed and snapped with complete amusement. Scully sputtered a little, trying to find words, but Mulder beat her to them. With a quick movement, he crossed the room and pulled Mrs. Jackson to her feet. "Where are we? And what happened to us last night?" he asked, his voice hard. The little woman, barely five feet tall, pulled herself out of Mulder's grip. She smoothed her clothing, removing nonexistent wrinkles. With a small grin, she said, "You're still in my house. As for what happened . . . well, I was never one for the sordid details." Mulder stared at the woman, trying not to let his jaw meet the floor. She was so callous-she didn't realize that she had wrecked every single one of his dreams about Scully and him. He felt a black curtain of anger try to drop over him, but he somehow managed to control himself. Scully, sensing that he was struggling, moved forward. "Mrs. Jackson, obstructing justice is a federal offense. Whatever happened, this classifies as an obstruction of justice." Scully's voice was icy steel. Mrs. Jackson waved her hand airily, one of her favorite gestures. "Now, now, there's no need for that. I admit, I went a little far this time. But I'm sure, once you two think about this some, you'll think a bit differently. As for me, I think I've pretty much used up my talent." Mulder was able to recover slightly, enough to ask, "What do you mean?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I had known for a while that it was starting to go away. It was harder to do things that had been easy before. This was my last great hurrah. I think that I won't be bothering anyone anymore." Mulder glared at the woman for a moment, then walked out the front door of the house-stalked, actually. With a glance at Mrs. Jackson, Scully followed Mulder, leaving the little woman in her ramshackle house. She chanced a backward look at the woman, only to stop short. Mrs. Jackson seemed to glimmer a little, then slowly vanished, waving her hand in a quick farewell. A faint echo reached her ears, sounding like Mrs. Jackson. "I help things." ********************* Scully frowned as she tried to write her report. Local officials had found no trace of Mrs. Jackson when they investigated her house that afternoon, after they had detailed Mrs. Jackson's confession. By common sense, they had left out any mention of the influence Mrs. Jackson had on them. But now, she was left writing a report with no conclusions and no suspect in custody. Sighing slightly, she let her head fall down on top of the table next to her laptop. Even on her best days, she'd have trouble with a report like this. But now, with her emotions in a knot and her head pounding from mentally arguing with herself, she could barely write a coherent sentence. She couldn't help it; she had become a pile of jello. The thought of being near Fox William Mulder had reduced her to a quivering female. She felt the mental struggle beginning again. A part of her liked the idea that she could even quiver; that Agent Dana Scully, M.D., was also a woman who was hopelessly in love. But Agent Dana Scully, M.D., was not pleased at such a discovery. It didn't help that Mulder was being so damn pleasant about the whole thing. She had been quaking inside the whole time during the drive from the police station to the motel. She was scared that Mulder was going to make her talk, force her into some discussion of the whole thing. But he had surprised her . . . He hadn't done anything. As they had pulled into the parking lot, she had steeled herself for some sort of confrontation. But he turned off the car and then, just looked at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was thick, like he was trying to hide his feelings. "Scully, I know that you . . . didn't want that to happen. How I feel doesn't matter, but I think that it was something magical, regardless. But I want you to make the decision about what happens next . . . it's your call. Whatever you decide, I'll follow you." She had looked at him, curious at his attitude. She didn't understand, but she nodded her head in agreement before she quickly got out of the car and retreated into her room. She had tried to write her report, but it was hopeless. She powered down her laptop, and moved away from the table to the bed, letting herself drop onto the soft mattress. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, focusing on it until it blurred away and her thoughts ran riot. She tried to look at the matter logically. She had known she loved Mulder since he had shyly entered her hospital room and had given her that silly video. She knew that the love had first began when they had been separated, when she could only think of him, and at the oddest times. She had preferred to think that it merely the love of one friend for another. That had changed with Robert Patrick Modell . . . when Mulder had held a gun on her, and she had felt her world crumble apart when she realized how her death would hurt him. His pain had become more important than hers. Such a revelation made her realize that she was head over heels in love with him. So, everything pointed to the conclusion that logically, she should be happy that Mrs. Jackson interfered. She should be happy that her fantasies were ignored while they had made love on an old couch. She should be happy that her feelings, whatever they were, had no bearing on what happened. Dana shook her head confusedly as very illogical tears began to run down her face. ******************** Mulder paced unhappily, as all his doubts repeated themselves in his head. He didn't know if it was the right thing, letting Scully take the lead . . . what if she decided that she didn't want a relationship with him? What if she didn't feel the same way? What if something happened to her because she was involved with him? He stopped, letting the ache grow a little larger, because he knew that she had already been hurt, just by being his partner. Sagging onto his bed, he realized he was staring at the phone. Maybe he should call her and ask her if she wanted to discuss the case over some dinner. he argued. But he wanted to see her . . . needed to see her. He was in love with her. His thoughts were cut short by the ringing of the phone.. He realized that his hand was already half-extended towards the phone, even before the shrill ring had broken the silence. With his heart in his throat, he somehow managed to answer the phone with a strangled "Mulder." "Um, Mulder? It's me." At the sound of her voice, so soft and hesitant, he felt like his heart was going to break. She sounded so concerned . . . like she was worried about the feelings of the partner that she was going to let down easy. All he could do was just sit there, the phone clutched to his ear. "Mulder? Mulder, you there?" Her voice questioned him, and it sounded just a tiny bit scared. "Oh, yeah, I'm here. Um, why are you calling?" "Um, Mulder . . . this is going to sound funny, but I wanted to know . . . " Her voice faltered a little, then strengthened. "I wanted to know how you felt about me." He frowned a little. "Scully . . . you're my partner. And my best friend." At the silence on the other end of the line, he knew that he was a coward for not telling her everything. And she knew it. "Is that all?" she asked, her voice quiet. He felt like swearing. "Scully, you know that's all I'm allowed to feel." "Mulder, you've never been one to do only what you're allowed to do." That simple statement shocked him a little. And made him mad. "What? Are you saying that I'M the one who's afraid to feel? How about you, Scully? You know that I care about you. You've always known that you mean as much, if not more, than Samantha. But I have no idea how you feel. I'm sick of guessing and trying to interpret your enigmatic little looks. So when last night happened . . . I had to thank God that at least you didn't find me completely repulsive." He realized that he had risen to his feet during his tirade, and he cursed his quick temper. Letting himself calm down for a moment, he quietly said, "Look, Scully . . . you know how I feel. I don't know how you really feel . . . that's why I told you that I could wait till you decided. So what do you want?" There was more silence on the line, then he was surprised to hear, "Open your door," followed by a click. He hung up the phone, curious at the crypticness of the whole thing. Shrugging his shoulders, he crossed to his door, threw the locks, and pulled open the door. Scully stood in front of him, holding her cellular in her hand. But his attention was drawn to her pale face, streaked with tears. As his eyes widened slightly, she reached out and touched his chin briefly, for just a moment. "I was scared. Everything that I thought I wanted changed when I started working with you. I realized that I didn't want a nice little house or a dog or children . . . as long as I could be with you, work with you, and I thought I didn't care how you felt about me. But . . . I suddenly started seeing little redheads with hazel eyes. And I got angry because it would never happen, and you didn't seem to realize how I felt. I love you, and I thought that you might love me, but I didn't know. And I'm just so confused." And she looked so very confused and lost and sad. He reached out, wiping away the tears. As he let his fingers wander over her cheeks and face, he found himself speaking. "After you came back . . . I knew that it was only you. I felt so low when you were gone, and then, when I saw you, I felt so high. I knew then. But you didn't seem to notice, and I didn't want to talk about it while you were still recovering. And then, last night . . . I wish it hadn't happened like that, but I can't regret it. And I can't forget it." She smiled a little, a small shy smile, and moved towards him a little. He felt his heart leap. "Mulder . . . I wanted to know . . . how you felt about me." He smiled then, and cupped her face in his hands. "I feel . . . like this," he said as he lowered his mouth to hers. The End. Melissa Rabey msrxfiles@aol.com, dettiot@udel.edu SYX #257, LGW #52, NSA, One of US, EMXC, EP, M&S, XAngst Anonymous, Creator of AGML, XFiles Fanfictioneer "Time is definitely not an universal invariant in *my* zip code!"