From: Brandon Ray Date: 1 Feb 1999 08:49:39 -0800 Subject: NEW: I Guess She's Mine (1/1) by Brandon Ray TITLE: I Guess She's Mine (1/1) AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray EMAIL ADDRESS: publius@avalon.net DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere and everywhere, so long as my name stays on it and no money changes hands. FEEDBACK: Go ahead; knock yourself out. Ephemeral: *FEEDBACK*publius@avalon.net SPOILER WARNING: Never Again, Triangle RATING: PG for a little bad language. CONTENT WARNING: MulderAngst. ScullyAngst. Scully/other alluded to. MSR. CLASSIFICATION: VRA SUMMARY: Sequel to my story, "If She Does Not Return" and Vickie Moseley's "She Never Really Left". The morning after.... Not related to the film of the same name. Not a crossover. DISCLAIMER: In my dreams... I Guess She's Mine by Brandon D. Ray I awake to the smell of coffee brewing, and I know that she has returned. For a few minutes I simply lie on the sofa, eyes closed, not moving, barely breathing. I can hear the sound of someone moving around in my kitchen: Cupboards opening and closing, pots rattling, and other small sounds which I cannot identify but which seem very domestic and reassuring. More time passes, but still I do not move or open my eyes. More smells start to emerge from the kitchen, breakfast smells: eggs and English muffins and bacon. And in another moment I sense someone enter the room, and then I hear footsteps coming towards me. "Are you awake?" Her voice is soft and tentative, almost shy. I open my eyes and see her kneeling on the floor next to me, a plate of food in her right hand. We lock eyes, and for a moment we just look at each other. And I realize in that moment that something has changed. I'm not sure I want to know what's changed. In fact, I KNOW I don't want to know, but I do know. I can tell just by looking at her. She's in love. I turn my head away and stare into the leather of the sofa, trying to tell myself that this is unreasonable, that it's not right for me to feel this way. I told her to do this, after all. And it's not as if I have any claim on her. She's a free individual, and a good woman, and she deserves some happiness. God knows she's had little enough of that these past five years. I should be happy for her, grateful that she's finally found someone. Even if it isn't me. I feel a touch on my chin, featherlight; it's her fingertips and she slowly, gently turns my head back towards her. She's now sitting crosslegged on the floor, and the plate of food is on the coffee table beside her. There's a solemn look on her face, and as I watch her she shakes her head slowly. "Mulder, about last night --" I cut her off. "No, Scully. You don't have to explain anything to me." Please, Scully...I don't want to hear this. I want to pretend for just a little bit longer. But she won't let it be. "No, Mulder...I do owe you an explanation. At the very least." She hesitates, and bites her lip. "I'm sorry." I feel like crying again, but somehow I manage to swallow the lump in my throat. "It's okay," I say. "I understand. I...." I want to do the right thing; I want to make her feel better about this. I want to tell her I'm happy for her. But I've never been able to lie to this woman, and I can't start now. And I drop my eyes away from her and look down at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Mulder. I never meant to hurt you." God, can't she leave it alone? Why did she even come here in the first place? Shouldn't she be with him? At least if she were with him I could be alone with my misery. I close my eyes and despite myself visions of the two of them together dance in my imagination. Once more I feel her touch on my chin, and I sigh in resignation and open my eyes again. "Scully --" And she leans forward and kisses me. On the mouth. It lasts only a second, but it seems to go on forever, and I think that for the rest of my miserable life at least I'll have the memory of this one moment. For just an instant I want to believe that the kiss means something else, but I ruthlessly suppress the thought. We both know why she's here. "Your eggs are getting cold." I realize that I've allowed my eyes to drift shut again -- I seem to be having a problem looking at Scully this morning. At the sound of her voice they open again, and I see her holding out a fork heaped with scrambled eggs. She gently touches the tines to my lips, and I reflexively open them and take the eggs into my mouth. She then withdraws the fork and in a moment she's back with another load of eggs. I wish I understood what the hell is going on here. I really do. I'm lying here on my sofa, my eyes red and my throat raw, having had far too little sleep, and Scully is sitting crosslegged on the floor next to me and feeding me breakfast. This wouldn't make a lot of sense on the best of days, and this is far from the best of days. The only thing I can think of is that she feels guilty for some reason, or that she feels sorry for me. Or both. And much as I can't cope very well with the idea of being an object of pity for her, this is too comforting for me to be able to make it stop. Besides, when she stops she's probably going to get up and leave -- go back to him -- and then I'll have nothing at all to distract me from my imagination. But maybe that would be just as well. T'were best t'were done quickly. I open my mouth to say that, to tell her that I'll be fine and she should just go ahead and leave. But before I can get the words out she's stuffed a piece of English muffin smeared with strawberry jam into my mouth. I chew and swallow, and again I open my mouth to talk, and again she puts some food into it, a determined look on her face. She doesn't seem to want me to talk, and I guess I can understand why. I'm not the most kind and sensitive man on the planet, and she's probably afraid I'm going to yell at her or something, and make a complete ass of myself, the way I did after that nightmare in Philadelphia a couple of years ago. But what she doesn't understand is that I've changed since then; I've grown. And on top of that I've fallen in love with her, and I really and truly am determined to do whatever's necessary to make her happy. And if that means watching her walk off into the the sunset with another man, so be it. No matter how much it hurts. But if she wants to go through this process of feeding me my breakfast first, I guess I can wait until she's done. It is rather pleasant, a sign of caring, and I know I won't have anything like this to look forward to after this morning. So I may as well build at least a few happy memories to go with all the bad. All too soon we've finished the food. Scully sets the plate back down on the coffee table and turns to face me again. And before I can even get one word out, she starts talking. "I never expected this to happen," she says, and I'm shocked to see tears forming in her eyes. "If I had, maybe I would have done things differently. I like to think I would have, at any rate. But you have to believe me when I tell you that the last thing I ever wanted to do was to hurt you." She looks me squarely in the eye, and adds, "Can you ever forgive me?" Something about her manner is puzzling me, but I'm not up to analyzing it right now, and all I manage to get out is, "What's there to forgive?" She sits perfectly still and stares at me for a long minute. Finally she swallows and nods, and says, "Okay." And she climbs awkwardly to her feet and stands looking down at me for another moment, and now there's a single tear running down her cheek. "I guess I'd better be going." And she turns and heads for the door. There's something not right here; even I can see that. I just can't figure out what it is. But I know I can't just let her walk out of here; I'm going to have to do my best to fix whatever's wrong. "Scully....wait." Even though my voice is very low I know she hears me, because I see her shoulders tense. But she just keeps walking towards the door, and so I struggle to my feet and go after her, and I catch up to her just as she puts her hand on the doorknob. "Scully. Wait." She freezes in place, but she doesn't turn to look at me, and I realize I'm going to have to do the talking for a minute, and it's going to hurt like hell. But I can't let her leave here looking like this. "Scully," I say, and then I have to pause because that damned lump is back in my throat again. "Scully. I don't know what's got you so upset, but I guess it must be me or we wouldn't be here talking about this. But I don't understand, Scully; I don't know what I've done." I swallow the lump down as best I can. "Is it that you don't believe I want you to be happy? Because, Scully, if that's what you think you're wrong." I stop for a minute and close my eyes. This next part is going to be the hardest, both for her and for me, but it has to be said. I force my eyes open again, and see that she's turned towards me and is now staring intently into my eyes. Oh, god. This is going to be bad. But I've got to do it. "Scully," I say. "Oh, Scully. All I want is for you to be happy. All I want is for you to have a life, a good life. And if it's...getting to me a little bit, that's just the way it is, I guess. I'll get over it; I'll have to get over it. I love you too much to even try to stand in your way." There. I've said it. I've finally, really said it. Not that it's the first time; I said it last fall after that fiasco in the Bermuda Triangle. But that time she thought it was the painkillers talking, and this time there's no way she can write it off, and that's what's going to make it tough on both of us. But I had to say it so she'd know I meant it, just this once. And suddenly a miracle happens. Scully smiles. Not just her usual enigmatic little smile, but a big, broad, thousand watt, light-up-the-stadium sort of smile. I don't think I've ever seen her smile like that. Not ever. She just doesn't do it. But something just made it happen -- "Mulder," she says, very softly, and suddenly there's something electric in the room. She takes one hesitant step towards me, and goes on, "Mulder, what exactly do you think I've been trying to say to you this morning?" Now that is an excellent question. A question I thought I knew the answer to, but now I'm not quite sure. And I really, really don't want to think about the possibility that just this minute occurred to me, because it would hurt too goddamned much when it turned out I was wrong. And so I just stand there saying nothing, but everything must be written on my face because Scully takes another step towards me and reaches up and traces one of the tear tracks down my cheek. And she says, so softly that I can barely hear her, "You think I came to tell you I was in love with HIM." This isn't happening. It is not happening. It can't be happening. It is. Suddenly there's no more space between us. Scully must have done that, because I know I couldn't possibly have moved; I'm paralyzed. And she's standing there in front of me, looking up at me with big, tragic eyes, and her hand is still resting lightly against my cheek. And she says, in that same soft, almost inaudible voice, "Mulder, I don't fix breakfast for just anybody. Don't you know that?" She takes a deep breath, and I can see how much this openness is costing her. Control has always been important to Scully, and if what I'm slowly coming to think might be happening really is happening, she's about to give up that control. To me. She's going to give it to me. Jesus. I feel my body start to tremble. "Mulder." If anything her voice is even softer than before, and I can feel my own throat closing up in sympathy. Her face is floating in front of me, her beautiful, beautiful face, and unless I'm completely mad there's something in her eyes....something I've never seen before...and she speaks.... "Mulder, it's you. It's always been you. Only you. Never him. Never anyone but you." And she rises up on her toes, and she kisses me. She kisses me. She kisses me. And I kiss her back. # # # It's later. I don't know what time it is, and I really don't care. After that stunning, wonderful, unbelievable kiss, all the energy seemed to drain out of both of us. Scully just stood there leaning against me with her eyes closed, looking utterly exhausted, and I was feeling pretty wiped out, too. I offered to call her a cab so she could go home -- not that I wanted her to leave, but I felt I had to make the offer. But she just leaned a little closer against me and shook her head. So here I am, lying on my sofa with my head propped up on a pillow. Nothing new there. But what IS new -- and stunning and wonderful and unbelievable -- is that Scully is lying stretched out on top of me, fast asleep, just cuddled in my arms. In my arms. In MY arms. Jesus. I don't know where this is going; I simply have no clue. There's nothing in my life that can account for something like this happening, and I don't have any experience to measure it against, either. Not with Diana, and certainly not with Phoebe. So I guess I'm just going to have to wait and see. I still don't know what happened last night, but I guess I don't need to know; it's not important anymore. I think she must have slept with him or she wouldn't be this traumatized over it, but it just doesn't matter. What matters is that she's here now, with me. How does the old saying go? If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours. I guess she's mine. Fini -- It's not that I'm slipping in my opinion of Fox Mulder. I've decided that if my sister is going to work in the FBI, I would rather have him by her side than about 90 percent of the guys I could name. He's laid down his life for her, I appreciate that in a prick. --Bill Scully, jr., "By Her Side: That Voice" by Vickie Moseley ================ Visit my fanfic; it gets lonely: http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html