Date: 28 Aug 1998 17:11:34 GMT From: PeachAcid Subject: If I Let Go (1/1) sort of MSR Title: DO Author: Jodie E-mail: Peachacid@aol.com Category: MSR, I guess, although it's more like angst and comfort for that. Rating: PG Summary: Some shit happens and Scully's mad upset. Disclaimer: Yeah, you know, one day I decided to have this TV show.... Feedback: Yeah, yeah, tell me what you think... She walks into the office - our new, clean, freshly painted office - and she does not look my way. A 'hello, Mulder,' is mumbled; no eyes contact is made. My 'are you okay?' is answered with a laconic, 'I'm fine.' I push no further, watching her as she settles down at her desk - new, oak, and exquisite. She runs her hands along the wood, sighing sadly and quietly. OUt comes the report she must have filled out by noon; she imerses herself in it, head bowed and eyes tacking only the papers before her. I try to work on the papers I am days behind on. Sign here, initial there, answer this, reply to that, what happened here, what the *hell* happened there....I cannot concentrate. Scully's eyes remain glued to her work, her hands are clasped in her lap. She does not seem to be working. I watch and I hear her small sigh again. She is not trying to call attention herself, and failing miserably at that. I see a small drop fall from her cheek to the desktop, and I push my chair - new, on silent wheels - away from the desk. She does not look up when I place my hand on her shoulder. I squeeze gently, silently offering what small amount of comfort I can give her. I realize I have not the slightest inkling to why she is crying. i bend down, sit down, to a squatting position and look up into her tear-streaked face. Her eyes will not meet mine; tears are dripping from them, sliding in tracks down her cheeks and fall off halfway down. My eyes do not leave her face. I reach up to her left eye and softly brush away the tears that are brimming, waiting to gather enough to fall. I repeat the action for her right eye and then she allows her eyes to meet mine. She chokes out my name and falls onto me, into my embrace. She is half in her chair, half on me, weakened by her sorrow. I stand slowly, pulling her to her feet. She is clinging to me like I'll fall apart if she lets go. Maybe she will fall apart if I let go. I pull her closer, somehow closer, and kiss the top of her head, feeling her soft hair on my lips. I want to know what's wrong, but I cannot bring myself to ask. It does not seem right to push her, it does not seem right to know the caushe for her tears. She pulls away slightly to look up into my eyes, and I try to read the many emotions jumbled together there, wondering if she'll ever be this open with me again. Her eyes display hurt. Anger. Fear. Love. Embarassment. And pain. The wrods I fianlly mumble, after staring into her wide, blue eyes for the longest time, are not what I want to say. 'I love you,' I whisper, and she draws in a breath. 'What?' as if she didn't hear. I do not repeat the words, feeling my neck grow hot with embarassment at the awkward fumble. I start to pull away, but she does not let me. What she tells me takes my breath away - not for the reasons hers was taken at my utterance. From peachacid@aol.com Thu Sep 24 17:41:53 1998 Date: 28 Aug 1998 17:22:13 GMT From: PeachAcid Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: If I let Go (2/2) sort of MSR Okay, so I always press tab when I'm writing things here, and since this is being copied from something i wrote on paper...I accidentally sent that last one...sorry!! Emily had died on this date last year. I had forgotten. On such an anniversary, she had wanted nothing more than to curl up on her couch and cry. Work was a necessary thing to do, so she prepared for the day. As she was leaving her apartment, the phone rang. her mother was calling to inform her that her brother Bill had been in a car crash; not badly hurt, but injured enough to be in the hospital. After receiving this news, Scully had replaced the phone, debating whether to call in sick to work. The phone rang again. Her doctor had found an abnormality in her blood from her most recent check up, and wanted Scully to come in that afternoon after work. Scully tells me all of this, her voice almost steady, for most of the time. When she is finished, I open my mouth to speak, but she continues with another thought. 'You love me, Mulder,' comes not a question but a statement. I nod my agreement, and she tells me she loves me. I know that. I've known that. 'Why did you say that, Mulder?' is her question, and I grope for an answer. my arms are still encircling her; she runs her fingersover my biceps, studying my chest with her eyes, waiting for my response. 'What made you say it, Mulder?' she askes, re-formatting her question. There are a million things to say coursing through my brain, yet none of them are right, none of them fit. 'Because I do,' I finally answer, and she accepts this. She may not completely understand, but she accepts my response. I pull her against my chest, and her arms grasp my back. SHe is no longer crying, but lingering sobs occasionally rack her body. I rub her back, wishing I could hug her demons away. I know the world does not work that was, and all I can do is hug, and so I do.