From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Fri, 18 Feb 2000 12:40:26 -0600 Subject: \"Just Believe\" by Maycen Dicksen Source: direct Reply To: MaycenD@hotmail.com TITLE: Just Believe AUTHOR: Maycen Dicksen CLASSIFICATION: MSR, post-Milagro SPOILERS: This takes place immediately after the events of "Milagro," and could include stuff from really anything up to this point (June of 1999). If I spoil something for you, I apologize from the depths of my heart. RATING: PG seems about right CONTACT: Please, please, please tell me what you think of this story. Please let me know if I should stick to the news or whether I should continue in the world of fanfic. My e- mail is MaycenD@hotmail.com. Sehr danke! DISCLAIMER: Okay, y'all. If you haven't figured it out by now, I did NOT create "The X-Files" or Mulder or Scully or Emily or anyone else from the show that is mentioned in this story. All of the afore mentioned belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, 20th Century FOX, and the actors/actresses that portray them. As far as I know, the story idea is mine. If you came up with it, too, then I guess great minds think alike. I mean, honestly, if I created a show like "The X-Files," do you think that I'd be sitting here in Smalltown, Texas, typing on a 5-year- old computer? Ha! I think not. Well, I think that about covers all of the bases. Take a deep breath, and dig in. I hope you enjoy it! :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) (0: :0) MONDAY, APRIL 19, 1999 6:30 A.M. **In my book, I had written that Agent Scully falls in love, but that's obviously impossible. Agent Scully is already in love.** Lying alone in the sterile, white, environment of D.C. General's telemetry unit, I have all the time in the world to ponder those words. My still-beating heart was nearly torn from my chest cavity by a not-so- dead "psychic surgeon," yet it is the words of my so-called admirer that are causing the brunt of my heart problems. How long had he known? When did he figure it out? How could just the simple touch of my hand upon your arm tell him? Did my hand linger a nanosecond too long? Was my removal of my hand slightly more augmented than normal? More importantly, how long have *I* known? How did *I* figure it out? Did you know what he was talking about, Mulder? I suspect that you did, as I felt the burning heat of your inquisitorial gaze as I watched Padgett walk out of his cell. I am almost positive that your suspicions were aroused as I lay sobbing in your arms, my heart and emotions out on the hardwood floor of your apartment for you to pick up. "Hi. I'm Dana Scully and I'm in love with my partner." I mouth the words to myself realizing how much I sound like I am a newcomer at a support group. Come to think of it, I wonder if they have a 12-step program for women with a certain addiction to their handsome partners. How long have I known? When exactly did the "switch flick" for us? I admit there was a certain attraction of an I-don't-know-what variety when I first stepped into the office of the FBI's most unwanted, but I wouldn't exactly call it love. I was there to do a job, I never knew that you'd suck me in the way that you have. At the risk of sounding like that song on that "Sleepless in Seattle" movie, when *did* I fall in love? Was it at the hospital when you held me after Penny died? Or when you cried at my bedside (you only *thought* I was sleeping) when we thought that my body would succumb to the life-sucking cells inside of me? What about last summer in the dimly lit hall outside your apartment-when we held each other, when we came oh-so-close to our first true kiss, only to be interrupted by a poorly-timed, virus-infected bee sting? Or, how about all of the events of this past year? Why did I run when you told me you loved me? Was I afraid that you would take it back when the drugs wore off? My heart monitor bleeps slightly faster as I remember you lying on "our" bed back at The Falls, teasingly proclaiming that we were married now. I have been thankful each night since then that I had the gunk on my face that night. When I ordered you back to *your* sofa and you told me that "the thrill is gone," my face undoubtedly turned a bright shade of crimson. Of all these precious moments, last night was the real turning point for me. As you cradled me in your arms and rocked me while I left a deluge of tears and the remnants of yesterday's mascara on your collar, I finally saw the light. It is now 7:38 a.m., and I find myself hoping that you'll bend the rules in your regular fashion and show up for a visit before visiting hours start. Last night, before you were forced out by Nurse Ratched, you told me what was written on the paper found in Padgett's typewriter when D.C.'s finest searched his apartment. Mulder, Padgett gave us a gift-one that I don't plan on stuffing in the back of the closet anytime soon. As you walk into my room, a fist full of daisies and a smile, I don't even think to scold you for sneaking in or to inform you that I am allergic to daisies, cute as they are. I just want you here. Your lips gently brush my forehead and my cheek, and then my fingers intertwine with yours. My heart heals and sings as I finally realize that it doesn't matter when and it doesn't matter how- I'm Dana Scully and I'm in love with my partner. The truth is *finally* out there, Mulder. All we have to do is believe. --------------------------------------------- ------ Th-th-th-that's all folks! Please let me know what you think! If it stinks, I'll just quit writing. If it is good, then I'll continue. I'm my own worst critic, and that's why I need your help. Please e-mail me your comments at MaycenD@hotmail.com. Thank you so much!