From: "ISUGRAD" Date: Tuesday, May 23, 2000 12:14 PM Subject: The Kiss- Post Millennium Title- The Kiss (which also is the name of one of my absolute favorite works of art, by Gustave Klimt) . Category: MSR, what else would you expect from a post Millennium fic? Spoilers: Millennium, FTF Rated: G, I really, really restrained myself to keep this chaste. You'll have to close your eyes and think up the smutty stuff for yourselves. Summary: Just my idea of what could've happened after *the event* of the first few minutes of Jan. 1, 2000. Disclaimer: The concept and characters of the X Files belong to Chris Carter and his twisted little entourage of sadists at Fox network. If they belonged to me, Mulder and Scully would both smile a lot more and Mulder would have a good excuse to have a "real" bed. Author's note: I truly believe that if Mulder and Scully were real people something more than a kiss would have happened long before now. No one could survive six years with all that sexual tension. At least not without releasing all that frustration in ways that were less healthy. Yeah, yeah, Mulder watches porn, but how long can that satisfy a man? Anyway, I felt so sorry for Mulder with that look on his face after Scully's comment. At first I took it to mean that the kiss did nothing for her, but after rewinding and going over the scene too many times to admit and dissecting it frame by frame with a friend, this is my take on why Scully reacted the way she did. I am sure others will disagree and that is fine, because only Chris Carter knows what was going on in both characters' minds at the end of Millennium, and as always, he ain't telling. I had to write this because after waiting so long for Mulder (or Scully, for that matter) to finally make a move, I felt that it was an anticlimactic moment. Feedback: Is very much appreciated. ISUGRADS@Prodigy.net Here goes... The Kiss "Was it a mistake?" he asked me trepidation. I kept my eyes directly on the floor of Mulder's living room. I shook out the blanket as I unfolded it and made my way over to his sofa where he lay. Without even looking at him, I knew exactly what kind of expression he had on his face. It would be the same look that I had seen not more than an hour ago when he said, "Happy New Year, Scully." I lowered the blanket down over him and maternally tucked it in a just under his chin. He really needed to get some rest and I was just trying to help him get as comfortable as possible on that awful couch of his. Mulder lifted his injured arm slightly as I did this, wincing at the pain the movement caused. "I'll get you some Ibuprofen," I said, turning to escape to his medicine cabinet. I did not want to have this conversation. "It can wait," he said. His voice was soft and sleepy, a result of his encounter with the living dead and the fact that he had almost gone into shock after losing so much blood. He caught hold of my hand and squeezed it gently. "Mulder, if you let the pain get too bad, the medicine isn't going to help as much. You need to take something now to maintain a therapeutic level." "Scully," his voice was louder now, more assertive as he pulled me towards him. I chose not to resist and moved closer to him. I did not want him to strain his stitches by pulling on me any harder than he already was. I could feel his eyes pulling at me also, and I looked at him. He's always had a way of doing that. Making me look at things that I do not want to see... am not ready to see. His jaw was tight as if he were clenching his teeth. Was that from the pain of his injuries, or something else? I sighed and glanced away again. I wasn't about to do this. Not now. I had been successful so many times before in evading this subject. Not that he had ever really brought it up like he had just minutes ago. When it came to defining our relationship, Mulder was a pro at serving innuendo my way, and I had learned well how to volley it right back to his side of the court. What had happened tonight, however, was a sneak attack and I was left entirely unprepared to return his serve. Well, almost entirely. My response of "No, it didn't." to his, "The world didn't end." seemed to trip him up a bit. Not enough to keep him from putting his arm around me as we walked out of the hospital, though. "I asked you a question, Scully," His hand was softer on mine now, but still he didn't release me. It was if he were afraid that I would fly away if he let go. Perhaps I would. "Is that what you think?" I looked deep into his eyes hoping to find something there to tell me what I too needed to know, but all I saw was that striking shade of green-gray that changes like a chameleon, camouflaging the secrets of his soul. "You can't answer a question with another question, Scully." "You can if you're good at it," I told him simply. And I was good at it. The scientist in me is always questioning Mulder's questions. Balancing them, keeping them honest. He has told me so himself. *His hallway. His hand on the back of my neck. His lips nearly brushing mine.... * I had to push those images out of my head. They were too close to what had happened earlier this night. "Mulder, if you can't answer that question honestly yourself, how can you expect me to?" I continued cautiously. I knew that the match was close and if I showed any weariness he might use it to his advantage. I hardly ever show fatigue where Mulder is concerned and that is why the score stays even between him and me. We are both expert players, and more importantly, we both hate to loose. Especially when so much more than just the game is at stake. "That's fair. Not nice, Scully, but fair," he smiled a little and I breathed easier. I thought the score was obvious and both of us would once again meet at the net to shake hands and go our separate ways only to play again another day, but Mulder must have gotten a second wind because he continued. "Yes, it was a mistake..." My heart stopped briefly. Was this what I truly wanted to hear? Had my beliefs, my faith in the world, even my heart become so full of contradictions that this is what I had convinced myself I needed him to say so I could continue on? To survive. "The world didn't end," He had said. And he was right, because it hadn't. Not in the terms of the Apocalypse or Armageddon. To a total stranger who might have happened to overhear what we had said to each other right after that simple New Year's kiss, this would be what they would think. But even all of the doomsday prophets in the world could not possibly have known the panic that I felt the moment his lips touched mine. I have always prided myself with how well I can keep my emotions in check, a legacy of being my father's daughter. This ability has served me well, it has saved my life and others', Mulder's being no exception. And I am sure that not even Mulder could tell how frantically my heart was beating as he leaned over to kiss me. I was so sure that like a leak in a dam, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the walls that I had so solidly built would crumble and the floodwaters would be released to a disastrous end. Then the kiss ended and I saw that goofy, happy little boy smile of his. A strenuous feat for Mulder's facial muscles to perform. "The world didn't end," he said. Not so much as a statement, but as a question he already knew the answer to. He was right. Just as he has been right about so many things before. Things that I am reluctant to admit to myself out of fear... fear that so much of what has been a part of who I am is a lie and that I have lived in a false reality; that everything I have ever known about my universe is an illusion. As a child I collected snow globes. It is ironic to me, because now I see my life as an analogy to one. I am the figurine who only knows the presence of winter, and my fear is that the fragile glass which keeps my world intact will be shattered and whatever lies beyond will intrude. If that happens, I will have to live in a world where seasons change. To most people this would seem a glorious salvation; to be rescued from such a cold, white prison. (Just as Mulder rescued me from the bleakest of winters in Antarctica.) But you see, life in a snow globe is predictable, reliable, even safe. All the answers to every question I could ever ask lie right in front of me. My world is certain and unchanging. I know nothing of a different existence and dare not imagine one.. You cannot be cold if you have never felt what warmth is like. So that is why I'd hesitated when his lips left mine, and surely I must have smiled as the truth that his kiss did not destroy anything slowly crept over me. It was liberating and damning at the same time. Liberating because of the possibilities I discovered lay before me; disappointing because I had conned myself into believing that avoiding this very moment for all these years was an act of self preservation. In truth, it was an act of cowardice. You cannot be cold if you have never felt what warmth is like. But what kind of existence is a life without the warmth of the deepest love imaginable? No... what kind of existence is life without the *acknowledgement* of a love that has always been there, waiting patiently for the moment of truth? That moment, I feared, had obviously come and gone without my recognition. Now it was too late. "Scully?" his voice punctured my thoughts and I removed my hand from his. I looked away as I felt tears form in my eyes. I could feel their sting as I blinked them back. "If that's how you feel..." I began, having gathered my jacket from the back of his chair. I clamored around in my pockets looking for my keys as he got to his feet. "We'll just act like it never happened. Isn't that how so many things between us go?" I went on, surprised at the bitter tone in my voice. But it was the truth. A truth that up until now I had been happy to hide behind. We've acted as if all the tragedies and turmoil we've experienced happened in a dream world; a place we've happily abandoned with each new dawn. We have dealt with them in our own ways as they have unfolded, then never spoken of them again. Not really. Not like we should have. Like what happened in his hallway, the kiss in the hospital waiting room would never be mentioned again. We are both experts in self- denial. "Scully," he repeated, as he strode over to me and took my coat from my shaky hands. He dropped it on the floor and lifted my chin so I would have to look at him. Why did he have to make me look at him? The dam was eroding. The glass was cracking and splintering away. Was The End approaching this time? He grinned wickedly at me and I watched as his breathing grew deeper, his eyes smoky. His mouth opened slightly as he dipped down closer to my face. I could feel the heat radiating from him as his body pressed against mine. The energy of him entered me, swirling wonderfully, filling me and pulsating through every cell in my being. I hadn't realized how cold his apartment had been until this very moment. "The kiss was a mistake," he whispered as if in confession, "... but only because I didn't do it the way I should have." As his lips met mine, open, inviting, arousing, I swear for the first time I saw the colors of every beautiful season and felt the warmth of the brightest summer's day. And it was glorious. The End?