From: David Stoddard-Hunt <stoddardhunt@earthlink.net>
Date: Mon, 22 Oct 2001 18:16:43 -0400
Subject: NEW: Let Me Discount the Ways -by David Stoddard-Hunt
Source: xff


TITLE: Let Me Discount the Ways
("won't you just shut the hell up, Elizabeth Barrett Browning?")
AUTHOR: David Stoddard-Hunt
CATEGORY: V, A, R
KEYWORDS: MSR
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Small Potatoes, Never Again, Momento Mori
SUMMARY: Is a new couch really an answer?
ARCHIVE: If you want to, I'd be delighted. Just let me know.
DISCLAIMER: Others created and own these characters. I improve
them, for no personal financial gain. No infringement upon the
profits of 1013, Fox, or anyone else is intended.
FEEDBACK: stoddardhunt@earthlink.net
WEB SITE: Matters of Belief can be found at:
www.geocities.com/mattersofbelief
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Happy Birthday to Abra Elliott, kind heart,
talented writer and friend.

********************
Apartment of Dana Scully
Georgetown, District of Columbia
*********************

I'm shouting into the phone. Yes, I realize that. It takes a
moment to clamp down on my irritation, fingers pinching the
bridge of my nose.

"I want it out of here tonight!"

My voice sounds as brittle and tight as my grip on the phone.

"I know full well what time it is. You're still open for
business, aren't you? Well, then. I need this done tonight, and I
don't care what time you close!"

Pottery Barn. God save me from a chain store mentality.

"Yes, a grey and white striped sofa. I have the receipt; it's not
damaged in any way, shape or form. It's practically brand new."

Never been "christened," isn't that what they're really afraid
of? Not even close. Not in the last four years, anyway. And the
one time, the *one* time there's a glimmer of hope for voiding
the warranty...

"That's right. I want to exchange it for the exact same model,
same fabric. I'll even take a floor model."

Anything. Even a sofa that's served as chaise longue to dozens
upon dozens of bored husbands is better than the one I have.

"No suspicious odors. Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it."

That's just the problem. It should bear the scent of warm leather
and the subtle mix of after-shave balm and skin on a full-blooded
man. The air around it should whisper with a nutty aroma, but it
doesn't. There isn't a scent at all. No reminder of an almost
was, or a should have been.

"That's right. No stains, no smells, no broken springs. I want to
exchange one brand new sofa for another."

I wouldn't be having this conversation is it had any of the above
things, one way or the other.

"Look!" My fingers have not left the bridge of my nose this
entire time. Time to up the pressure on them, a little. "There's
a Pier One Imports just around the corner from me. If it's this
much trouble, maybe I should just buy a brand new sofa there."

Oh, so it's 'Ma'am' now, is it? Well, that's something. Good,
good. Getting the manager is good.

There's honestly nothing wrong with this sofa that can be fixed.
What is amiss can't be steamed, dry cleaned, spot treated or
reupholstered. Its memories are wrong, all wrong.

Rather than listen to the manager's slightly patronizing spiel,
I'm trying to figure out how it is that I even know what my
partner's scent is or isn't, let alone why I would prefer it to
impregnate the cushions of my furniture. Hah. Impregnating.
There's a laugh. A laugh riot, as Mulder would say.

Even before there were two of them in one space, I should have
known. I could have sworn that the man on my sofa was who I
thought he was. He looked like Mulder, he sounded like Mulder.
Some of the things he said were a little unusual for Mulder,
true, but still within the realm of extreme possibility, even for
Mulder. Even for us.

"Us? Oh, Christ!"

Shit. Phone. Live. Pottery Barn, sofa...manager.

"No, no. It's nothing. I appreciate the extra effort, thank you.
That all sounds fine. No later than that, though. I do have
neighbors to consider."

Good, a new sofa. That ought to do it, right? Problem solved?
Exchange one piece of furniture which doesn't smell like Mulder
for another which doesn't smell like him either. But, Van Blundht
did. Smell like Mulder, that is. I'd have sworn to it. Up until
the real deal burst through my door, Eddie Van Blundht *was*
Mulder. And I was going to... Oh, God, I wanted... I wanted to
find out what it would be like.

But, it wouldn't have been Mulder.

That doesn't matter. I thought it was, and I wanted to kiss him.
And Mulder knows it.

Fat lot a new sofa will do me now.

I was surprised, yes. As much by the talk as by the...but, it
wasn't a kiss. It wasn't Mulder. Mulder doesn't want to know
about my senior prom. My God, what was I thinking? I wasn't
thinking, and therein lies my problem.

"I'm no Eddie van Blundht, am I?"  No, Mulder, you are not. Nor
is he you. Not even close, damnit. Yet, I spend a couple of hours
with him, hear three little words I didn't even know I'd been
dying to hear from you, and now I'm an emotional mess.

Three words, Mulder. "Let's talk." And we did; we really talked.
But you don't remember any of it, because it wasn't you. So, you
don't remember how those words put me over the edge. Oh, after
you short circuited what was about to happen, I clamped down on
those feelings but good. Embarrassment will do that. But, after
today, I can't deny these feelings, now.

You're no Eddie van Blundht. That's good. I don't want Eddie van
Blundht. The question is do I want you? I've never consciously
considered the question before, but I have to face it now. This
has opened up a Pandora's box...you opened it, I mean, van
Blundht did. You could have opened it before this. Why didn't
you, Mulder? What's wrong with us that we can't do this?

Do what, exactly? I can't even answer that question.

I can provide this: I'm not in love with you. I'm not. I've never
been in love before, but I think I would know how it feels. It
would feel glorious, rapturous. Clear. Not like this. I'm furious
with you, Mulder. Enraged! Why? Because you walked in on me about
to kiss someone disguised as you? Simple embarrassment? Surely,
it's not that simple. I'm furious with you because I'm...I'm
confused. You're muddling things between us, Mulder, asking such
personal questions. I know, it wasn't really you asking the
questions. I know! You see? I'm confused, and it's your fault,
*partner.* But, I know it's not love. I'm sure of it. One kiss
does not a lover make, nor one near miss, either, no matter what
you think you saw. I dare you to gainsay this, make a wise ass
remark. Go ahead, I'm ready for you.

How do I not love you, Mulder? Let's just tick things off the
list, shall we?

'...to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when
feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace'? This
is a fairly easy one, isn't it, Mulder? You and I can't even
agree on the existence of a soul, let alone on the concept of
Grace and the ends of being. You can believe in anything, it
seems, but that.

"And you can believe in that, and not anything else."

Mulder! How did you get in here? How did you sneak onto the sofa
right before my eyes?

"First of all, Scully, I do believe in the existence of a soul.
We've never really talked about that, have we? After Apison, you
didn't want to talk about it at all, even though I believe that
showed something incredible about us. You just thought it
incredible. Still, you continue to assume that, since I don't
share your particular faith, I don't have any beliefs of a para-
mystical, quasi-religious nature. But, this isn't about me or my
beliefs. This is about you."

First of all, Mulder, *first* of all, I am not seeing you sitting
there on that damned couch, loveseat...small sofa...whatever...

"Small po-tay-to, small po-tah-to..."

I don't believe this is happening! You're a figment of my
imagination. Moreover, you've never said anything remotely like
something not being about you. Quite the opposite, in fact. You
seem totally uninterested in my point of view, in my part in our
work, in my life. He did. Why do you think I nearly kissed you?
Him!

"I may not have said it, but that doesn't mean it's not true. I
know that there's a lot we've left unsaid. And I know that I've
taken your presence in my life for granted... I mean, let's be
honest here, isn't that what Philadelphia was all about? Before
we stray too far from the topic, though, I would never term a
system of spiritual belief "para-mystical," either. If you're
going to be putting words in my mouth, Scully, at least make them
words that have some semblance of meaning."

Dear God. Even in my imagination we can't agree.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Scully..."

Stop! Zip it, Mulder. Not another word out of you unless spoken
to.

"Scully, may I..."

ZIP!

"...ask you something?"

Ahhhhh! I can't even get you to shut up in my own subconscious.

"If it makes you feel any better, I *am* you, remember? I'm just
that part of you that desires a rational counterpoint to all of
the emotions you're feeling."

You represent the rational part of my brain, Mulder?

"Well, maybe just a counterpoint, then."

"Look, ask yourself one thing. If flying to the arctic to save my
sorry ass isn't sufficient proof, if serving jail time for
contempt of Congress isn't sufficient, Christ! You held a gun on
an assistant director of the Bureau and, later, knew that somehow
I wasn't dead. If that isn't evidence of the height, the breadth,
the depth of your soul bestowed on me, then what is?"

I thought you were supposed to be the rational counterpoint.

"I am. It's rational to have these feelings, even if the feelings
are beyond all reason."

You can say that again. NO! Don't.

"What is it that keeps you standing beside me when, by your own
admission, I don't pay enough attention to your needs, your
feelings, don't give you enough respect? You stick with me even
though I take it for granted that you will be with me to face an
evil that is beyond the scientific understanding you rely on and
in direct contravention of the faith that is your bedrock?"

Loyalty is not love, Mulder.

"Queequeg was loyal, Scully, arguably. But this goes way beyond
loyalty and you know it. But, let's move on, shall we? We have
more of your poetic excursion to go, don't we? What's next? Ah,
yes. You're going to try to tell that you don't, in fact, love me
to the level of every day's most quiet need, day and night?"

If what you're trying to ask is whether I need you night and day,
Mulder, the answer is no, I don't. I've managed on my own quite
well, thank you, for my entire adult life. I'm fairly sure I'm
still able to do that. True, I do seem to spend every waking
minute in your presence, but that's just sad, it's not love.

What? What are you looking at me like that for? Anyway, Mulder,
that's *my* look. You aren't able to arch one eyebrow like I am.

"I can now."

Alright then, spill it. Why the Look? You know that work is what
brought and keeps us together, not love. Oh, yes, I know what
you're thinking. I had a social life, I demanded it, and, yes, it
has been my decision to put that aside. But, I didn't do that to
spend more time with you, Mulder. I did it because of your quest,
one that has now become mine. I need to find out what happened to
me, now more than ever. I want to bring to justice those bastards
who killed Melissa, killed your father. I want to root out the
cancer on our way of life. You're the only one who understands
this, Mulder. Being with you is expedience, pure and simple.

Besides, I've gotten used to you. I don't look forward to seeing
you in the morning. I just expect that you will be there. I don't
think about you every moment of the day, or anything of the sort.
You're simply an inevitable part of my day, like the air I
breathe. Now, wait. That didn't come out exactly right.

Yes, I wonder what you're doing when we're not together, but
mostly because I'm concerned you'll ditch me again, out of
concern for my well-being, and in utter disregard for your own.
Yes, I know more about you than I know of almost anyone, even
myself. So, I know that you like fatty foods, even if you do have
a metabolism that doesn't show it. We eat at greasy spoons all
the time, Mulder. Of course I'm going to know this about you, and
the fact that you love eating at greasy spoons. Mulder, are you
aware what it's like to have oatmeal for breakfast every day when
we're on the road? Grueling!

"See? You even make bad jokes like I do, now."

Look, I'll even admit that you probably are my last thought at
night, if only because I habitually stay awake until your
obligatory phone call. And you are probably my waking thought,
but that's because
 because, well
 I don't know. Because you're
around me almost every other waking moment
 why shouldn't you be
in my waking thoughts?

"Why have you conjured me up now, Scully? Can you answer that?

Mulder, I'll even admit freely that I feel love for you. You're
courageous, Mulder, admirable, brilliant, even with all your
leaps of illogic, and as self-sacrificing as you can be self-
absorbed.

You've been by my side even when my closest relatives have been
ready to give up on me. And I wouldn't want anybody else there.

"And what does that tell you?"

You're my friend, Mulder. That's what I'm feeling. Love for a
friend.

" A friend you would want by your side, even over family? That's
some friend."

Now what? What's that look for?

"What about Philadelphia?"

What about Philadelphia?  How do I explain it? There is no
explaining Philadelphia.

"You were angry with me. I'd been so self absorbed that I hadn't
treated you with consideration or respect, let alone love. I'd
not been treating you as an equal, as a person, as a friend. If
I'd just pulled my head out of my ass..."

Are you sure you're part of *my* subconscious? I've never said
that in my life.

"Oh, I'm sure."

"You said it wasn't about me, it was about your life. I started
to say something, then stopped... Have you ever wondered what it
was?"

You started to say "Yeah, but it's my..." I just assumed you were
going to stick your foot in your mouth again, saying that it was
your quest I was putting at risk.

"No, not my quest. My life. I realized that, if you had been
hurt, been
 put at risk again, my life wouldn't have been worth
shit. I don't think I could take it."

Mulder...

"No, Scully, it's true. Now, more than ever."

When I was returned, there was a place where I waited. I wasn't
sure where I was to go, only that I wasn't to stay there. It was
you who brought me back here, Mulder. You wouldn't let me give
up. I won't let you give up either.

I've mourned my losses, my father, Melissa. But, if I were to
lose you? I'm afraid.

"Afraid of what, Scully?"

That I would lose a part of myself, a part of my soul. That the
loss would be greater than losing Ahab or Missy. Damnit, Mulder.
Now look what you've made me do.

"I'm sorry, Scully. I'd hand you a tissue but, under the
circumstances..."

I'm glad you're not really here, Mulder. I'm a mess when I cry.

"Let's talk about whether I'm not really here, Scully. I asked
you earlier why you would have conjured me up. Why am I here?"

You said yourself, Mulder, you're my counterpoint.

"But where did I come from? And I mean more than just your
subconscious, Scully. Think. Half of me resides in you. Just as
half of you resides in me."

It's a lovely thought, Mulder. I'm not sure how true it might be.

"But, Scully, you just said...Forget it. We haven't finished the
poem yet, have we?"

Go ahead, then.

"'I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, /and
with my childhood's faith, I love thee with a love I seemed to
lose/ With my lost saints.' That describes both of us, I think,
Scully."

"'I love thee with the breath,/Smiles, tears, of all my life!' It
took your near miss in Philadelphia to wake me up to this,
Scully, and your illness has sealed it."

"'and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.'
I don't want to be apart from you, Scully, ever. That was the
lesson of Apison, for me, anyway."

But, it's never this simple. Our work? The Bureau, the men
arrayed against us? It doesn't matter what I feel, Mulder. It
doesn't matter what you feel! Oh, to Hell with you, Elizabeth
Barrett Browning!

"There are people at the door, Scully. After you let them in,
call him. Talk to him. Christen the new couch that way. Go on.
He'll surprise you, I'm sure."

Mulder? Where'd you go?

Oh, shit. The new sofa. Pottery Barn finally comes through.

I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't do this, I just shouldn't do
this.

"Mulder? It's me. What? Oh, no. I'm having a new sofa delivered.
Yeah, I know it's pretty late. No, I don't need you to come over
and test it out, Mulder. I thought we might just sit and talk.
Yes, talk."


-end-