From: shoshana Date: Thu, 06 Jan 2000 08:40:28 GMT Subject: New: The Letter (1/1) TITLE: The Letter (1/1) AUTHOR: Shoshana EMAIL ADDRESS: shoshana1013@excite.com DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer, Spooky's site, Xemplary, etc. SPOILER WARNING: Seventh season episodes through Millennium. RATING: PG CONTENT STATEMENT: MSR CLASSIFICATION: VR KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance SUMMARY: Scully finds a long lost letter. DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. NOTE: Thanks to my great beta readers Char, Meg and Teresa! The Letter By Shoshana ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I'm trying to find the words to tell you how I feel about you, Scully. I've written so many letters to you, destroyed so many letters to you, ripping them to shreds, tearing at my own heart with every one I dispose. I don't trash all these letters immediately. Some I file away in my desk drawer, here at home, chancing that you'll discover one while looking for a pen or paper clip. Oh, I'll get rid of them all eventually. In the meantime, I'm willing to take the risk that you'll see one by accident. It's so much easier that way. I don't think I can deliver one to you without betraying my fear. Cowardly, huh? Yes and no. Sure, I'm terrified you'll reject me. But I also don't want to pressure you, don't want you to feel that you have to return my sentiments. You can always ignore a letter that you've found after rifling through my drawers. But you'd never be able to ignore me in the flesh, declaring my love for you. I would patiently wait beside you for some scintilla of a response, just a smile, just a word, just a nod my way. I'm not taking a chance on that approach yet. I'll continue to write these missives until I know the time is right. And, after all, letters on vellum are a permanent, lasting testament of my regard for you. The handwriting is unmistakably mine. And they won't be wiped out by a computer virus ten days after I've written them. Only I can destroy them. Only I know where they're hidden, tossed in with the clutter of my life. If by some awful chance I'm not alive when you find these thoughts, at least you'll know... at least I'll have told you how I feel. I think you already know, but I'd like to think that this humble effort would give you some kind of peace, some closure. I've tried to write this letter so many times and it never feels complete. There's always more I'd like to say, more than I *can* say. You've been the best partner, the best friend, I've ever had. I've wished for more than that, and it seems like we're on our way there. We've come a long way from our fight last February. I know I hurt you, humiliated you in front of our friends. But things are better now, aren't they? We went to a ball game last Sunday. You told me you got the tickets from your cousin, that you felt guilty not using them. But I knew you bought them two weeks ago. I overheard you calling the stadium office, asking when they'd open in the morning. Such subterfuge, Scully... why do you feel the need to sneak around? Is it because you're not ready for this? Are you so scared that I'll hurt you? Or are you afraid you'll hurt me? It really felt good to sit next to you, to see the admiring glances from men ambling up and down the narrow concrete stairways. You'd think I'd be jealous, huh? Not a chance. I felt like the luckiest man alive. Even though we barely touched each other; the way you leaned toward me to speak, the intimate, private way you looked my way, told everyone else we were together. And then we went for a walk along the pier; it was a beautiful, moonlit night and I wanted to kiss you so badly it twisted me inside. But I didn't. I put my arm around your shoulder when we were leaning against the wooden rail and that was enough, just enough to keep me from making a fool of myself. When you grabbed my hand on the stroll back I was so startled I tripped over my own clumsy feet. We had a good laugh about that, as I struggled to regain my balance. And when I did, your hand was still in mine, and we walked back to the car... very slowly... afraid to break the spell around us. So, if you're reading this, Scully... I sure hope I'm not missing or dead. For your sake, and mine. There's so much more we have to say and do for each other. I don't want to live forever; I just want to live with you. I love you, Scully... Mulder June 24, 1999 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scully dropped the letter into her lap, then reached into her pants pocket for the tissue she knew would be there. She sat with her head bowed for several minutes, dabbing her tears away, contemplating Mulder's words. He'd felt that way about her for so long; she'd kept him waiting for so long. Last summer they'd started 'dating,' after a fashion. At first, she'd pretended that they were just very good friends, good friends enjoying each other's company. But, by the night of that baseball game, she knew there was no turning back, nowhere to hide her feelings anymore. He let her set the pace; he let her decide every step they should take. They hadn't kissed. Not once. Until after he had recuperated from his illness in October. After the white bandages were unravelled for the last time and he'd finally been declared fit for duty. They'd been sitting on his couch, discussing a case. She'd dropped some autopsy photos on the floor, and they'd both dipped down to retrieve them. Their heads bumped, and when she reached over to make sure he was all right, she'd touched his chin, touched his jaw, then leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Instead of retreating from him, as she had done just weeks before, her hands framed his face, her lips slid down to his nose, to his cheek, to his mouth. That was the beginning of it all; they started sleeping with one another from that day forward. They were careful, very careful, to maintain their professional demeanor on all their cases. They attempted to set ground rules and broke most of them within a week. They vowed not to spend the whole night with one another on work nights. That promise was soon abandoned; they couldn't bear to sleep apart. The only time they didn't spend the whole night together was on the road. There were too many factors outside their control; too many accidents waiting to happen. When he kissed her on New Year's Eve, it was the first time they'd ever done so in public. She'd been a little surprised, but truly pleased, that they'd been together, been alive, and been able to ring in the new Millennium. Scully folded the letter into thirds again and set it on the desk top. It had been wedged between two floppy disks in the bottom of Mulder's desk drawer. She *had* been looking for a pen. She'd found that letter instead. She got up from the straight-backed chair and walked over to the kitchen, stopping to admire the coffee can full of roses on Mulder's table for two. Today was February 15th and she'd come home early, while Mulder was at the office tying up some loose ends. They were off to Utah tomorrow, and she'd offered to pack his bags, then shuttle them over to her apartment for the night. Discovering the letter was an unexpected pleasure. She'd known he loved her way back then. It was just so sweet, so sublime, to see his thoughts translated onto paper. He'd been absolutely right at the time; things had been changing between them. He'd read her signals correctly and had allowed her all the space and time she needed to respond to his overtures. The nightmare of his hospitalization was the real catalyst, the real straw that broke the camel's back. She was more than ready after that, ready for the irrevocable step they'd taken toward total intimacy. Scully hurried to the bedroom, found his suitcases, and packed with the speed and efficiency of a woman obsessed. She wasn't planning on wasting a minute of their time alone that evening. And before he came home, she had her own letter to write. fin Please send feedback to: shoshana1013@excite.com Please visit my web page at http://members.tripod.com/shoshana1013/