From: "julianne brown" Date: Thu, 30 Jul 1998 16:30:31 -0400 Subject: vignette.... Mulder is mine From muldersbabe@worldnet.att.net Subject: Mulder is mine Author: Mollie Nelson Classification: V, R Rating: PG 13, for a few naughty words Spoilers: The end, pilot <> <> <> <> <> <> <> Author's note: This is my very first fanfic, and I am rather proud of it. Please read it and respond to my email, Muldersbabe@worldnet.att.net, and tell me what you think. I would love to hear forn you!!!! Please write me!!!! <> <> <> <> <> <> <> Disclaimer: NOT MINE, NEVER WILL BE, NO MONEY, NO SUE. This story is dedicated to all of my good friends at Mulder and Scully Tactilely Deprived. Thank you so much Julie F for the positive feedback and gentle encouragement. This story is also dedicated to my personal holy trinity of fanfic, Paula Graves, Karen Rasche, and Lydia Bower. ************************************************************* Mulder is mine. by Mollie Nelson <> <> <> Washington D.C. May, 1998 <> <> <> God, he hasn't changed. You think five years' experience would mark a man, but he's just as stubborn and mercurial as always. Hot. Cold. Mmmm. Very hot. Very, very, hot. That's Fox Mulder. That's how I want him anyway. I won't settle for anything less. I was a fool to ignore it for so long. It was there, right from the beginning, the connection between us. When I reached out and shook his hand, felt it's warmth and thrummimg intensity, I knew my life would never be the same. "Do you believe in the existence of extra-terrestrials?" God, that voice. Low, arrogent, aggrivating...sexy. Even when I told him how I felt, the arrogence remained. I could tell he was trying to intimidate me, scare me off...but I would have none of it. A woman in the FBI has got to have balls, if you'll pardon the expression, and I didn't get this far on skill alone. Huff, Puff, blow me away, he thought, end of story. No Agent Mulder. It wasn't going to be that easy. No half-baked UFO groupie with a psych degree was going to tell me what to do. Was going to bully me away, no matter how wild and fantastical his theories, no matter how insane he sounded. Listen to me, I sound bitter, insulting. You'd never guess the real truth, the truth I've kept from myself for so long.....that, I love him. Yes, I do. Why else would I stick with him? Eagerly wade into fifty years of dust and neglect to unearth "forgotten" files, chase aliens, monsters and mutants on a daily basis? I was there through it all, from the beginning. After all, I helped to create him, encouraged him to seek his buried memories of that night. I knew the pain of not-knowing would slowly destory him. He changed overnight, became a man possessed. He had a new purpose, a new mission. The Boy-Wonder of the VCS was only a memory. He was bad in the beginning; insulting, irreverent. I watched him struggle for the respect of his peers, watched him face the slander and the insulting nicknames, bore the burden as my own. I have a history with him, Dammit. Thes *she* comes out of nowhere. This interloper, this foreigner. How well does she know him? As *well* as I? No doubt she's aware how brilliant he is. How passionate. Driven. No question that she has wit- nessed his mind at work, watched open-mouthed as he made one lighten- ing quick connection after another. Watched with envy as he made intuitive leaps of reason with an ease that's almost an x-file in itself. But has *she* stepped beyond a "professional" relationship... You know, fucked him? She better not have. Of course I'm deluding myself pretending they haven't. Why wouldn't they? He has this way of invading your space, standing so close. You feel all shivery and feverish....then he speaks in that sandpaper voice.... God. She's not really his type anyway, right? I'm ashamed of myself for thinking this way. I sound like a jealous girlfriend, a bathroom gossip bent on revenge, That's not what I am, and, I'm aware, *far* from what she is. She's a professional. Well, so am I. But she's got a claim on what's mine, and I won't let her have it. The X-files are mine, Fox Mulder is mine... just ask Gibson, he knows. "I know you're thinking about one of the girls you brought." Me! I wanted to shout. Fox Mulder is thinking about *me*. Not her. Never her. I've been silent too long. Wasted nearly a decade denying the truth, letting one opprotunity after another pass unheeded. Well. I'm back, and I will not let my last chance fade away without a fight. A knock on the door startles me, shakes me from my thoughts. I glance over at Gibson, ashamed at the lapse of attention to my watch, and catch his smug little smile. Little brat. One hand on my hip holster, I approach the door. "It's her," Gibson says, still smug, "the other girl." Great. I open the door, false smile in place. She's wearing the matching one, I see. "I'm here to relieve you." "Okay," I reply, "just let me get my coat." I can't bring myself to say anything more, and niether can she. Fine. Who the hell needs meaningless small talk anyway? Coat draped over my arm, I leave, quietly and quickly, shuttting the door behind me with barely a sound. I walk the few steps to my car then turn back, watching her small, delicate silhouette move gracefully through the room. Tiny, pretty little red-head, what could Fox possibly see in her? Jealousy, thick and rich, moves through me. "Dana Scully," I whisper to the dark, "You had better watch your back." End ******************************************************** What do you think sirs??? please write me, I'm begging!!!! ********************************************************