From: "Trixie ." Date: Fri, 20 Aug 1999 19:27:11 GMT Subject: NEW: 'North Star' (1/1) Source: xff Title: North Star Author: Trixie Email: scullymulder1121@hotmail.com Spoilers: Biogenesis . . . tiny one for Triangle . . . Quagmire . . .FTF . . . Archive: Please, anywhere. Classification: UST/MSR; V. Rating: PG (is it an automatic R when you use the F-word? Can't remember . ..) Thanks: To Brandon, Brynna & Shannon for the Uber-Cool betas. Dedications: To Brandon and Louise, without whom this story truly would not exist. Summary: A conversation between Moose & Squirrel where they actually talk about something. ~ North Star ~ "Mulder, do you ever feel as though you're wasting time?" My eyes track to hers, and I take a moment to consider my response before I speak. "In what respect?" "In every respect. In your professional life, in your personal life--" "What personal life?" "I'm serious." I believe her. "I don't know, Scully; I guess so. From time to time, doesn't everybody?" "I suppose," she murmurs. Silence descends upon us, and I wonder what the hell I've said wrong now. It seems I never say anything right, anymore. I don't know if it's because of Africa, or if it's because of Diana, or if it's because of something intrinsically wrong between us. Something intrinsically wrong between us. I never thought I'd believe that about us. Not Scully and me. Throughout our partnership, there has always been good and bad. The good is always the best there is, and the bad is . . . well, pretty bad. But you know . . . "I don't think we've been wasting our time." I don't know where the words come from. Maybe something left over from that artifact screwing with my brain. But somehow, it just occurred to me what she wanted to hear. I wait until she looks up at me. "Together, I mean," I clarify softly. "I don't think we've been wasting our time." "Haven't we?" she counters, just as softly. "Every time we chase dead ends and believe the lies set before us, isn't that a waste?" "I've never thought so." My answer is immediate. I don't know if it's true or not. I only know it's what she needs to hear right now. It's what I need to believe right now. "Scully . . ." I don't know what else to say. I never know what to say to her anymore. Not since her belief system so drastically changed. I'll accept half the blame; her sudden shift to my way of thinking, as far as little gray men goes, has been difficult for me. But I'm not the only one at fault. She's the one who put up the walls. She's the one who doesn't talk anymore. She's the one who makes me feel like shit for being proven right. "Maybe I'm just wondering what my place in this equation is," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. "Haven't we been over this once before?" "How can you not see that what's happened these past months negates everything you said to me in your hallway?" "How can you not see that it doesn't?" I shoot back. Damn, is that what this is about? Is she doubting us again? What the hell am I supposed to do to convince her? And why does she need convincing? "Once, I served a purpose in our partnership." Her voice is low, and contains that quality I've always hated hearing in Scully's voice - a strange mix of fear, anguish, and strength, that tears at my soul. "And now, because I can no longer offer my rationalism, my opposing opinion, I don't see what function I serve." "Scully," I begin warily. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to try to make an argument when you know you're wrong?" There's so much pain in her eyes. "Before, I could cling to my faith; the unwavering faith I had in my beliefs. In retrospect, I see that faith as nothing more than fear. But still, it was all I had then. When all you have is lost, what are you supposed to do? Can you tell me that, Mulder?" "In the past, when all I've had was lost, I still had you." I see surprise in her eyes, and I hate it. She should've known that. I've told her as much, a thousand times before. With both words and deeds. Apparently it wasn't enough. God, Scully, will anything ever be enough? The saddest smile I've ever seen in my life curves her lips. "But you see Mulder," she whispers, "my faith was the only thing holding us together. Our partnership is the only thing that keeps you in my life, and without it, there is no you to hold onto." "Scully," I whisper back, with dawning realization. "Jesus, how can you even think that?" "Running the risk of repeating one of us - how can I not?" I can see the tears now. She won't let herself cry them; not my Scully. Not here, for damn sure. "Scully, it's not just your science and your rationalism that bind us together so tightly I don't think I can breathe sometimes." This gets a chuckle from her. It's good to know I'm not the only one who feels this way. That could get embarrassing. "Don't you know what you are to me?" "What am I to you, Mulder?" That's a good question. I wish I had an answer I could put into words. At the moment, my mind seems to be blank. I could quote her a sonnet, but those would be someone else's words. She deserves my words. Based on that look in her eyes, she needs my words. And, if I'm honest with myself, I need to give her my words. They just may be all I have left to give. The only problem appears to be, somewhere along the way, I lost all the poetry in my soul. And I want to give her poetry. I want let her know she is a part of me, my truest companion. How do you put that sort of thing into words? And then something occurs. A long time ago, Scully and I were stuck on a rock. And before our conversation deteriorated into an argument, she told me about an old sailor's trick her father told her. She told me how sailors used to navigate by the stars on dark nights with no compass. She pointed to the North Star in the sky, and explained it was a starting point; the proverbial X in the sand. A single point, designed so that a lost soul could always find the way home again. "You're my North Star, Scully." It takes her a minute. It's worth the wait, however, when she understands a few moments later. A single tear rolls down her cheek, and she swipes it away quickly with her shoulder, lest she betray her cool exterior. "Mulder," she barely gets out. "You are," I insist quietly. "You know you're so much more than a work partner to me Scully; you =know= you are." "I really don't," she admits. She's embarrassed for having brought this whole thing up; I can tell. I also refuse to let her be embarrassed for this. "You know," I whisper quietly, next to her ear, "when a guy pours his heart out, he starts to get nervous when he hears nothing in return." A grimace crosses her face, and her eyes soften. "Once upon a time," she murmurs softly, "I forgot to say I love you too." "I wish to God I could kiss you right now." "FREEZE! FBI!" Both our eyes snap toward the door at that sudden outburst. Shots are fired. Then: "Agent Mulder? Agent Scully?" Scully arches an elegant brow at me. "You may get your wish sooner than you think, Mulder." "In here!" I call out, my eyes on Scully's. I'm not sure, but I think we're making promises without words again. Dangerous practice, that. But it's who we are, and I wouldn't have us any other way. The door is kicked in, and for the first time in hours, the light in here is brighter than a flashlight's beam. What looks like the entire Long Shore PD is standing outside, staring at Scully and me in this closet. I suppose we do look odd; feet planted on the floor, wrists tightly secured to the coat rod above us, our noses almost, but not quite, close enough to touch. "Is the suspect in custody?" Scully asks the sheriff. He snaps out of his trance and walks toward us, a Swiss Army knife at the ready. "No, he got away. It was like . . . like he could . . ." he looked away, embarrassed. "Like he could turn invisible?" I ask dryly. No, of course not. Couldn't be what 'ole Spooky said four days ago. Must've been a mass hallucination when he disappeared into thin fucking air. He doesn't answer me, of course, just cuts us both down. The entire force turns, en masse, and leaves John Tucker's trailer in the middle of nowhere. "C'mon Mulder, let's go back to the motel. We can chase the Invisible Man tomorrow." I pause, and consider my partner carefully. The earlier fear has left her eyes. While most people would've been terrified for their lives, Scully hadn't been. Not for her physical well being, at any rate. It was about the emotional. It wasn't about how we'd get out of that closet; it was about what we'd do once we did. "Scully, are we all right?" The PD seems to have vanished. And I'm not ashamed to admit that half the reason I want to finish this conversation here is the hope that Tucker might return. "We're all right, Mulder," she assures me. There might still be doubt behind her eyes. I'm not sure, but just in case . . . "You know that the worst with you Scully, the worst it's ever been between us, it's still better than the best with anyone else. I feel that, deep down." I'm nervous. I don't know if she feels the same, and I'm scared that she doesn't. A strange smile appears on her face. "I told you once that I wouldn't change a day," she reminds me gently. I nod slowly. "Yea," I agree expectantly. The smile gets wider. "That's why," she confides. Her fingers wrap around the end of my tie, and she tugs, the movement both possessive, and insistent. "Let's go Mulder," she implores, and I swear to God, it sounds like a proposition. She begins to walk toward the door. I shake the fog out of my brain, and let her lead me home. END ~ "I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning, rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe inlong, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. Goodnight." --Kevin Costner, Bull Durham My fanfic believes in all this and more. Won't you visit it? http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Comet/3360/xfilesfic.html ~