From: shirlock <shirlock@pacific.net.sg>
Date: Sat, 31 Jul 99 22:17:17 +0800
Subject: New fanfict: Phobias (1/1) 
Source: direct

Title: Phobias (1/1)
Author: Shirlock
Rating: Readable for kids over 12
Category: MSR- Are there others?/ Attempt at humour
Spoilers:  The bench found in The Host makes an appearance/ Phoebe
Greene is Mulder's ex-girlfriend from Hades/ Milagro
Summary: Our agents talk about their fears.
Timeline: After The Unnatural.
Archive: Ask and ye shall be answered with a resounding <<Pourquoi
pas? >> 
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013
Productions and Fox. No $ exchanged; no profit gained.
Feedback: Is the virtual cash that rings my register.
shirlock@pacific.net.sg
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It is now customary for them to sit side by side on their bench
overlooking the Potomac. Every so often, Scully would wind up there
alone, thinking things through and Mulder, being Mulder, would plop
himself bonelessly beside her half an hour later. She would not even
blink back her surprise-- his Scullyradar was an excellent tracking
device. Briefly she wonders if the chip in the neck is relaying a
special ultra high frequency that only Mulder can pick up. 

They had never asked each other the reason for this minor excursion,
politeness being the obstacle to absolute frankness. The sky was
clear and a slight breeze rustled enough cherry blossoms to send a
flurry of pink and white blooms scattering about them. It was a
breezy, balmy June night.

<<I think it is called theophobia, Mulder.>> Scully pronounced, eyes
focused on some distant star above the horizon.

<<What?>>

<<You know-- your fear of God.>> She looks smug as a bug in an
expensive rug--her rug being a colourful arabesque Missoni coat that
she huddles tighter around her small body. 

<<I do not  have theophobia, Scully. I have got to believe in him
before I can be afraid of him.>> He chuckles, nudging her,<<I am more
likely to cause phobias than be affected much by them. What about
you? Ereuthophobic?>>

<<Ereuthophobic?>> 

Scully is the only one in this universe who can  makes it sound like
it is his  fault she does not know a word. He smiles his knowing
smile and brush a stray blossom from the crown of her head. 

<<Your fear of blushing.>> Priggish words escape his lips.

<<How do you know this stuff?>>

<<Oh I pay *careful* attention, Agent Scully.>> His face displays an
impish smile -- one which she dearly wanted to wipe off with the
garish tie he has on askew.

She rolls her eyes heavenward before rephrasing, <<No, I mean how do
you remember these obscure phobias? Psychology 101? On-line chatroom
topic of the week? Over-the-bar-pick-up-line?>>

He stops in time to catch that involuntary blush that creeps into her
 face. The ones she is entirely too ereuthophobic to admit to having.

<<O hi Miss, can I buy you a drink or are you potophobic?--Remind me
to try that next time I am at the waterhole.>> Mulder smirks, an
altogether too familiar facial spasm before star-gazing again.
<<Actually, its latin root prefix is a dead giveaway. There is
logophobia--logo for word; arachnophobia--arachno for spiders.
Lyssophobia--fear of going insane...patatipatata...>> He casts a
professorial glance in her direction, <<Pyrophobia, which would be?>>

<<Fear of fire.>> Scully aces.

<<Genophobia?>>

<<Fear of sex.>> Not a smidgen of doubt. 

<<...which is synonymous with the lesser-known Phoebe-phobia. Can you
guess entomophobia?>> 

<<Insects.>>

<<Clever girl. Phasmophobia?>>

<<Phasmo...Phasmo? Phantoms?>> Her wrinkled brow straightens after a
second of self-doubt.

<<Spooks.>> He leers, leaning into her space for effect and wagging
his eyebrows, <<are you afraid of spooks, Scully?>>

<<Like you said, Mulder. I have got to believe in them first before I
can fear them.>>

<<Would that be *spooks-spooks* or Spooky Mulder?>> He narrows his
eyes and tilts his head a fraction to catch the smile he knows is
forming in her jowl muscles.

Instead she laughs softly while forming words in a breathy chuckle,
<<Oh I believe in *you*, Mulder. I just do not believe you can spook
me anymore.>>

He relaxes visibly, the mischief returning, loving the bait she is
dangling before him.

<<So what spooks you now, Scully?>>

<<Absolutely. Nothing, Mulder.>> 

<<I bet you have got at least one. Ophidiophobic?>>

She merely raises her signature eyebrow in a tell-tale gesture to
show him she is all ears.

<<Snakes.>> He hisses.

<<That is everybody's fear.>> She replies offhandedly, << that does
not count.>>

<<Okay. Travel. You have got a phobia of travels.>> Mulder says,
crossing his arms on his puffed-up chest, looking triumphant.

<<What is it called?>> She bats her eyelashes slowly. A challenge if
she ever gave one.

<<Hodophobia.>> His triumphant smirk returns with a vengence.

<<Mulder,>> Scully explains, <<I do not have a phobia of travels. I
have a  phobia of travelling with you.There is a significant
difference.>>

He huffed as she returns to star-gazing.

<<Why are you not afraid of anything?>> He seemed genuinely
perplexed.<<Why are you not fearful of murderers, conspiracies,
rapists...flukemen?>>

<<I do not dwell on them.>> She looks up expectantly, smiling to his
look of bewilderment.  <<Is that not what a phobia is? A fear that
grips you because you think too much about it? So much so that it
becomes an irrational, obsessive, all-consuming fear?>>

<<So what is *it* that you think about a lot?>> His gaze becomes
cottony soft, a gentle honeyed plea for honesty. 

Scully pulls her lips into a straight line. Is that not what I
secretly hope for? His attention? His *undivided* attention? 

<<I think about *us* a lot, if you really want to know.>> 

Her reply made him recoil, not from fear or fright, but her bluntness
indicates typical Scully-seriousness. He was not prepared for a
serious discussion tonight. Or any night, for that matter.

<<And that does NOT scare you?>> He jests.

<<More than you know. But I do not have a phobia of it. I have a
healthy dose of wariness and respectful regard for our
relationship.>> The light-heartedness returns. Seemed like Scully was
merely testing the waters.

<<I know.>> He pauses, then leaning into her ear, goads "I know you
are the haptophobic one in this relationship."

<<I am not.>> Indignance is written all over her face in broad pink
brush strokes.

<<Are you sure you are not, Scully?>> He teases her by rubbing his
nose along her smooth jawline. She backs away a millimeter that feels
like an inch. Too much space sandwiched between them.

<<See?>> Fox Mulder was adamant to win this argument and she hated
that superior look. 

<I definitely do NOT have a fear of intimacy. Of being touched. Of
getting too close to Fox Mulder.Dammit!> She felt feverish under the
thick woollen coat.

<<You *are* lying, Scully. And I can prove it.>> His breath is warm
against her summer-kissed cheek and his lips hover millimeters from
her right ear.

Scully regards him coolly, taken aback by his burgeoning audacity and
callous intrusion into her personal space. It was always *just a
game* to him.

<<You cannot prove it, Mulder. I am not one of your theories-->> She
begins, watching him from the corner of her eyes.

<<Indeed, you are not. And the theophobist in me thanks some foreign
deity that you are not a *theory*. You are a subject of no small
fascination for me, Dr.Special-Agent-Scully. You are the reason I
would be happy to apply my empirical skills to.>>

<<And how do you propose to do that?>> She had not meant to pursue
this line of questioning but his superiority complex was a fly which
begged swatting.

<<How any good psychologist would propose treating phobias, Scully.
We force a man fearful of heights to walk a tightrope. We force a
woman afraid of intimacy, to be...intimate. Meet the fear head on.>>
The innuendo is too great and she starts to lose her resolve to be
straight-faced.

Mulder pulls back an arm's length to regard her one more time
before zeroing in on her lips.She has no time to ward off his advance
attack, no room for hedging, fencing or parrying. Hands caging her,
he presses his lips onto hers--a tepid meeting of skin that
transcends the mere physical sensations. 

Quickly, a small part of her mind reminds her that she cannot be
proven wrong in the smartassy way he had come to lord over her. That
she was not afraid of being intimate, of being touched, caressed by
the one man she was not supposed to be involved with was all she
could think of in the five seconds he liplocked. 

So she forces herself to relax and kiss him back for every one of her
scientific theories he had scoffed at. 

It was perhaps the only time Fox Mulder remembers enjoying her
proving him wrong. 

<<I was wrong, Scully.>> He sounds genuinely apologetic, smiling,
threading his fingers through hers, breathless. <So fucking wrong.>
His mind shakes a dismissive finger at his own vulnerability. That is
what happens when you play with fire.

Silence reigns but for a minute. 

<<Maybe I do have one phobia I willl admit to you, Mulder.>> She
turns her face away, suddenly feeling foolish, <<I have thought a lot
about it soon after the Padgett case.>>

He was prudent to let her continue uninterrupted. 

<<I am afraid of loneliness.>> 

Every pleasurable tingle evaporated. Silently, he brushes his hand
over her arm, up and down the woollen threads, almost as if
loneliness was the reason she might be feeling cold right now. 

<<Have you always felt lonely?>> The chance that she might have gnaws
a hole inside his right ventricle the size of a silver dollar.

<<I told Padgett that loneliness is a choice. And that I had made
that choice to be lonely, to live alone, to shut others out even as I
bolt myself in solitary confinement.>> She sighs, feeling she has
said too much, too quickly. 

<<Are you?>> His voice a concerned whisper, <<lonely now, I mean.>>

She blinks purposefully, as if considering the reason behind the
question using a different part of her brain.

<<Right now?>> She asks, watching him nod twice, <<No. No, I'm not.
You are here.>>

<<Then you will never have cause to be fearful of loneliness,
Scully.>>

Then she understands it for the first time. <Is this really the first
time?> 

Fox Mulder has just made her a promise. A promise to banish her
phobia of loneliness forever. A promise to always be there, if she
were to let him in. She felt strangled by the words that she did not
have, the need to admit her gratefulness overwhelming. 

She gathers the courage she lacks to look him in the eye even though
she is all but plainly embarrassed to let him see her tears threaten
to fall off its narrow precipice.

<<I think I may be cured of my fear, Mulder.>> Her smile is a sincere
thank-you note.

<<You are welcome.>> His wink-- an acceptance.
 
Fin.