*************************************************************************** This author's e-mail address has changed to: thexpiig@hotmail.com *************************************************************************** From: "X Piig" Date: Sat, 02 Sep 2000 23:42:50 PDT Subject: Point A to Point B Source: direct POINT A TO POINT B BY: The X-Piig CATEGORY: SRA SPOILERS: all things, Requiem KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance, Post-Episode RATING: PG SUMMARY: Four months after Mulder's abduction, Scully returns to apartment 42, haunted by memories. DISCLAIMER: Ok, this is my disclaimer song, to the tune of "Good Riddance" by Green Day. Enjoy, it just might be as good as the story itself!! Another fanfic and I have to tell you this/ None of these characters are mine, they belong to Chris/ Of course he's mean to them, who can figure why/ No MSR yet on the show, but we can try/ It's something 'bout that Carter guy, he says his show is "fine"/ Damn, I wish they were but they're not mine. NOTES: This is, of course, my first fanfic. I have at least one other story I wanted to post first, but this idea was haunting me, and once I started writing I put all my other projects aside. Yes I'm also aware of how many post-all things and post-Requiem stories are out there, but I had to deal with this idea before I tossed my Moby CD out the window. One night's work, which sounds unimpressive until you realize that meant staying up till dawn. Nothing like finishing off fanfic in the light of the rising sun. I have a life, really!!! But it's summer holidays, I'm still in high school (don't be too judgemental) and nothing else happens at 4 am around here. Insomniac, just like Mulder. Life is good. DEDICATION: Nobody I know reads this stuff. My phile friends are all freaking fencesitters, as far as I know. One kid said "Yeah, well anybody could have been standing beside Mulder in the Millenium episode. He was just doing what the TV told him to!!!". Wait.. ok this is dedicated to Jo, who isn't a Phile but, oddly enough, is a shipper. She's into 90210 etc where everybody gets together with everybody. WE were watcing an XF ep (Milagro) at her house and she asked me increduously "You mean they've NEVER gotten together?!". And maybe a shout to Stumpy, but if you've made it this far you know why I was in tears by the end of Requiem when we watched it at your house. Wait wait wait. Ok it's to Matty, the Mulder look-alike. I really don't care if you're a Noromo or if you'll never read this. Love you!!! Tell me what you think or I will have to write another song, "For The Love Of Feedback". addy is thexpig@hotmail.com. Go figure. *X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X* Dana Scully stood, motionless, outside Mulder's silent apartment. Fifteen minutes, not moving, staring down the familiar numbers 4 and 2. As if, by sheer will, her partner could appear on the opposite side of the door and open it, welcoming her in. Fifteen minutes... and nothing. Reminding herself she did not believe in such miracles in the first place, Scully retrieved a dull, worn key from her pocket, and entered. Solid heels clicked on wood, a sad, hollow performance to a lonely audience of one. It was her first visit to Mulder's empty apartment since his abduction, and she was struck by the silence, absence of a simple greeting or even the sound of Mulder's breathing. The fish were in no great hurry to eat. They were, in fact, very dead. It occurred to Scully she had waited longer than she had intended to return to that apartment. The fish food fell to the floor, its clattering unbearably loud in the small room. Four months since Mulder disappeared, four months (possibly longer, knowing Mulder) since the fish had been fed, and four months since Scully had set foot in a home once so familiar. she asked herself. The only response was the dull sensation of fear. What had she been afraid of? That the truth found in this very apartment was lost once again? Suddenly, inexplicably, the events of a night more than five months ago occurred to her. *X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X* His voice, low and familiar, had lulled her to sleep at last. Mulder realized this, and looked down on his silent partner with affection. He found comfort in the knowledge they were close enough that she would allow herself to fall asleep on his shoulder. Trust. What he had fought for, and won from her. In the ongoing battle he had overlooked another emotion; love. Gently, as she appeared more fragile in sleep, he pulled the blanket up around her, trying not to acknowledge his rebellious brain's suggestions as to alternate ways of keeping Scully warm. What came next was simple, a glass of water, preparation for bed. He drilled the process into his consciousness before adding <*Alone*>. The warning obviously came too late. As Mulder stood, leaning against the kitchen counter, water glass in hand, he heard Scully shift behind him. Concerned, he risked a look into the living room. He was relieved to find her curled on her side, having fallen from her earlier sitting position. Water glass still in hand, Mulder leaned against the doorframe and took the scene in. Peace, beauty, innocence, so many adjectives ran through his mind like detached song lyrics. Then, having seen enough, he mentally assessed the task at hand. So simple, really. Brush teeth, change, ignore urge to be near Scully, etc... Satisfied with his ability to deal with the path from point A to point B, he abruptly noticed his place in space and time had shifted during the past few minutes of comtemplation. Mulder mentally smacked himself. a small voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Scully asked. Now, snuggled dangerously close to his partner on his own couch, he realized just how evil his subconscious was. Face to face with the unknowing object of his affection, arms curled around her and in her hair. Gradually, the impulse to injure himself faded, and was replaced by heavy drowsiness. The bubbles rising in the fish tank above their heads, a constant background sound in the apartment, seemed to be fighting their way through syrup. Time slowed, expanded for Mulder, although in sleep's light haze he made no connection to Scully's earlier experiences. He felt, with great certainty, that a decision was to be made concerning the situation. And he made it, by staying by her side that night. ******** LATER... ******** During the early morning, Scully woke to find herself in Mulder's arms. This did not concern her, however her right leg was pinned under his long, lanky left one, and it had managed to fall asleep along with the two agents. She shifted slightly, waking Mulder from his naturally light sleep. "Y'ok?" he murmered, reaching around in the dark for something. "Mmm-hmm," still not particularly awake, Scully's mouth refused to function. "Whatcha doin Mulder?" she mumbled. "Radio," he replied, "sleep music." She didn't really care for sleep music, yet was far to tired to protest. This is how the effects of a haunting song, and significant (if brief) conversation led to the ultimate truth that morning. Choosing not to bother with the local radio stations, Mulder turned instead to the CD he had been listening to earlier, in his office. Fingers clumsy in the dark, he fumbled with the buttons until a familiar disjointed drumbeat sounded softly in the room. Two people alone in a universe of lies held onto each other, settling into the couch as Moby's "The Sky Is Broken" unfolded in the air around them. Minutes passed with only Moby's narrative and rhythmic tune. There was no tension, no akwardness plagueing the room. Yet it felt as if the night were not over quite so soon. Words... with little meaning at first to those listening. Much of it was lost to the two in question, both so entranced by the sound of each other's breathing. So very close to each other now, in so many senses. And with no more barriers or reasons to be apart, the fine line between what they had and what could be was blurring. Each still in their own mental bubble, neither predicted anything more than companionship would happen, only because the need for something more did not always appear to be there. It was Scully who spoke first, realizing there was an elusive *something* left to finish before sleep could reclaim her. "What now?" she asked. "Hmm?" he didn't understand, "what's 'what'" "I mentioned earlier, moments when time expanded, significant points in time," she explained, "events, one of which I feel I'm experiencing right now." "I think..." Mulder paused, clearing his throat, "I think I am too." The sensation was on experienced before by both, yet disturbing each time. Sounds, surroundings, all moving unnaturally, slowed as if in some surreal work of art. And those experiencing it felt the need to make sense of the phenomeno, to not only identify, but translate its meaning. "So what now," Scully brought the conversaion full circle, "what and *why*." Time still refused to return to a normal pace, and Mulder's tired mind began to make sense of its message. "It means a choice has to be made," he told her, "and this time by both of us." "What choice?" Scully had lost sleep, been pushed around emotionally so hard and often by Daniel and Maggie during the past few days, her mind refused to assess the situation. Point A to point B involved a detour, one by the name of Fox Mulder, whose interpretation of events would blur the fine line they were treading on further. She, so close to sleep, did not understand what Mulder was trying to tell her. However, now that he was beginning to see, to understand perfectly what the forces of fate wanted him to, he could not help but decide for both of them. "I think I know what the choice is, Scully," he whispered, mouth close to her ear, "and I... *hope*... I know the right answer." He moved his head back slightly, now looking into her eyes. The dim light filtering through the window was enough to show the cloudiness, then vague sparkle of realization in those eyes. Time, gradually, was returning to a regular pace and Scully was waking up with it. Dim sparks became deep, shining blue stars of happiness, love, and anticipation. She did not smile, but Mulder could feel her relief. Joy. To the world. The thought almost made him smile himself, but abruptly all emotion was pushed out by the hot sensation of need. Scully felt it, too, and they spoke each other's names aloud before he gently pressed his lips to hers. Visualization of a concept was never so vivid to either of the two. Yet as their lips met, trusting and attuned to one another like every other part of them, physically and mentally, one clear picture surfaced. A line, blurred, smoothed and cracked from years of damage. A line held sacred by many, that between romantic and platonic, love and friendship. In the end, Mulder and Scully found there was no line to cross. Thier border had been walked, trampled, ignored and moved so often it had merely blended into the background of a relationship they now considered complete. Kisses, movement of their hands, now became more intimate. And neither looked back, because they would soon find out backwards was the same as forwards, in terms of closeness. What they had and will always have never faltered, despite tests and obstacles. Branches clawed at the windows, blind witnesses to the beauty unfolding inside. Love in progress. Mulder gripped Scully's face, pushing his mouth harder onto hers. She responded only with more of the same. Both moved, impossibly closer and kissing faces, necks, but meeting obstacles. In his first attempt to stand, Mulder succeeded only in falling to the floor, pulling Scully on top of him. Still determined to retain their proximity, they rose unsteadily from the floor. No second thoughts, no words even. Only soft whispers meant for each other's ears, during the unecessarily slow path to Mulder's bedroom. They broke apart only long enough to pull his shirt off, then once again their lips connected, a lifeline broken for so long. Clothes, as obstacles, piled on the floor. Mingled together, a vague representation of their owners' positions across the room. A car passed by outside, its light cutting through the rain and glass, panning across the room. Like a camera, it moved across the room until it met movement, steady and rhythmic. Moby's narrative echoed, too quiet, through the rooms of 42, skipping across the night's reality like a stone, meeting then straying from events unfolding. The song repeated over and over, coming to the same point to continue its haunting announcement. Again, the words were lost to those able to hear, so occupied by the sensation of each other. Even during this final step, the unnatural brand of telepathy they had always shared was present. As if they'd known each other in this deep sense forever, they moved perfectly. And their lips remained connected almost constantly, when they were not, more unnecessary words were whispered for each other. And apocalypse could not matter now. In the ultimate truth meant for those who sought it, their own love was alone in a dark sea of lies. Each had each other to hold onto physically, and equally solid was the truth they had to cling to spiritually. All the emotional landscape Scully had refused and Mulder had not considered was laid out before them. Like the figurative line they had destroyed rather than crossed, this landscape began to fuse with the existing lives they led. And maybe they had always known it would be this way. That once the seven years led to a resolution, both truths would combine as enlightenment. Together, finally, in every sense, they found neither point A nor point B mattered, only that the end result was so RIGHT for both of them. It had always been right, and every change that came with it could be interpreted as positive. Was positive, as far as Mulder and Scully were concerned. If life changed enough for both of them it would eventually be the same, only amplified, in technicolour. Strengthened only by recognition of love and truth that survived even through neglect and made its point not with fireworks, but with slow burning around the edges until neither could escape. Neither wanted to. So, that night, with the flames meeting at the centre of an X travelled often by the two now oblivious to their previous doubt, point A met point B. Mulder and Scully all but drowned in the tidal wave of truth and sensation. Seven years passed before both their eyes, lies, detours and obstacles, all leading to a final, silent *click* of souls coming together. Believer and skeptic, heart and mind, A and B, Mulder and Scully. In one world at last, they held each other and spoke each other's name. Passage of time, no longer slowed, only ignored. Time didn't matter for either of the bed's occupants. Time had led to this, their combined truth, and time would follow. Now it was merely a marker, a faint tick and tock warning of the impending sunlight. The FBI didn't create vacations for those in the deep ocean of realization. Mulder and Scully decided, mutually, to create their own. Unknown time, unknown destination, and they would fall asleep, spooned in their own place in the universe. He held her tightly, and heard her first words of meaning in what could have been hours, flowing to his ears on the repeating waves of "The Sky Is Broken". "It was the right choice." He only smiled, and turned her face toward him for a final kiss. They slept. *X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X* Scully slept. Feeling strong arms around her, warm breath on her cheek. Mulder. Content, ignoring the tickle of doubt in her brain, she turned to face... nothing. All traces of sleep left her, abruptly. Replacing it was grim recognition of reality. The night in question had occurred more than five months ago. The un-fish and lack of Mulder indicated this. She realized the song, soundtrack of their resolution, was once again playing softly to what should be empty rooms. Numb to the single tear making its way down her cheek, Scully felt for the gold cross meant to hand around her neck. Then placed her hand softly on her stomach, where a second reminder of their final state of resolve resided. The child was there. The cross was gone. That was reality. Desperate to reclaim the truth they found, one which was fading along with the hope to retrace the path to point A, she took the CD. Play, she read, by Moby. And left his apartment, once again. And vowed to return. END *X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X* XTRA NOTES: Coupla things before I get to work on the next piece of sh--... Any mention of the names David or Julia in here are because I write these in a house with no privacy and lots of anti-fanfic NonPhiles. So, I write fanfic disguised as original stories with David and Julia as main characters, then replace the names before I post. Sometimes their "stunt doubles" make it into the final copy, so please excuse any mistakes. One FINAL note, if the writing style confuses you, or you think the emotions are overdone, it's mostly because I tend to take things too seriously. And cuz I just write that way. The whole point of this was actually Mulder and Scully making love, but I'm 15 and no good at writing that kind of thing in detail. So, when I can't write smut, I write poetry. Aka long rambling descriptions of emotions, which I suppose counts as poetry if done right. Enough already!!! This and my other fic, plus the world's first non-fiction fanfiction at http://www.geocities.com/thexpig42/