From: Chanie Beckman Date: Thu, 30 Apr 1998 01:34:36 -0400 Subject: story Ripples - Viviaine Official disclaimer: Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are the official property of Fox Network, 10-13 Productions, and Chris Carter (who should spend less time on Millenium and more time on X-Files) and probably some other people. I am not attempting to make a profit off these characters in any way, I just want to borrow them for awhile. Please don't sue me, I can't pay you anything anyway, I'm not even allowed to give blood. I promise to return them intact . .more or less. Rating: PG Spoilers: none Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance Category: TR Summary: Mulder and Scully discover an artifact which leads to an unusually close situation and some interesting discoveries. Author's Note: First time fanfic, so let me know (GENTLY) what you think. E- mail: hbeckman@wam.umd.edu WARNING: If Mulder and Scully getting together (and having fun with it) bother you then don't read this story. Go read some other story, probably filled with angst and/or misery, leaving you all depressed and frustrated. Me, I like happy endings (if I can't have them in reality, I have to get them somewhere) "I can't choose! I can't! Don't make me do this! Please, please don't take them!" Fox Mulder awoke in a cold sweat, nearly falling off the narrow couch in his haste to escape his nightmare. It wasn't like his familiar demons. . .this was a newer, more frightening dream. His demons were branching out, invading areas of his mind he had kept sealed off, even from himself. Now it wasn't just Samantha his mind was regurgitating, it was Scully too. He couldn't ignore her presence in his life anymore. Apparently, his mind didn't want to let him keep pushing that issue down. He knelt in front of the coffee table, grasping the edge with white-knuckled fingers, desperate for an anchor to solid reality. He stayed there for awhile, alternately gulping in breath and repeating, "It was only a dream. It was only a dream." but he couldn't find any reassurance in the familiar words, so often recited during odd hours of the night.. When he could think a little more coherently, he decided to call Scully. He had to. This wasn't like his other dreams. For one thing, he could actually get proof to allay his fears, and for another thing, he couldn't shake the feeling that there would be no way he would get any more sleep without getting some hard evidence - one way or the other. She was used to phone calls made on his schedule, so he wouldn't have too much explaining to do. He could just tell her he had a thought about one of the X files. Luckily there was a case they were currently working on, and he did have an idea of where they should go for the next lead. It wasn't anything that couldn't have waited, but under the circumstances. . . "Hello, Mulder." "Hey Scully. Looks like your psychic powers are progressing. Maybe we can open an X file on you yet." "At this hour of the night, it doesn't take paranormal powers to figure out who's on the other line. What's going on?" "Oh, I just had a thought about our cases. I wondered if you'd be interested in taking a little trip tomorrow. Not far; a couple hours drive." "Okay." "Great. I'll pick you up tomorrow around eight." He stared at the phone, willing his hand to put it down. The message did not seem to be coming through however, and he really didn't want to go through awkward, spur of the moment explanations. "Uh. . .Mulder?" Damn! Too late. This could get interesting. . .and too close. He was barely ready to acknowledge certain things to himself (and still wouldn't if his damned subconscious would just leave things alone), much less make some stumbling pretense to keep Scully from guessing the truth. "Yes, Scully?" "Is that why you called?" "Yeah. I wanted to leave early, so I didn't want to wait for you to come in to the office. Why?" Well, you usually have a more eclectic reason for calling. Are you sure you don't want to ask me whether or not vampires are cold-blooded?" "Nope. Just thought we'd take a little trip." "Okay. Good night Mulder." "Scully?" Yes?" "How do you know vampires are cold-blooded?" "Goodbye, Mulder." Mulder pulled up in front of Scully's apartment at twenty minutes to eight. *This is so unbelievably paranoid, even for me. I must be going over the edge.* he though as he walked around the building, checking for anything out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he turned to go when a flicker of red under Scully's window caught his eye. He stooped over and picked up a still burning cigarette. It was a Morley. Mulder stood for a moment, fixated on this sign of the man who had been an active participant in taking everything Mulder cared about away from him in the most brutal ways possible; this sign that was under. . .Scully's. . . window. *No, not her. Not her too. Haven't I lost enough? When are they going to be through?" He raced back around the building, sprinted up the steps to her apartment, and started banging on the door. "Scully? Scully? Open the door! Scully? Are you alright? Scully!" Dammit, why wasn't she answering the door? If something had happened to her. . .Mulder did not want to finish the thought. Ever since her abduction there had been a constant terror, usually held firmly in check, of what it would be like without her. He proceeded to smash into her door, ripping it off the hinges. He drew his gun and started walking through the apartment, scanning for signs of disturbance or anything unusual. Nothing. Where the hell was she? "Scully! Where are you?" Suddenly he heard a creak behind him. Spinning around with his gun at the ready, he barked "Freeze!" and then shamefacedly lowered the gun. A horrified Scully, wrapped in a dark green towel, was staring past him at her door, which hung drunkenly on one hinge. As if waiting for the perfect moment, it crashed to the floor. Scully continued to stare, apparently expecting the door to miraculously reattach itself to the doorframe. "Mulder, what is going on? Why are you running around with your gun and what the hell happened to my door?" Silently, he held up the cigarette butt. "I found this outside your window. I guess I maybe overreacted. I'm sorry." She kept staring at him and he couldn't meet her eyes, afraid of what she might see, that this wasn't simple concern for a partner. He shuffled his feet awkwardly and mumbled something about fixing the door later, but he could still feel her eyes locked on him. Mulder finally looked up, just as she glanced away, although not before he could have sworn he saw something other than exasperation flash in her eyes. Scully sighed and ran a hand over her face. "It's too early for this. I'm going to get dressed. Would you make some coffee? French vanilla please. You know where it is right?" At Mulder's nod, she turned on her heel and headed toward the bedroom, shaking her head as she went. Mulder watched her go, momentarily distracted by her legs. God, they were beautiful. He briefly imagined running his hand up and down those pale, shapely legs, imagined them wrapped around his waist, her naked body pressed against his and Scully screaming his name. . . Mulder slapped his face, trying to get back into reality. *Coffee. Scully wants coffee, not a part of your hopeless fantasies.* As he headed toward the kitchen, his mind again began to veer slightly off topic. If only he could tell Scully what she meant to him. If only he wasn't so scared of having the only person he could trust turn out to be the one who might betray him. After he learned of Scully's remission, he felt like he was the one who had gotten a new lease on life. He had never even realized how much of himself he had given to his petite partner until she told him about her cancer. It seemed that if she died, she would take a part of him, the best part of him. The part that could still hope after all the disappoint- ment, the part that wanted to keep believing. If only she didn't give such mixed signals, sometimes letting him in, and sometimes withdrawing from him. So he hid his feelings for her behind a facade, cracking half serious innuendos and stealing glimpses of her when he could. *Sometimes I wish she could read my mind. Sometimes I wish I could read hers!" "Is it ready yet?" Scully's voice startled him and he nearly dropped the mugs of coffee he was holding. Silently thanking the gods that he hadn't broken another one of Scully's possessions, he handed her one mug and gulped the contents of the other, burning his mouth in the process. He didn't care though. He just wanted to get out of there and get on the road, where he could talk about the case or office politics, anything safe and mundane. It was getting harder and harder to keep from revealing how he felt about her, especially after having come so close to losing her. He had lost count of how many times he had taken a breath to say something and then his eyes met her crystal blue ones, ready to hear what he had to say. But somehow, he always faltered and the words ended up being choked down or turned into something innocuous. Because there was a constant fear that if he did speak , the warmth in those eyes would freeze and his last view of Scully would be her back as she walked away from him or perhaps her head bent over a cardboard box as she moved out of the basement office. So Mulder kept silent, unwilling to trade having Scully as a partner and best friend for the uncertain possibility of having her as his soulmate. Having finished her coffee, Scully grabbed the file and they headed out to Mulder's car. An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Scully stared straight ahead, as if trying to memorize the curves of the road. Mulder kept sneaking glances at her, wishing desperately he knew what she was thinking. Finally, he couldn't stand it and he said, "Scully? Ummmm. . .look, I'm really sorry about your door and I'll fix it. You aren't still mad at me are you?" He gave her his best pleading puppy dog look and she seemed to thaw a little. "I'm not mad Mulder. You had a good reason - you thought I was in danger. Really, it's okay." Mulder wasn't exactly convinced, but something told him to back off. Besides, they were only a few minutes away from their destination and he wanted to let Scully know what they were looking for. The case seemed simple enough, fairly straightforward - a serial killer had killed four people within the last six months. The odd thing about it was he had given his victims warning before he killed them. He had sent them all notes containing some very personal details about their lives and told them he would be able to find them no matter what. The notes also asked the victims to stop because he didn't want to kill them, but if they wouldn't stop, how else could he find peace? His method of killing was strange as well. He first stabbed the victim through the heart once and then proceeded to scoop out their brains. A note was left pinned to the chest, "now I have found my silence." They had managed to attach a name to the killer, in addition to obtaining the usual police composite sketch. His name was Paul Gallagher and he used to be a curator at a museum that featured exotic artifacts whose origins were generally unknown. Up until six months ago, Paul had lived a relatively normal life. His colleagues described him as quiet, brilliant, a good friend, had a way with women, but preferred serious relationships to casual dating. He also, according to some close friends, displayed minimal psychic abilities - always knowing where something was, answering the phone seconds before it rang, recalling names of people he had never met, etc. And then, six months ago, the museum had received a particularly strange artifact from an anonymous source and all hell broke loose. The note accompanying the object made mention of its being left to the museum. Paul Gallagher was the one who opened the box. He had not let the object be put on display, saying he wanted to study it. He carried it with him wherever he went, usually in his hand or in his pocket. He would become almost violent if someone asked to see it. Occasionally, he would wince and shake his head, as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant thought. It was a few weeks afterward that the killings began. Gallagher had been cornered several times, but had always escaped. It was as if he could anticipate every move the police would make and found the necessary loophole to gain his freedom. Until, after six months of staying on the run, he committed suicide, with one shot to the head. He left a note saying this was the only way to find his peace. The artifact was not found near the body or anywhere else. Mulder had a theory, slightly far out, but well within his usual parameters of weirdness. The artifact Gallagher always carried with him was described as being palm size, metallic, and twisted. Mulder had cultivated a relationship with Gallagher's replacement, a man named Grady. He had called the other day to tell Mulder that they had just received a box that was the exact twin of the previous box, and would Mulder please come check it out. At this point they reached the museum. Scully got out of the car and stopped, clearly not ready to go in until she spoke to Mulder. "So, you think this has something to do with the artifact? What exactly? Does it possess him? Does it tell him to do things?" Mulder sensed something in her voice. Was she more skeptical than usual? She seemed almost antagonistic and maybe a little nervous? She kept biting hjer lip and refusing to meet his eyes. Well, now was not the time to explore this. They were partners, a team, and they had to present a united front. "Actually, I think the artifact gives the ability to read minds, to some extent. He already seems to have some minimal psychic ability and this may enhance it." "On what are you basing this theory Mulder?" "Well, look at his MO. He left notes detailing the type of things people usually only think, not things they would share. He also asked his victims to stop and told them he doesn't want to kill. He removed their brains and then said he found his silence." "So why can't he hear everyone's voice?" "His victims were close to him. Three ex girlfriends each of whom he had had a relationship of at least a year and a cousin he was very close to. Maybe the artifact only has a limited range or it only allows the bearer to hear the voices of people who are close to him. His colleagues said he did not casually date." Scully turned this over in her mind. "Maybe, but why didn't he just put the damn thing down? Bury it or leave it somewhere?" "Maybe he couldn't. If it really allowed him to read others' thoughts, it probably interacted with his mind and he couldn't let it go. He had it constantly with him, like that character in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings books, Golum, who couldn't leave the Ring behind." "Or maybe he was so far gone, he didn't make the connection." "Let's find out." They headed into the museum, still not talking. Scully was putting up a wall, complete with a `Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted' sign. Whatever it was, Mulder got the feeling it had to do with more than the door. And he also knew Scully wouldn't tell him anything about it til she was ready. Attempting to push the issue would only cause her to withdraw further. If only she would open up to him. Why didn't she trust him? After everything they'd been through together, why did she still shove him away? Patience was a virtue he was starting to get tired of. Patience was starting to piss the hell out of him. The curator pointed them toward the dusty utility room where the box was stored and then scurried down the hallway. The box itself was rather small, about the size of Scully's laptop. It sat in the middle of a rickety table. The address of the museum was printed with a thick black marker and there was no return address. "It isn't humming or glowing or floating a few inches off the tabletop. So far, so good," Scully remarked wryly as she approached the package. Mulder stayed where he was , like he often did. What Scully didn't suspect (at least he hoped she didn't) was Mulder sometimes tried to stay back so he could look at her. Sure, he looked lost in his musings, but his musings frequently dealt with how good Scully looked. It always surprised him how she managed to chase down and tackle suspects in three inch heels and miniskirts, especially since she kept her clothes immaculate in the process. Today she wore a forest green suit with a cream shell and black heels. The suit subtly outlined her curves, without calling too much attention to them. The shell almost matched her skin and her seemed even more red as she tilted her head to the side, giving him a patented Scully look. *Oh. Right, we're here for reasons other than ogling Scully.* "Shall we see what we've got here?" said Mulder as he jauntily approached the table and picked up the box. Normally he wouldn't have done that but he was feeling a little awkward around Scully. He was conscious of not managing to get on her good side and that made him nervous. He did not like being on Scully's bad side. He much preferred to see it at work on some chauvinistic male who made the wrong assumptions about her capabilities. "Mulder, I don't think that's such a good idea. I think we should run some tests first. . ." But Mulder was already opening the box and Scully hurried to his side, wanting to be near him in case something happened. She held her breath as the top came off, fully prepared to cover her face or get the hell out of there, dragging Mulder with her. And then. . .nothing happened. The object inside the box was a piece of some metallic substance, possibly pyrite or hematite. It consisted of several lengths of metal, twisted like licorice sticks and twined all around each other. It had a round, spherical shape that flattened out on the bottom, providing a stable surface for it to stand on. It was palm size, like the object Paul Gallagher always seemed to be carrying, but that was all. *No boom.* "What did you say Mulder?" "Nothing. Why?" Scully opened her mouth and then changed her mind. Something was tickling at the edges of her brain, wanting to get in. It felt somehow familiar, like a part of her body wasn't quite attached. She shook her head, trying to clear it, thinking, *Another dead end. We should probably just close this case.* "Oh come on Scully. Since when do you give up this easily?" "Why did you say that Mulder?" *Did I say it out loud?* "I don't think you said it out loud. . .what's going on?" *Are we reading each other's thoughts? Jesus, what if she can read my feelings about us? How do I shut that off? Can I keep her out?* * I think we are reading each other's thoughts Mulder. . .here, tell me what I'm thinking.* *You aren't thinking anything. . .no wait, you're thinking that you were worried about me when I started opening the box, that I might get hurt.* *I guess we can read each other's thoughts. We must have been affected by the artifact, like Paul Gallagher. Now what?* *Why don't we try leaving it here? Gallagher was always carrying it with him; maybe if we don't take it with us the effect will wear off.* *Why didn't he try that?* *Maybe he did, but it had already gotten hold of him and it was too late. It can't hurt to try.* *I suppose not. Let's go.* The two agents walked out to the car in silence, stopping only to tell the curator to seal the box and lock it up somewhere safe. Mulder slipped into the driver's seat and Scully settled into the passenger side. Neither looked at the other, concentrating on blanking their minds. After ten miles of absolute silence, with Mulder staring fixedly at the road and Scully seeming to be intent on counting the leaves on every tree they passed, Mulder finally spoke. "Uh Scully? Can you still `hear' me?" *Dumb ass! Why did you say that out loud? You aren't testing to see if she's deaf, you're trying to see if she can still read your innermost thoughts!* *Does that bother you so much Mulder?* *What?* *That I can hear your innermost thoughts. . .and I still can by the way.* *It's just that there are things I don't want you to know.* *Like?* *Things.* *You mean like it turns out you love me as much as I love you?* Mulder turned to look at Scully so quickly, he neglected to keep his hands on the steering wheel. The car careened across the road, the back end fishtailing in crazy arcs, before it finally stopped, the front wheels partially resting in a shallow ditch. *Nice going Mulder.* *Amazing Scully. Even your thoughts are straight faced. Did you mean that? You love me?* *Yes. I didn't mean to pry, but you didn't get your thoughts under control soon enough.* Scully reached up a small, gentle hand and slowly slid it down Mulder's cheek and back again, lightly tracing his face. *I've done this so many times in my dreams Mulder, I think i could draw your face even if I were blind. Why didn't you ever tell me? There have been so many times when I opened my mouth to tell you, so many times I've whispered it in my soul. . .but I sensed you didn't want to know.* *Oh God Scully, I was so afraid. . .* Mulder randomly poured incoherent images into Scully's mind. Samantha, his parents arguing at the summer house, Scully gone for three months, Scully lying so still in a coma, his dead father, his most recent nightmare. He hoped desperately she would understand all these things he was afraid to tell her, as if giving voice to them would make them real. *Sssssh Mulder, don't be upset. I understand your fear and it's alright. I have had to live with the fear of you being taken from me ever since I met you. That time when you dived into the boxcar. . .* Scully broke off with a shudder and squeezed Mulder's hand, running her fingers over the back of his hand and up his arm, allowing her hand to come to rest on his shoulder. Mulder softly covered her other hand with his own. Scully smiled at him and continued. *What you have to understand Mulder is that I love you. And it is my choice to spend the rest of my life with you. I am fully cognizant of the dangers, but you can't protect me forever. I know you want to, but I am a grown woman and I get to make my own choices.* Then she leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips with hers. Mulder took her into his arms, holding her close, rocking her gently back and forth while tears fell from his eyes. *Thank you. . .thank you.* *So what do we do now Agent Scully?* She knew he was referring to the Bureau's reaction to their newfound relationship, but she didn't care. Smiling a distinctly unScullylike smile, she thought, "We find the nearest hotel Agent Mulder.* Mulder stared at her in shock for a moment and then he laughed. Eventually the car came out of the ditch and Mulder nearly drove the gas pedal through the floor trying to get back to an exit with a motel sign. Finally he spoted a sign for a bed and breakfast, pulling in with a shriek of rubber. Scully merely smiled enigmatically and got out of the car, heading for the door. Mulder quickly followed and the business of obtaining a room was soon dealt with. He only hesitated for a moment before signing the registration book with a flourish. "Here are the keys Mr. and Mrs. Mulder. Enjoy your stay," said the clerk. They ran up the stairs like a pair of teenagers, giggling and tickling each other the whole way. Scully pestered Mulder about being too slow in opening the door. *Come on Mulder, I could open that faster with a bobby pin at the rate you're going.* Mulder just grinned down at her with a mischievous sparkle in his eye and retorted *Good things come to those who wait.* The door swung open, revealing a small but cosy room. There was a thick carpet, a fireplace, oak furniture and an enormous bed, the kind you needed steps to get into. The whole room was done in shades of green and cream. *I love the way those colours look on you Scully. They bring out the fire in your hair and the light in your eyes. I've always wanted to see your eyes light up for me.* Scully smiled and faintly Mulder heard *Maybe you weren't looking hard enough* as she pulled his face down to hers. *I love you so much.* *I love you too* The kisses were gentle at first, but quickly deepened. Clothes were tugged off and thrown around the room and the bed was hastily put into use. That night, they shared dreams, and although when they awoke the next morning, the mind connection was gone, they continued to share dreams for the rest of their lives. THE END Okay, I feel very accomplished, having completed my first fanfic. I really want to hear what you thought, so e-mail me at:hbeckman@wam.umd.edu. I'm going away til June first, so I won't get a chance to read your replies til then. I expect lots though. :o)