From: "Liz R." <magicwillow@eznet.net>
Date: Mon, 29 May 2000 20:19:53 -0400
Subject: She Smiles for Me (1/1)
Source: xff


Title: She Smiles for Me
Author: Lyz (well, a friend wrote it, but she doesn't want her name on it)
magicwillow@eznet.net
Disclaimers: 'With every step I take all I would hear would be 'not-mine,
not-mine' , and even if I was happy, and y'know - I was skipping? I'd still
be hearing 'not - not mine, not - not mine.' (and i swear she said i could
post it!!)
Rating: G-PG-ish. Don't let that put you off. Read this!
Category: MSR (duh), M angst (heh heh!), S angst .
Summary: A love story that shouldn't be coming from a catholic girl, but
what ya gonna do?
Spoilers : Let's see - Redux, One Breath, Post Modern P, FTF .
Author's notes: 'A little bit of warm and fuzzy reading, for my very own
ickle sista (she knows who she is!) who is very far away at the moment, but
she knows better!' is wot my friend said. :)
Feedback: i'll forward it to her, so go ahead and send some!


She looked great. Better than great.
"Wow," I said, "I - I never expected you to wear this kind of thing at all."
She rolled her eyes .
"No, I didn't want to. But my mom insisted on a traditional wedding and my
brothers were so proud of me for not being a lesbian -"
We both laughed. I nodded and so did she, shaking her veil about a little.
We stopped laughing, and exchanged meaningful glances for a moment, before I
stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her little wait and she stepped
into my embrace as much as her large Victorian wedding dress would let her.
This would probably be the last time I got this close to her, I realized. I
took my time inhaling her scent - her hair, as always, smelled wonderful. I
could tell her eyes were closed - she always closes them when she leans into
my shoulder like that, and I follow, because on these rare moments, and this
time in particular, it would be unbearably painful to keep them open.
Before I can get comfortable, I remember that all hope of her ever being
mine will be lost tomorrow. I don't want her to feel bad (I know she would
if she only knew) so I quickly kiss her hair and leave, before my
self-esteem is completely demolished by the tears that are creeping up to my
eyes. Once out the door, I lean against it, head in hands, and I try not to
think of a way to prevent this happening.

Casey's, my misery joint. I sit alone in a booth, quietly sipping a tequila
shot, like I did last time I knew I'd miss her. Although, that time, it was
only her science I'd miss, and even at that, she would still do me a few
favours. When I think about it now, it really wasn't so bad. But now it
becomes illegal for me to see her the way I used to, and I'll never really
get to be with her on her own - true, we would still work together, and
true, we would always go away to motels and hotels and cabins and caves and
crevices in mountains in the middle of freaking nowhere - but anything that
didn't happen before will certainly never happen now. And I can see Scully
being the perfect no-nonsense wife.
So lost in my thoughts am I, that I fail to notice the woman who has slipped
into the seat opposite me, and is now leaning forward.
"Tequila," she comments. "Must be bad."
I smile and put my glass down.
"Could be a lot worse." I tell her, reminding myself of when she was lost to
me and there wasn't even any hope of seeing her. Her illness. Her
disappearance. They nearly broke me, and a few other people, too. But I
never felt like this. I had known for three months that she would be getting
married, but couldn't believe it until today. Until I saw her smiling back
at me in her dress. She was smiling at me. But not for me. This was worse
than everything. This time, she had let someone else into her life, and in
many ways, excluding me from it. This time she was telling me she didn't
love me. Not like I loved her. And although it was a completely selfish
approach, I knew there would be nothing I could do to diminish that feeling.
I knew I had to keep it to myself. But then again - that method could very
well have been the reason I was sitting in this bar. What if I had told her?
What if, when she didn't quit and gave me her science again, I told her the
truth instead of questioning her loyalty to me? It was too late, anyway. If
I told her, she wouldn't be happy. Although, saying that, she, too, was
sipping tequila.
"What brings you here?" I asked her. "Shouldn't you be having a hen night or
something?"
She smiled (I died a little).
"Don't you think the dress and church was bad enough?" She laughed.
"Right. So the modern woman, on the night before her wedding, comes to a bar
where the lost and lonely hang out and wallows in this misery by ordering
spirit and sitting in an isolated corner."
She smiled, her eyes lowered, studying her glass.
"You lost and lonely then, huh?" She asked
"Oh, always," I joked, "I have a home here."
She knew it to be true - when I wasn't at work or at one of our apartments,
on a case or in hospital - here I was. Here she was. I'd miss her like hell.
Her hand slid across the table and landed on mine. I entwined my fingers in
hers.
"I'll miss this." She told me. And I, in my shallow, lonely state, prayed to
God that she meant holding my hand as well as hanging out in this bar.
"Me too." I told her. We were already leaning into each other across the
table. She leaned forward a few more inches, and met my lips with hers. Not
a moment passed before I returned her kiss, long, slow and sad.  After what
seemed like an eternity, we broke away quietly. We made no eye contact. We
didn't need to. She just lowered her head again and I lowered mine, too,
leaning my forehead against hers.  I guessed she would be crying. I was
correct. The only time in my life when I was happy to see her cry.

It was a beautiful day. July. I walked into the church 10 minutes before the
ceremony was going to begin. I think it was the first time in my life that
I'd ever been on time for something. I took my allocated seat, and picked up
a missal - not too familiar with the catholic mass. At that point, I noticed
the woman next to me was staring. I turned to face her, gesturing to offer
the missal to her.
"I'm not supposed to call you Fox, " she said, "But you wouldn't do anything
about it anyway."
I frowned in confusion. She shook my hand.
"I'm Maria Burt, Melissa was a very good friend of mine. On her will she
asked that I represented her if any of her brothers or sisters got married,
had a christening etceteras."
"Good to meet you." I said, politely. She looked at her watch.
"We have 10 minutes. There's still some time."
"What?"
"Would you like to step outside? I'm sure you'd like to talk."
I obliged, and found myself outside in the churchyard, facing Maria. She sat
on the steps, indicating for me to do the same.
"Okay, now can you tell me what's going on?" I asked.
"This is all wrong." She said.
"How?"
"When Melissa and I were traveling, she told me that her sister was an
Agent, amongst other things. She said that she was logical, and obeyed the
law, and was obedient. However, she predicted a change. A big change. One
person, she said, would be the one to change her. That this person would be
able to let her discover herself. This person would give her back her faith
and save her in more ways than one. That's you."
I sighed.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Melissa would. Melissa wouldn't want to see her little sister end up with
the wrong person. Tell me, what do you want to happen right now?"
I thought about it carefully. Melissa knew. She knew when I met her in the
hospital five years ago. She knew what would happen.
"I want to wake up." I told her. "I want to wake up in my own bed in my own
apartment with her beside me and know that it was all just some stupid
nightmare."
She nodded.
"But that's not going to happen," I reminded her, "And I'm not going to do
anything to stop her. I know Andrew, he's a good guy. He's one of the few
friendly people I've ever met. He trusts us when we're sharing a motel room.
He trusts us when we're stuck for accommodation and have to share a bed.
When we're driving alone together for 12 hours at a time. The only thing
that could have prevented this should have happened years ago. It's not
going to happen now."
I walked back inside. They exchanged vows. Rings. They walked out. Nobody
stood when they asked for objections. Scully looked over at me and I winked
at her, and she smiled back.
Both of her brothers got very drunk and told me that I should have been the
one, and asked if I would please look after all the trees in the world if
they died, they would never let their children live without the trees, the
trees were so precious. I danced with Maggie and Scully's 17-year-old
cousin, Rebecca, who talked non-stop about the supernatural. I liked her.
Smart kid. Before the night was out, Scully slipped her arms around my
waist, and I pulled her close, and danced with her. Like we did at the Cher
concert. She wasn't in her wedding dress. Instead, she was wearing a red
summer dress, which was very thin. I could feel the warmth of her skin
underneath, as she rested her head on my chest.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
"Doesn't really feel like anything. Not different from yesterday. Or the day
before."
"Hmm." I lowered my head so we were very close. We could speak quietly and
hear each other.
"I think I've made a mistake." She told me. I moaned sympathetically and
huddled even closer to her.
"Of course not." I said. She looked up at me with slightly wounded eyes.
"Scully, last night - " I paused. Whenever we've been closer than we should
be, we make a point of never talking about it. She nudged my chin with her
forehead, permitting me to continue.
"Last night, you already felt this way." She nodded.
"I did. I know I shouldn't have - " She wouldn't bring herself to say it.
"But it was my last chance."
"I love you."
We stopped there. All I could feel was the impact of the words.  I'd never
heard myself say them to her, and she'd never heard them. Until now.
Everyone else in the room seemed to disappear. I couldn't hear the music,
the only thing I saw was her, equally stunned, not needing further
explanation. After a while, some feeling returned, at the back of my neck,
where her fingers were tracing small circles. She, too, was trying to
encourage some feeling back into her body. Wordlessly, I aided her, tracing
similar circles at the small of her back.


The tension at work disappeared when she came back. She went to Venice. Very
nice. Romantic. I could tell she would rather have not gone. The following
Monday, she entered the office, looking pensive. She hung up her light
topcoat, and we walked to each other. This time, the kiss was very much
longer, a lot slower and the saddest thing I've ever had to do.
We made and agreement - Andrew could never trust us, and he would never
know. Neither of us regret what happens. The rumours about us have
ironically died down in the bureau, just as they begin to be true. She is a
perfect wife. I knew that would happen. In fact her only flaw is me. She
doesn't seem to want to remedy it. Andrew is away a lot of the time, too, so
two out of four weeks a month, it's just us, Star Wars and Iced Tea. Our
work has become better than ever, and I don't think anyone will ever
suspect.  In a way, we got all of our last chances back. Every time she
smiles, she smiles for me.