From: lselleck@hotmail.com
Date: Sat, 15 Apr 2000 12:44:43 -0000
Subject: xfc: Slip-Sliding Away (1 of 2) 
Source: xfc

Title:       "Slip-Sliding Away"
Author:      N.C. Writer
Posting:     April, 2000
E-Mail:      lselleck@hotmail.com
Rating:      PG
Category:    S, MSR
Spoilers:    Post-episode story for "Orison."
Disclaimer:  All "X Files" characters belong to Chris
             Carter & Co.
Summary:     Scully struggles to keep on keeping on.
Archive:     Ask first, please!
Feedback:    Love it!


"SLIP-SLIDING AWAY" (Part 1 of 2)

February, 2000


"I'll just scoot out in a bit, Mulder, and drop these
off on my way home."

Scully glanced across the room, quickly lowered her
eyes, picked up the requisition forms, then tidied her
desk, grasped her coat and was gone.

"Huh?  Where'd you go, Scully?"  The tipped up chair
thumped as it hit the floor.  Mulder dropped his legs
from his desk top where they had been propped for the
past hour.  He scanned the office and realized she was
gone.  How long ago did she leave?  And did she speak
and he just didn't hear?

Scully had been gone from Mulder's attention all after-
noon.  The larger truth was, Scully had been long gone
from Mulder's attention the entire week.  Overly sensi-
tive to Mulder's insensitivity, Scully had kept on but
barely until Friday finally arrived.  As the afternoon
slowly inched along, she perched on the edge of her seat,
poised to make her get-away as quickly as possible.

Scully swiftly crossed the parking deck and headed to
her car.  She could feel the inner storm rising up, the
tightness stretching across her chest, the pressure
building inside her head, a single tear slipping and
sliding down a too pale cheek.  She abruptly shook her
head and got behind the wheel, looked once in the rear
view mirror, checked for approaching cars coming up on
her left, and pulled away.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Mulder stretched, reached for his keys, took three
strides to the lightswitch, pulled the office door
closed behind him, and made his way to his own section
of the garage.  Whatever was he thinking that kept
Scully's presence and absence from penetrating his
awareness?  Whatever was she thinking of his all-too
detached manner?  Whatever should he do now -- it
didn't feel right to just go on home.  Something somehow
had gotten disconnected, was incomplete, something needed
to be said.  He made his way across town through the heavy
rush hour traffic towards Scully's home.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Scully sat in her rocking chair, a gift from her mother
after the disaster of Donnie Pfaster's invasion of her
apartment a few weeks earlier.  Sitting and rocking.
Rocking and thinking.  Thinking and praying, "Dear God,
please, keep me together.  I am ready to fly into a
thousand pieces, to splinter into a dozen different
Danas.  Help me hold it in Lord, help me keep it from
breaking all apart."

She rocked, and thought some more, and rocked and
practiced focused breathing, and rocked and gripped
the rolled edges of the rocker's arms so tightly she
could feel her nails sliding under the varnish.

She rocked, and sighed, and made herself breathe in
and out, and in and out, and slowly, ever so slowly,
the panic began to subside, the tension began to wind
down.

Eyes closed, mind calming, breath steadying, arms
relaxing, hands releasing their tight hold, she could
faintly hear her mother's voice, talking over the
backyard fence to Mrs. Pultram, their elderly neighbor.

"She's just a slip of a girl," the older woman had
observed.  "Yes, Mrs. Pultram, she is that."  Dana could
see her brothers approaching, gloves, ball and bats in
hands.  "Mom, can we go play at the park?"  Mrs. Scully
nodded.  "Take your sister with you, and hold on tight
to her hand when you cross the street.  She'll slip right
away from you."

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Mulder's car pulled quietly into a space just across the
street from the entrance door to Scully's apartment house.
He sat just a moment, trying to shake off his growing
unease, his increasing sense of guilt.  `What in the world
am I guilty of?' he wondered.  `Why am I even here?  What
should I say to Scully to explain my appearance?'  He
slowly closed his eyes, slumped down a bit in his seat,
and put his thoughts on hold.  `I'll just sit a spell,
rest a few minutes, and then decide whether to go up or
not.'

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Scully sat and rocked.  Her feet, warm and snug in
favorite furry slippers, barely touched the floor, a
small pillow to her back, her oh so soft angora shawl
wrapped around her work blouse and pulled tight.  She
watched the last of the late afternoon edges of sunset
disappear through her living room windows, patches of
golden warmth still settling about her hardwood floor.

Her thoughts drifted as she rolled and rocked, rocked
and rolled.  Images of green satin came to mind.  Time
to find a junior prom dress.  Time to find a date for
the prom.  Time to decide whether she would make an
appearance or pretend it was all beneath her, no time
for such superficial socializing, she had too many
important thoughts to process, papers to research and
write, projects to complete, to obtain that necessary
academic scholarship that would move her away from this
and into a different life.

She passed on the junior prom, but did go her senior
year.  Marcus had entered her life as a lab partner
and evolved into a good friend, although nothing
developed more really between them before the year
ended and they amicably parted paths.  She remembered
standing in front of the professional drapery for the
special prom photo in the high school gym, Marcus
looking down at her with an affectionate smile, one
hand on her shoulder, Dana looking up.  She always
thought that picture made her look like a kewpie doll
next to his young adult frame.

All her life, Scully had struggled with accepting her
size.  Either too short, or too small, or too thin.
She had finally completed all her academic goals, with
honors and accommodations proudly taking up white space
on her resume.  Next came hard labor and pushing her
physical limits to qualify for Quantico.  Her brothers
couldn't believe it when she graduated.  Again with
highest recommendations.  She began her apparent
life's work at the FBI, and nothing seemed to come
together that could remotely declare a personal style.

Clothes not quite smart enough, not quite matched, hair
too long and almost no particular identifiable color,
at least not until she discovered Lady Clairol.  A
face narrow and long, except for certain times of the
month when she woke up and thought she too closely
resembled a chipmunk, cheeks slightly swollen, eyes
too bright and eager, brows too uneven and that stupid
mole over her upper lip.  What to do about that?

Feet too small.  Ridiculous feet.  She remembered a trip
to the state fair with Sam, a neighborhood friend, early
on during her 18th summer.  Remembered a balmy breeze
grazing across her face as the ferris wheel chair hung
frozen at the top of the climb.  Her feet, slipped into
white sneakers, pressed next to Sam's own black Keds size
13.  "Hey, Dana," he laughed, "your feet look like baby
doll feet next to mine!" 

Although medical school loans were dutifully paid each
month, she tried to scrape a little extra together every
so often and went in search for snappy professional attire.
Her second year attached to the X Files division was no
better for fashion flair, in fact it was the worst.
Nothing seemed to look right, nothing was proportioned
correctly.

She'd go shopping and only come away frustrated from
too-helpful salesclerks.  "Why don't you let me find
another one of those for you to slip into?  I'm pretty
sure we have it in a smaller size."  Or sometimes their
comments went the other way, as in "I'm pretty sure we
have it one size larger."  Walking to her car after such
excursions, she'd glance in a store front window and see
her reflection stare back, uneven bangs dry and blowing
in the breeze, hair flipping up at her back collar, never
lying sleek and curled under as was her original grooming
intentions.

Mornings she would awaken, curled up into a tiny ball,
as though it was selfish to spread out over the full
width of the bed.  She felt fragile, elfin like, yet
somedays she looked in the mirror and it was almost as
though her face had swollen during the night.  She just
hated her whole body at times.  She pushed the thoughts
aside.  She was a person of worth, she was a responsible,
highly educated, productive human being.  Someone of note,
someone sought after, recruited by the FBI, of all
institutions.  Someone capable of distinguishing herself,
someone somebody could find useful, surely.

Someone partnered with a drop-dead gorgeous man of the
world, reared with privileged affluence and social
connections.  A sophisticated Oxford-educated man of
intellect.  A man with a mission and a mind overflowing
with ideas and theories and so much self-confidence he
would tell anyone who would listen the most outrageous
considerations of facts.

Someone who had to adjust his walking pace to allow her
to keep up as he strode from one crime scenario to the
next.  Someone who had to not only bend his head over
but hunch his shoulders permanently with face hanging
down to hear her thoughts, her parts of the conversations.

There wasn't much to offer those first few years that
was original.  She spent the most of her time running
after his way-ahead conclusions and picked up the pieces
and organized it into neat tidy reports after the bad
guys were put away and the unscientific disjointed pieces
of the puzzles were tucked into evidence rooms for
indefinite periods of time, where no one ever bothered
to discover all was not as it ought to be.

He was someone who had loved beautiful women.  Someone
who still enjoyed beautiful women -- just not flesh and
blood types, the two dimensional offering apparently
enough satisfaction.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Opening his eyes, a quick glance of his watch, to his
surprise, proved to Mulder that an hour had elapsed.  He
had only meant to rest a few minutes.  Lately he had been
dragging his body around from apartment to car to office
to wherever and back with the utmost intention.  He felt
heavy as lead, feet shuffling ahead but weighed down with
cement soles.  Arms hanging straight, instead of a jaunty
swing.

Mulder couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong,
but just assumed he was sleep deprived -- well, more than
the usual.  It had been a rough month.  Rotating his head
several times, working out the kinks, he considered turning
the key and just getting on home.  But an unidentifiable
urge pulled him out of the car and on up to Scully's door.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

So tired.  Trying to rock was like pressing through pea
soup, the energy simply not there to create any movement.
Scully had simply been sitting, rockers stilled and silent.

A knock, then another.  Scully reached deep, deep down
inside for hte energy to open her eyes at the sound of
knocking.  so hard to lift her eyelids, so challenging
to look straight ahead and focus.  She pushed herself
upright and dragged her body across the room, then taking
a step back, unlocked the door and simply stood still.

They remained quiet together, Scully noting the puffi-
ness around Mulder's eyes, Mulder sizing up her subdued
demeanor. Without speaking, she stepped back and he
walked forward, and as he entered he realized it was
his first visit since all had been righted after Donnie
Pfaster's whirlwind of devastation had blown through all
and sundry.

The door quietly clicked shut, as deadbolts and locks
securely shifted into place.  Mulder looked about, saw
that everything was in order, neat as a pin as usual,
excepting that the carpet was gone.  Scully had tossed
it and had her floors redone, the better to remove all
blood traces of Pfaster left behind after the shooting.
He realized the glistening floors had been left bare,
then noticed the rocker.

"Isn't that new, well, new for you?" he asked as he noted
the intricate carvings down the wide oak slats centered
down the back.

Scully shifted her weight from one foot to the other as
she stretched her arms out from her sides and reposi-
tioned her shawl.

"Yeah, it was my grandfather's.  Mom gave it to me last
weekend so I'd have something different about the place."

"It's beautiful."

"Try it out, Mulder."  He glanced her way, walked across
the room and sat gingerly, then, after a moment, he
grinned and tugged the small pillow out from behind his
back and gently reached his arm over and placed it on
the couch.  Feet planted firmly on the floor, hands
resting curved around the scrolled ends of the arms, he
pushed off and eased the chair back and forth.  "This
is great, Scully."

Scully picked up the pillow and pulling it close to her
chest, sat near him on the edge of the couch.  "I always
loved this chair.  When we visited mom's parents as a
child I would climb up and sit and rock and stare out
the parlor window for hours.  I could look into the back
yard and watch my granddad work in his garden and count
the birds coming and going from his feeders."

"I bet you looked cute in this chair, Scully."

"I looked like Edith Ann, you know, from that crazy
"Laugh-In" show?  My legs were so short my feet barely
stuck out over the seat end."

Tossing the pillow aside, she pushed up to her feet and
moved towards the kitchen.  "Can I get you something to
drink?"

"Sure, if you've fixing for yourself I'll take the same."
He continued to rock back and forth in the chair, dropping
his head onto the high back of the chair, closing his eyes,
allowing his body to relax as it had in the car earlier.

A hand glanced his, and his eyes startled open.  "I
didn't want to wake you, Mulder, but your hot chocolate
is getting cold."

Mulder reached out sheepishly, then took a long sip of
the drink.  "Guess I'm more tired than I realized," he
admitted.  "Although God knows why.  We've not done
anything strenuous for several weeks now."

"I know what you mean.  It's been like I've been walking
around in a fog all day."  Mulder looked down at Scully,
whose face was turned away from him, towards the front
door.  She didn't usually offer up this sort of interior
thought without strong-willed pulls and tugs from him.

Scully turned back towards Mulder and started to speak,
then hesitated.  When Mulder gently nodded, she pressed
on softly.  "Why are you here, Mulder?"

"I looked up and you were . . . gone.  Just gone.  I
musta zoned out.  Scully, please don't think I take you
for granted.  I had to come and apologize in case you
had, well, hurt feelings.  I guess I've been out of it
all week."

She looked thoughtfully at him, then glanced down at
the floor.  Her shawl slipped off and slid downward as
she leaned her shoulders forward, then dropped her face
in her hands.

"I just needed to let you know, Scully, before the week-
end was gone, that I never ever want you to think that
anything that might possibly come across my desk could
ever be more important than you.  Even when I act like
an idiot."

She sighed, and straightened, and looked back into his
eyes.  But the trace of a smile around her lips was
evidence that they had passed through a slight storm
and had weathered it well.

"You look beat, Scully."  He chuckled self-consciously,
then put his hand out to her, and quietly offered, with
his most inviting voice, "Come sit with me."

"What?  How?  No -- I mean, it's an old chair, Mulder.
The weight wouldn't be good for it."  Scully looked at
him wide-eyed.

"What?  It's holding me just fine, and besides, you're
a light weight.  Let me hold you for a while, we'll rock
and rest together."  He had never been so bold ever
before.  While all sorts of images of how and when and
where they might recline on and around and about Scully's
furniture had crossed his mind from time to time, Mulder
had never once reached for her in a less than partnerly
way.

But tonight he had an overwelming, genuine need to offer
comfort to this precious friend, who looked like death
warmed over, if truth be told.  He reached his hand out
again.  "Come on, Scully, come rock with me."

Her eyes glanced to the side, as though checking the
room to make sure no observers were watching.  Closing
them, she let out a slow breath, then stood up and looked
at him, her eyes puzzled.  "Don't be silly, Mulder.  I'm
not a baby."

"Come be my baby, Scully -- just for a little while."
His words were feather soft.  "I'll rock you and hold
you and sing you to sleep.  You'll be off to the Land
of Nod before you know it, and tomorrow you'll feel like
a new girl again."  He understood her surprised look,
he hardly knew where all that had all come from himself.

Scully could feel the tightness immediately crawl from
the top of her head all along her skeletal structure to
the tips of her toes.  The pressure she had worked to
release instantly reappeared in her chest, her breath
quickened, her cheeks flushed and her eyes began to
glisten.  Mulder took it all in immediately.

"What, Scully?  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you.
I was just being playful.  I know you're a grown woman.
What is it?  I didn't want to . . ."

The tears had already begun to wet her cheeks as Scully
stared back at her friend, as the sickening shift in her
stomach threatened to embarrass her even more in front
of this lovely man.  Would he ever truly believe that
she really was a fully grown adult?  That she too could
be playful and spontaneous?  That she even had, God forbid
that she ever admit it out loud, longings?  Dreams and
desires?

All he ever saw of her was stiff and crisp like those
old-fashioned nurses' caps and uniforms, all business,
permanently pristine and starchy white, never touched by
the diseases brushing close up and personal all around
the sick rooms.  She walked with her head high, noted
the passing of times and troubles, and kept on moving.
She did not need time for emotional recovery.  She was
above that.  Wasn't she?

Mulder was up on his feet and looking very confused.
He shifted in front of her, uncomfortable.  "Scully, I'm
sorry.  I guess you aren't in the mood for company.  I
mean, you probably want to go to bed soon.  You and I
both need a good night's sleep.  I'll just . . ."  He
headed towards the door.

Watching him move away, she held her mouth so tightly
closed she felt her jaw stiffen.  Reaching down for the
mugs that rested on the coffee table, she straighted but
before she could take two steps towards the kitchen one
slipped out of her right hand and crashed onto the floor.

Shards of brightly colored glass scattered far and wide
across the slick gloss of the varnished wood.  She
dropped her arms, the other mug landing with a thud but
not breaking at her feet, and tucked her head down, and
inhaled a quick breath, and began to sob.

"Oh, God, Scully, I'm sorry -- I should have offered to
carry those back."  Mulder came back to stand next to
her, looking miserable and not knowing how or what help
to offer. 

Again they stood next to each other in silence, except
for the gasps of air Scully sucked in between hiccups
and sobs and sighs.  Mulder's shoulders sagged, but he
leaned down and ever so gently placed a hand on Scully's
shoulder, while reaching out with the other hand for her
own.

"Scully, come sit with me.  Forget about this mess.
We'll pick up later.  Come rest a spell.  Let's figure
this out together."

Like a child being led after a too long day, she allowed
him to pull her through the cup remains to the rocker,
where he sank down and gathered her in his arms and
across his legs.  He reached out for the shawl that had
fallen to the side of the couch and tucked it around her.
He wrapped his arms about her slight and still shaky body,
and nestled his face down into the crook of her neck.
She could feel his breath, warm and regular, on her skin.

They sat and rocked, and her soft cries eventually
stilled, and they were silent together.

END PART ONE  

"SLIP-SLIDING AWAY"  (Part 2 of 2)

The first thing she noticed as her eyes slipped open
was that slivers of moonlight had replaced the lingering
late afternoon patches of sun over the high gloss of the
wooden floor.

The second thing she noticed was the glistening sparkle
of tiny shards of glass scattered around the living room
furniture from the remnants of broken cup she had
accidentally dropped earlier.

The third thing she noticed as she lifted her head from
its comfortable resting place on Mulder's shoulder was
his half opened eyes looking down at her.

His arms were tightly wrapped around her torso, and her
legs and back and arms were still covered with her shawl
which he had thoughtfully lifted from the floor to better
comfort her in her distress.

The old oak rocker was still, Mulder's feet planted firmly
on the floor.  How long had she slept?  And how long had
he been looking at her?

"Mmm, Mulder.  What time do you think it is?" she asked
quietly.

"Don't know.  Don't care.  Don't plan to look."  He was
nothing if not direct and to the point.

She nodded.  They sat, comfortably breathing in and out
together, their body rhythms in perfect sync.

She stretched her hand out from under the shawl, reaching
to cover his own still tightly curled around her waist.

He didn't move a muscle.  Just sat still as stone, looking,
watching, waiting.

"Mulder, why are you here?"  Funny, hadn't she already
asked him this?

"Because I have to be here.  I need to be here.  I want
to be here."  His gaze was steady, his eyes were now wide
open and clear.

"Why?" she persisted.

"I can't say exactly why, Scully.  I just know things have
been out of focus all week for me, and for you.  It's time
we talk about it, don't you think?"

Oh.  

"Uhm, Mulder, I need to get up."

"No."

She turned and twisted her face upwards, her surprised look 
shifting into a question.  He simply wrapped his arms even
more closely around her small frame.

"I don't want you to go anywhere until you promise me we
will get this out in the open, work this out together.
Not alone, after hours, in solitary spaces.  Now, tonight,
here, together."

She blinked, and thought, and found her body warring with
her mind.  The words pushing up were preparing to rebuff
his challenge.  But her body was already relaxing and
sliding back down into her former resting place against
his warm chest.  As she licked her lips she could still
taste remnants of salt from the tears that had spilled
down her face earlier.

"I don't know what to say, Mulder."

"I do.  You know I always have something to say, and I
need to say it now.  Is that alright with you?"  He was
not going to make it easy but at the same time was paving
the way for her to somehow in some small way have a say
in what would follow.

She felt the slight shift as he began to rock once more.
Not aggressively, but gently, slowly, and their bodies
eased back and forth in unison with the movement of the
chair.

He took her acquiesance as a sign to begin.  And he then
took a long shaky breath of his own before his words
spilled out into the room.

"I left a piece of my heart behind here after Pfaster
attacked you.  Everytime you get hurt another chunk
breaks away.  I see how determined you are to press on
in the work.  I know in my head that you are as well
trained and prepared to fight the fight and protect
yourself as best as possible.

But Scully, you can't help what you are.  And sometimes
a woman of your size just cannot escape larger forces."

She began to twist around again in his lap and he could
hear the intake of breath as she started to speak, but
before a word could be uttered he gently pressed his index
finger over her lips.

"Shh, it's my turn, and I need to say all of this now
before you respond."  He then resumed motion, as his
toes pressed forward and heels gently  eased up and down
as the rocker moved forward and back, forward and back.
His arms again encircled her waist, as he leaned into her,
his face moving down and settling against her cheek.  She
could feel his whisper against her skin as he continued.

"What breaks my heart even more, Scully, is knowing that
you know this in your heart of hearts.  And you are too
proud and too strong and too professional to ever let
your guard down and admit that you wonder yourself when
that day will come when the monster will be too big, too
fast, too horrible for you to escape.

I know you worry about protecting yourself, and that you
worry about watching my back at times too.  And I know
that you used all your skills to get away from Pfaster,
and that you did survive because you are good at what
you do, and you did get to that gun, even if it meant
crawling through that sea of glass, and that you did get
out of those bonds and back on your feet and you did get
to him.  Scully, you got to him.  And I was proud of you,
and terrified for you, and scared out of my wits after
looking around this place, and I don't ever want to go
through this again.  And I don't know how I can ever keep
that from happening.  There is no way I can make it all
stop, make it all safe.

And I know you get scared, and you worry about your size,
and you worry about what others will say, whether they
will think you competent enough, good enough to continue.
And Scully, I have to tell you, you are the best.  You are
the very best at what you do, and the fact that you have
lasted this long is enough proof for the rest of your
career that you are fully capable and worthy.  And I
don't care how tall or short or big and burly or small
and slight any other agent is, I want you to know that I
look up to you every day.  Every day, Scully.  You are
the best thing that has ever happened to me and the best
partner I could ever have and I totally trust you.

But things happen, and no one is immortal, and no one
is totally immune from harm's way.  We're both trained
as soldiers, and we both know there might be an ambush
right around the corner for either one of us at any time.

And what makes my heart bleed is the fear that I will not
be close at hand, that I will be at my desk, or in my
apartment, or in my car, or far away chasing my own
windmills, anywhere but where you are and I will be
thinking a thousand and one things but not at that very
moment thinking of your safety and well being, and when
the call comes and they tell me you did not make it I
will be lost.  I will fall completely apart, Scully, I
will be undone.  And nothing and no one will be able to
put the pieces back together."

The movement of the rocker continued.  His arms drew
closer around her.  His mouth moved along her cheek up to
her ear.  His words invaded her very being.  "I love you,
Scully.  And I don't ever want to loose you.  I don't ever
want to be the one to identify your body.  I don't ever
want to see your home destroyed again by such wickedness.
I don't ever want to worry about your even considering
the idea of a transfer, because I don't ever want you out
of my sight, out of reach, out of mind.  I just . . . I
just don't ever want to let you go again.  It hurts so
much, and I . . . "

The soft skin of their faces shared his tears, as they
slowly washed downward, slipping between their cheeks
pressed together, and she felt them land on her hand
that had tightly entwined itself in Mulder's.

Scully turned and looked up at Mulder, the beautiful
planes of his face softly glowing in the moonlight that
was now streaming through the windows, the tears streaming
down his face glistening.

She reached her hand up and smoothed away the wetness.
She slowly shifted her body so that she was turned around,
facing him as the rocker came to a stop.

Everything was stilled.  Not a sound, not a breath, not
a sigh.  Just the two of them, looking into each other's
soul, breathing in and out as one entity.  She lifted her
arms and wrapped them around his neck as he leaned forward
and pressed even more closely around her being.

She couldn't talk now.  There would be time later on, and
she knew he would not let her escape without confessing her
own mortal fears.  

But for now this was enough.  He had said enough for the
two of them.  He had said more than enough, and she was so
very grateful that he was here, and that he was hers.

It was enough, more than enough, for now.

The End


Like a ship in the harbor
Like a mother and child
Like a light in the darkness
I'll hold you awhile.
We'll rock on the water
I'll cradle you deep
And hold you while angels
Sing you to sleep.


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