From: GMD614 Date sent: Wed, 4 Mar 1998 15:18:27 EST To: xff-atxc@chaos.taylored.com Subject: NEW: SNOW ON THE VINEYARD (1/1)by GMD614@aol.com SNOW ON THE VINEYARD by GMD614@aol.com Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They are property of CC, FOX, 1013, etc...No infringement intended. Classification: MSR Rating: PG - a little adult language Spoilers: Pretty much everything and nothing. To be safe, I'll go with everything up to REDUX II Summary: Mulder brings Scully to Martha's Vineyard, and asks for her help chasing away the ghosts of his past. Author's Comments: I usually don't like to read fanfic written in the First Person Point of View, but the muse just struck me and, voila, this story told from Scully's Point of View was written. I hope you enjoy reading it. It was a "vacation" from my usual style. Send comments - good and bad (I can take it) - to GMD614@aol.com. SNOW ON THE VINEYARD (1/1) I hate the snow. It makes me sad. I never enjoyed it - not even as a child. Snow always let me down. The promise of purity broken by footsteps, or dirty melting sludge at the curb. Each time, each snowfall, I’d be fooled for just a moment, or perhaps a little longer, that the silence and stillness would last forever. The world is perfect covered in a virgin blanket. Soft, honest, unmitigated beauty. The skeletons of oaks and elms reach up in greeting, awaiting adornment. But there’s always disappointment with snow. A pack of children would tumble down the street destroying the serenity - loving every minute of their play until the wetness seeped to their very core, and cold numbness replaced the ecstasy. Grumpy men shoveling walks and driveways, raucous snowplows dropping sand or salt, marring the immaculate. I hear Mulder move about the room behind me, but I remain unmoving on the window seat. He has brought me here, to the Vineyard, his childhood home. Why now, I don’t know. He needs me to be here with him, so I am. I keep watch at the window, regarding the falling snow. He has lit a fire in the big stone hearth, and I feel the room begin to warm. The cabin’s cold empty atmosphere is dissipating through the chimney with the smoke and ash of the burning logs there. This is our sanctuary for the next few days; a rented cottage made of wood and stone. I sit and wait. I wait for the disappointment of snow melting away. I wait for Mulder, afraid for myself, for what he might reveal on this trip. He drifts over to the window, his socks silent on the wooden floor and hands me a mug. The definitive scent of New England fills my nostrils as the spice of hot mulled cider swirls up and up. Mulled cider. Mulder’s cider. Mulling Mulder’s cider. I chuckle in spite of myself. Peering from behind his own tilted mug, hazel eyes look at me with question. I shake my head briefly, brushing aside his inquiry. I direct my gaze back to the snow, curling my legs under me - an invitation for Mulder to sit. He accepts. Still, I wait. The air is pregnant with expectation. Such fertile ground, silence, when it envelops Mulder and me. So rich with promise. So pure and honest - immaculate... Mulder will speak, marring the silence. He always does. Too much silence makes Mulder uneasy, afraid. I understand this, but the skeptic in me needs desperately to believe in our connection - the unspoken bond. I try to test the limits, but I believe Mulder is afraid to really know. Maybe I am, too. "Wanna take a walk, Scully? Looks like the snow is letting up." I smile a small smile at him. "Let me get a warmer sweater and my boots." ****** The air is crisp, but not biting. It’s invigorating, the sea air. I feel grounded. Funny, I never thought I’d find a peaceful moment on Martha’s Vineyard. Not since meeting Mulder and becoming enmeshed in his life. Surprisingly, he too seems calm, serene - at peace. We walk. I wait. He wants me to force his hand, but I won’t do it. He’ll speak when the time is right. He’ll find the words. Somehow, Mulder always finds the words. My hands are shoved deep into the pockets of my ski jacket. The snow crunches under our feet. I take two steps for every one of Mulder’s. I’m content walking like this with him - companionable silence. He’ll break the silence eventually, and I’ll need to hear the words he will say. Though I push the unspoken communication between us frequently, there are no spoken answers to unasked questions. Not on Martha’s Vineyard. Not in the snow. Not in our cabin. Not this time. We walk without purpose toward no particular destination. He says nothing to me, but takes my gloved hand in his pulling it from my pocket. He looks down at me as we walk allowing me to lead him. I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead. He’ll have to say the words. He’ll have to say them. I stop in front of a house. I don't know why I'm drawn to it, but I feel that I have to stop here. Mulder shows no signs of hesitation. He enters the front yard looking for inhabitants. It appears that the house is vacant. I watch from the gate, unsure of myself - of my role on this journey. I wait. Mulder, however, knows why we’re here. He smiles at me, and shakes his head. Somehow, I feel that he has an agenda. Perhaps it was he who led us here. He sits on the top step of the wrap-around porch and wipes the snow from the spot next to him. I take my place beside him, taking his hand between both of mine. After a few moments, waiting, it begins - his revelation. "You were assigned to me - to the X-Files - to *debunk* my theories. You take my crazy ideas and you attach an element of reality to them. You ground me, and you make my insanity less frightening. I live every day knowing that I’ll never fly too far over that precipice before you pull me back and force me to examine the truth of what I’m proposing. You make me see...everything, Scully. I see everything with you, not just my obsessive, warped view of things. "Here, it’s always been hard to do that, Scully. It’s always been scary. Look at it. It seems so small now. Different." *IT*. I know of what he speaks. The elusive *it* - his life, this house, the quest for a lost little girl. This is *the* house, I realize. I wait. "You make it different, Scully," he says in a small voice. "Help me." His voice was barely a whisper, yet his words made my ears ring. The simultaneous soaring and breaking of my heart is maddening. My partner is reaching out to me as a drowning man reaches for a life vest. "Mulder..." I know what I want to say, but I don’t know how. What a piece of work I am! I’m expecting Mulder to do the very thing I cannot - speak his heart. Perhaps together we can break this self-imposed, long-standing silence. I begin again. "I don’t like my brother, Bill, very much." I pause. "Wow! That took about 15 years and lots of therapy to say." I chuckle and squeeze Mulder’s hand. With knitted brow, he shakes his head and smiles. I rest my head on Mulder’s shoulder. He now waits for me. "Understand, I love him, but we’ve never agreed on anything. My adult life has never gotten the Bill Scully, Jr. Stamp of Approval." Mulder just nods. "Bill’s opinion means very little to me, Mulder. He doesn’t know me, doesn't know my heart. I see him on holidays, military leaves...we speak, but never say anything. It’s sad really, because we have a lot in common. It’s hard for me to admit that, you know. My mother...if she heard me say that...she knows, but hearing the words aloud..." I don't know where I'm going with the revelation of this little piece of myself. Pausing, I look up at Mulder and the words just come to me. "When my head starts to swim with questions that have no answers, I just say everything out loud. It makes it more real for me, easier to deal with, something tangible. The longer I let my fears and emotions swirl and spin inside my head, the more insane I start to feel. Why do you think I was so upset by QueeQuag's death. You'd kill for what that dog knew." A slow smile brakes across Mulder's face. "I know it, Scully." Scary that he's following this...this gibberish. That's Mulder. "Don't laugh at me, Mulder. I have a tatoo to prove this theory." "Ever the scientist my Scully is..." He laughs out loud in short bursts, and I wonder if he realizes how possessive his statement was. I wonder if he realizes how much I need to know that I'm "his Scully". I see the laughter in his eyes replaced by something darker. "Scully, I'm scared. I don't know if I can do this." "You can." "You sound so sure." "Weird, isn't it? I can't remember exactly when our *assigned* roles changed. I was hired to be the skeptic. You're supposed to believe in the impossible, implausible, inexplicable..." "I don’t love my sister, Scully. I loved her once, but...there’s...there’s nothing." I feel like a thousand butterflies have just broken free of their chrysalises inside my stomach. I wasn't expecting so much, so soon. I search his face, his eyes, for more. He's made it real and he can't take it back. He's terrified. "Why are you afraid, Mulder?" I ask, knowing he'll understand the depth of my question. "I’m always 12 years old here. I can’t grow up and move on as long as...it terrifies me to...to let it go, Scully...but it’s killing me to hold on." I lean against him again, taking his hand in mine. My ass is numb from the cold wood of this porch, but I can't seem to move. I do not want Mulder to think I'm moving away from him. "I was searching so hard for something - something I can't even name - and never stopped to realize that Samantha is...nothing but a...a...fairy tale. Everything is part of the fantasy, Scully. My life has been scripted and I've just played it out." He lifts his face to the sky, falling snow landing on his cheeks and eyelashes. "Fuck! Fuck! Aaaaaarrghghhh!" Tears are running down the sides of his face as he screams to no one and everyone. I'm part of the fairy tale - the foil, Shakespeare's way of making clear the protagonist's character. I began as the perfect foil for Mulder; now, I can't determine where he ends and I begin. Who is the skeptic? Who is the believer? I hold tightly to his hand, but I can not look at Mulder for fear of falling to pieces myself. I stand, pulling Mulder wth me. Moving to the door, I examine the frame, the lock, to see if I can't work my way in. I check the window frame next to the door, and Mulder realizes my intent. "This way," he says, and leads me around the porch. We pause near the back of the old yellow house, and Mulder drops to his knees in front of a basement window. "An elbow at just the right angle used to..." Mulder hits the window with a quick jab of his elbow. "...pop this baby open. Shall we?" I slide into the basement of the house where Samantha was taken. Mulder falls in behind me. I turn to him and see that he needs a moment to pull himself together before moving deeper into this piece of his past. My role on this journey through the New England snow is becoming more clear to me as Mulder's words replay in my mind. Am I to prove to him that I'm real? Does he still believe me to be part of that so-called script he calls his life? God, help me help him. Please. I follow Mulder up the stairs to the kitchen. The rooms are dusty and cold, obviously unused for some time. Mulder moves through the small rooms on the main level of the house running his fingertips over various objects. Shelves. Door frames. Chairs. A table. The banister for the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Mulder looks over his shoulder to find me. He raises the corner of his mouth in a semi-smile, and I swallow a sob that tries to force its way out. He's beautiful. "Come with me, Scully. Hold my hand." I take his offerred hand, and climb the stairs behind him. They creak and groan as we ascend. I shiver with a quick, hard spasm unsure if it is the cold or my nerves causing it. We reach the landing at the top, and Mulder surprises me by pulling me into his arms. He wraps them around me and rubs up and down trying to warm me. I'm greatful for his attempts, and for his need to have me with him. "Better?" "Yes. You?" He knows I refer to his fears. He smiles a reply. "Which room was yours, Mulder?" "That one, at the end of the hall. This was Samantha's room." He pushes the door open, hinges squeaking. It is small and lit by the glare off the snow outside. Tentatively, Mulder steps in and looks around. I pull my gloves off and shove them in my pockets, waiting. "I can't believe how small it all is. I feel like a giant. Last time I was in this room, I couldn't have been much taller than...you. What's it like from your angle...way down there?" "Oh, it's a virtual Kingdom down here. A real palace..." "Perfect for a fairy tale." "Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." "Hey," Mulder puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me toward him. "I know. I was being stupid. I'm the one who should be sorry." "I want to see your room." "Careful, Scully, you're turning me on." "Ever invite any little neighborhood girls up here?" "Nope. Didn't care too much about girls before Samantha disappeared, and afterwards...let's just say that the neighborhood girls didn't exactly flock to me." "Show me." We walk toward the back room slowly, pausing just outside. Mulder takes a deep, cleansing breath, and for the first time today I cannot read his emotions. "Scully, I...this is strange for me. I've wanted this for so long - to bring you here. I don't know how to...do this...with you. I'm not making sense, I know, but..." "I understand, Mulder. Really, I do. I won't push. If this is too much right now, we'll go back downstairs." "No. I want to give this to you. I want you to know all of me, Scully. Who I was before...where I came from..." Never have I wanted to touch Mulder as much as I do now. I reach my fingers up to his face and trace the line of his jaw. He presses my hand to his cheek and turns his mouth toward my palm. I feel the wet warmth of his silky lips on the inside of my hand, and a shudder rolls through me. I hope he can read what I'm trying to tell him with my eyes. My heart is so full that the words won't do justice to all I feel. He places his other hand on the doorknob and turns it. Letting out a deep sigh, Mulder nudges the door with his shoulder. It sqeaks as it opens and I can see the dust swirl in the light that shines in from between the slats of the blinds. I place my hand on Mulder's back and rub a small circle for support. He moves forward, but I wait. I wait at the door for Mulder to invite me. I feel he needs a moment to himself; a moment to take it all in. He stands in the middle of the room, a room a bit larger than Samantha's. I wait for a sign - from Mulder, from God - that we'll get through this new vision of Hell that has been presented to us. Mulder walks to the closet and opens the door. He runs his fingers along the inside of the frame there, and smiles. "Come here. Feel this." "Turned on again, Mulder?" His smirk matches mine. I do as he says, raising my eyes to him inquisitively as I feel the grooves on the wall. "My father used to mark the wood every year on my birthday. Such a normal thing to do, isn't it? I bet your parents had some similar ritual for the Scully kids, huh?" "Yeah, they did. Actually, we took pictures standing back-to-back with my dad. Mom's got them all in albums." "Oh, yeah. Right. I saw yours, Scully. When you were...uh," Mulder coughs once and walks to the bed. Pulling the plastic cover off the bed, Mulder removes his jacket and takes a seat. He bounces once causing some moans and squeaks from the old frame and mattress, then looks at me waggling his eyebrows. I can't help but smile. "Wanna be the first girl on this bed with me, Scully? A hot little redhead like yourself is a real adolescent fantasy!" "How can I pass up that offer?" I sit next to Mulder and drink in more details of this dusty room. "Does your mother still own this place, Mulder?" "I do, actually. My father could never part with it - guilt probably. It was left to me in his will. It's part of the reason I brought you here. I have to sell, Scully. There are too many ghosts. I think it's time." I nod slightly, leaning back against the wall. My ski jacket is bulky and awkward, so I unzip and remove it, using it instead as a blanket to cover my top half. Mulder just sits and watches me. Again, the silence is heavy with unspoken words and unshed tears, but I know that won't be the case much longer. Mulder's on a roll now. He's a virtual waterfall of emotion...for Mulder, that is. I shiver, the cold seaping through my sweater from the wall at my back. Mulder spreads his legs, and pulls me to him so that my back rests against his chest. He tucks my jacket around me as we settle together on the twin mattress. This new position is much better indeed. However, we have miles to go on this journey. Silence is golden when communication is easier through the heat and caresses of Mulder's body. I'm no fool. I snuggle in. "Scully?" "Hhmm..." "She thought I was dead...all these years. That smoking bastard knew her - knows her - lied to her." I snake my arms around Mulder's which are locked around my middle. I hang on to him, stroking his forearms with my fingers, reveling in the feel of the soft fleece of Mulder's shirt. I have no words, so I wait. I feel Mulder's nose nuzzle the hair at the top of my head. His arms tighten around me, and mine around his. He sighs. "She has a family, Scully. She doesn't want..." I tilt my head back and settle it on Mulder's shoulder. With a slight turn, my face is nestled in the crook of his neck, and his scent is intoxicating. I return the nuzzle with my own nose, feeling the initial traces of stubble on his neck and jaw. "What's left to believe? I don't know what's real anymore." "Aliens or not, we're too close to walk away from this, Mulder. We know too much. There's too much at stake." "I know. Doesn't mean I don't want to walk, though." "Tell me where you'd go." "I'm not going anywhere, Scully." "If you did, if you walked...where would you go? Ideally?" "Ah, let's pretend? OK, California maybe. Some beach town where I could set up a private practice or teach at the local University. Maybe own a dog. Write poetry. Get a bed. Grow a beard." "No beard, Mulder." I lift my head to look at him, and he sees the laughter in my eyes. I feel a chuckle rumble in his chest before the sound even reaches my ears. A girl could get used to snuggling on Mulder's bed...with Mulder. Glad he mentioned getting one. Funny, he hasn't mentioned sharing it. I wonder... "How about you, Scully? Would you stay in D.C.? Teach at Quantico?" "I don't know if I could face the ghosts...the constant reminders. Teaching sounds good, though. Maybe get a dog. Write medical journals, memoirs. I already have a bed..." "Maybe I won't have to buy one then." I, once again, twist my head to look at him. It's back - that unfathomable terror in Mulder's eyes. He is completely naked to me; his heart is mine to trample or caress. "That is, Scully, if you wouldn't mind the commute from a sleepy little town on the coast." I touch my fingertips to his face, his lips. Mulder's eyelids fall closed. His breath on my fingers is hot and ticklish, and comes out in unsteady puffs. I lift my other hand to his cheek, and brush a stray lock of hair off his brow. I lower his forehead to mine and we sit like that for several moments, our breaths mingling in the centimeters that separate his mouth from mine. "Mulder," I whisper. "Promise me..." "Anything, Scully...anything." "No beard." His eyes pop open, and the terror is gone. Confusion and then humor replace it. "No beard, Scully." I touch my lips to Mulder's - the mere hint of a kiss. Earlier, I felt the silkiness of his mouth on my palm, but now...now, I want to etch every sensation on my memory as I know Mulder will do. He does not move, but allows me to explore at my leisure. Once, twice, five times I brush my lips across his. I still feel his breath on my face, but this time I can taste him. Capturing his pouty bottom lip between my own lips, I tentatively trace it with my tongue. Mulder groans. His hand moves up to the back of my head and he tangles his fingers in my hair. He applies no pressure, just holds me there, in front of him, gently stroking my scalp. I move to explore the wonders of Mulder's top lip, repeating the procedure there. Again, a groan escapes him...then a sigh. Before I realize what has happened, Mulder and I are lying side by side on the bed. He has, in one swift, strong, determined movement, repositioned us for better access to each other. I notice that the angle of the daylight has changed some from the time we entered the room. Mulder takes the time to fix my jacket around me. His long legs dangle off the end of the bed, and I realize that unless we are on top of each other, there in no other way we'll fit on this small mattress... "Mulder, the cabin...it has heat...bigger bed...." "No. Here, Scully. Just stay with me like this for a little while, right here, please?" In response to his request, I kiss Mulder fully and passionately. He strokes my back, and wraps one long leg over mine. Other than his mouth - his lips and tongue - Mulder does not move otherwise. I understand his request was not for torrid sex or all-night passion here in this room. He needs me to help him chase the ghosts. That's what we do, my partner and I - we chase things...inexplicable things...like ghosts. Mulder ends this heated session by tucking my head under his and holding me close to him. I feel his erection pressing into my belly and it sends a new wave of sensations through me. I press my hips to his for the briefest moment in acknowledgement. I regret it the second I do it, fearing that Mulder will pull away from me. He, however, presses back, sliding his hand to my ass to steady my body tightly against him. Relief washes over me. I kiss his throat. "I'm afraid, Scully. It's not going to be easy." "Has it ever been easy for us? We'll figure it all out." "Even if it takes forever...all the running, hiding, all the obstacles?" "You said you see everything with me at your side, Mulder. Was that a lie?" "No. I just need to know you see it, too, Scully. The whole thing." "I believe, Mulder, in this. Us. Our work. Because E.B.E.s might really be the invention of dark government forces doesn't mean that our quest was for nothing. We have important work to do...explanations to find. What about my abduction? The implant? Emily? There are answers out there, Mulder. We need to find them." "Together?" "Yes." "Let's go back to the cabin before it starts snowing again." Mulder gave me a quick kiss on the mouth before jumping off the bed. He is opening the blinds on the window. "Too late, Scully. It's coming down pretty hard." "We've faced the Arctic, Mulder. I think we can make it a few blocks to the cabin." I lead the way down the stairs. Opening the front door, Mulder holds it open for me and grandly gestures for me to exit. I smile, and kiss him on the way out. As we walk, I see pure New England snow blanket around me. There is a stillness about the Vineyard today. The bare trees seem to celebrate the snowfall as the branches reach up catching the falling flakes. I don't see any children yet, or loud plows clearing the streets. Somehow, I don't think I'll feel the same disappointment at its melting as I have in the past. "Mulder, if you own the house, why did we climb in the window?" "I had no intention of going there today. You led us right to it." He doesn't look at me. His jaw is set, and his eyes never leave the horizon. "You knew the way, Scully. I followed you." THE END - hope you enjoyed it. Send comments to GMD614@aol.com, please!