From: Barbara462 Date sent: Mon, 5 Jan 1998 00:02:41 EST Subject: NF> So I Love Thee, My Friend (1/1) So, I Love Thee My Friend (1/1) Author: Barbara Barnett E-Mail: Barbara462 Rating: G Classification: V, Post-ep (paper hearts), A, lots of DAL and some UST, no MSR Archive: Please, but let me know where, please Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were. No profit desired, intended or accepted for this little story. Author's note: Inspired by Paper Hearts (particularly the final scene). How little was spoken; how much feeling, emotion and story was told--what an amazing performance! Also inpspired by Thoreau's words (see ending). Those words graced the cover of my wedding invitations 16 years ago. And how true they remain in the sentiment my husband--my best friend--and I share still today. I define myself as a relationship dweller. I think the M/S relationship is one of the most interesting and intriguing things about the show. I have very mixed feelings about whether can afford to act on the feelings they obviously have for each other. So, sorry guys, no romantic payoff here. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The fragile reality called tenuous belief. Not even that, really. A desire to believe. A belief shattered only to be reborn, not quite so strong only to be shattered once again and again. And each time a little more worse for wear grows the believer. Until, until the scattered remains of what once was are more than the whole put back together, scars and all. It had been a disaster. And in the dark solace of his office, Fox Mulder pondered the wreckage wrought, wondering how much of his own soul remained and, if any had, for how long. The danger of crawling into the mind of a madman is that it may afford him access to your own inner being. The physiolgical and psychological impossiblities of this theory escaped Mulder for the moment. But somehow Roche had done it; done it well. It had ended badly. Very badly. Roche was dead, and one victim remained unidentified. Scully had insisted it could not have been Samantha, but that, at best, was wishful thinking. For, indeed, it could well have been her. In any case it was *someone*. And more than anything, Mulder was haunted by the faceless girl who belonged to the final heart. Another girl who would, due to Mulder's self indulgencies, never be laid to rest properly. Never be found. Now that Roche was dead. Scully had said that they would find her; that even though the odds were impossible, she knew Mulder. Somehow her words failed to provide the comfort intended; only served to further burden an overburdened soul. No, Scully, his eyes implored. How can you possibly have faith in me? Look what I've done. The shambles I've left behind in my wake. And for what? What did he believe now, she had asked. Was his faith so fleeting; so shaky that it could be destroyed by the rantings of an unrepentent serial killer? And the cost for this loss of faith? One dead; one little girl traumatized; part of his own soul; a chunk of his integrity. And certainly Scully's faith in him would have been at the very least shaken. Mulder had much to answer for, and tonight that burden was yet a bit heavier. Mulder replaced the heart in the evidence bag, putting it in his desk drawer. He rubbed his eyes, grinding the heels of his hands deep into the sockets, trying desperately to rid them of the tears. A knock at the door, nearly inaudible. Mulder gulped quietly trying to find his voice again, to tell whoever was there to leave him be. He could not face Skinner now. He'd half expected a pink slip; an enforced leave pending investigation of the death of John Lee Roche; a lawsuit from the family of little Caitlin. He looked up to see Scully standing at the opposite end of the desk. "Hi." Mulder nodded slightly in response, watching her; following her with his eyes as she moved to grab a chair and sit beside him. He picked up a file, simultaneously reaching for his reading glasses. Scully placed her hand on his arm to stop him. "Scully, I...I thought you'd gone home." "So had I. But I'm afraid for you Mulder. I think we need to talk. I think *you* need to talk. And I'm here to listen." He opened his mouth to protest. "Mulder, don't give me any of that 'I'm fine' crap. You are *not* fine. How could you be?" He continued to gaze into her eyes. How easy it would be to drown himself within them. Lose himself in the clear blue forever and leave the rest behind. He'd had the same thought when she'd left him earlier, suggesting absurdely that he get some sleep. But sleep, my dear Scully, he'd thought, sleep is where the monsters hide. In the caverns of the subconsious. No, sleep was not the answer. And then she'd clasped him to her stomach, gently ruffling his hair. And then she was gone. It had been not much longer than an instant. He stared after her a moment, her scent lingering momentarily; the feel of her hand in his hair ingrained and filed for future flights of fancy. He had closed his eyes against the departure of these sensations. Yes, drown in... Disaster. Sometimes he wanted her so much it ached inside with a pain so exquisite that... His love for her was never a question. And was certain she loved him with a similar depth and even occasional passion. But the potential for disaster was too risky. An affair--out of the question, for now, anyway. "Scully, I know I'm not fine. I haven't been for a long time. You know it; I know it. Hell, Skinner knows it. It's...painful...God, Scully, it hurts sometimes..cases...cases like this. Cases like this one where...I..." Mulder trailed off, lowering his head onto his arms upon the desk. "Ssh. I know. It's alright. It will be alright. You'll find her, Mulder. You *will* find Samantha." She placed a hand on his neck, beckoning him gently to raise his eyes to her. His eyes were wet now, icy grey and luminous. "Thank you Scully. Thank you for not judging me. For knowing me. For being..." He swallowed hard, looking deep into her eyes. Willing himself to stay afloat; maintain control. The air surrounding them had somehow electrified. Yes...drown. A beat. Then five. An eternity passed between them in an instant. His eyes fluttered closed, sleepily, relaxed within the warmth of Scully's gaze. "I think I'll go get some of that sleep now, Scully." A modicum of control regained. No drowning, not tonight. Regret mixed with relief in both their eyes. Disaster of another kind averted momentarily in the dim light of the basement. And suddenly something he'd once read, something Thoreau, came to mind-- and how well it described his otherwise indescribable feelings for Scully--his love for her. "As I love nature, as I love singing birds And flowing rivers and Gleaming stubble And morning and evening And summer and winter So I love thee, my friend" End Barbara462 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -