From: Kbxf@aol.com Date: Fri, 19 May 2000 00:21:49 EDT Subject: NEW: Standing Still (1/2) by KatyBlue Source: xff ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TITLE: Standing Still (1/2) AUTHOR: KatyBlue CLASSIFICATION: MSR SPOILERS: Post-ep, All Things RATING: PG-13 DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never were. I wish. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: To Meredith, for all things and Toniann, for new things. And to all my readers...you can only guess how much I appreciate your enjoyment but I know and I thank you deeply. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wanted to get this out there despite whatever horrors 'Requim' may wreak. This fic claims no more than to be a simple musing, a 'feel good' fic for all things...it will leave you and the characters gently and without harm or ill intent. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And so she woke up Woke up from where she was Lying still Said I gotta do something About where we're going ~U2~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Part (1/2) She opened her eyes to the eerie glow of the fish tank. Bubbles ascended through the calm blue. The little UFO rose up and down. Up and down... The plastic plants were moving in the current. She sat up slowly, wondering if this were a dream. If the placid blue of the fish tank's strange light made up the entirety of her world. And if she were actually underwater in this envisaged tableau, perhaps one with the fishes. But the blanket slipped down from her shoulders and she realized she was not dreaming nor underwater, but awake and in the chilled air. Her feet were propped up on the coffee table, poking out from the warmth of the blanket. The more terrestrial, non-liquid accoutrements of Mulder's everyday life surrounded her, not aquatic but rather decidedly human. Still, she let the realization that it wasn't a dream settle over her gradually. She knew she was not immersed in a fish tank, but resting in Mulder's living room. A scratchy but warm southwestern, wool blanket was draped over where she lay on the warm leather of his couch. She'd fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation. She turned her head from this minor deluge of information to regard the fish tank again. Ordinary goldfish swam in lazy circles and for a few minutes, she let herself go still again. Watching fish was scientifically proven to lower blood pressure. Floating along in their preferred medium, iridescent scales caught the light and winked it back at her, one tiny flash at a time. One ponderous individual's lacy tail reflected like a gossamer web, trailing outward behind it with movement slow enough to be mesmerizing. It was extraordinary, really. The fish were not bejeweled with hard mineral deposits which would last for millenium, but rather living flesh whose beauty would quickly fade if life left them. She sighed quietly, coming more awake in the silence of the night and Mulder's living room. Sorry that she couldn't stay asleep. There was nothing to be done about it. With waking came awareness. It had been late Sunday night when she fell asleep. No doubt it was creeping into the wee hours of Monday morning as she blinked at the fish. Another day of work was only a matter of hours away. Her work. Their work. She felt a strange satisfaction. A stillness inside her. A sense of well-being. Of contentment at her achievements thus far, as minute as they may be. She welcomed the absence of immediate fear. Sometimes, just living well is an accomplishment, and one moves forward from there. Carefully, she pushed the blanket to the side, tucking its trailing end up on the couch as she leaned forward. What she needed was to go home so she could get out of these clothes. This suit might be comfortable enough for the rigid requirements of the bureau's dress protocol, but it was much too binding for sleep. She pushed away from the couch and stood. Two moss green teacups still sat on the coffee table, side by side. She decided to let Mulder know she was leaving. She based this decision on the fact that he might worry in the morning when he found her gone. Undoubtedly, he could deduce that she'd gone back to her own apartment. She didn't, however, examine this fact too closely. She wanted, perhaps, to thank him for listening to her latest tale of woe. For being Mulder and understanding it as no one else could. To put it simply, for caring about her. His bedroom window let in what light there was creeping down from the moon through the panes of glass. His still form lay stretched out on the bed and oddly enough, he was sleeping. She knew that Mulder, indeed, sometimes slept. That his insomnia did not bar all opportunities for this release from consciousness. But she rarely saw him sleeping this naturally and so she just watched him for a second. The even rise and fall of his breathing into the quiet room. The covers bunched around him. Mulder was a restless sleeper even when he did make peace with the practice. The type of person who tangled in a war with the blankets and then kicked them off during the night and slept with his feet hanging out instead. Whereas she was more of the type that cocooned herself carefully within the covers, sliding out of an almost already made bed at dawn. She lowered herself to the side of the bed he'd left unoccupied. She didn't stop to analyze why she did so. It was just the most open space to settle, regardless of the fact she had to move into the room and around the bed in order to do so. And then she pulled her feet up and stayed for a minute more, marveling at the events of her weekend as she watched Mulder sleep, hating to wake him. Wondering how many twists and turns it had taken to deposit her into this particular moment. It was a mathematical equation if she thought about it. A question of probabilities that one could, if they so desired, put numbers to and quantify. This made her feel better. A dichotomous tree of choices, each one leading in a predictable way to the next and to the next. Until finally, the end of a branch was reached and one paused, waiting for the next divergent growth to form and force yet another life-altering choice in one direction or the other. "Mulder..." She whispered this very quietly. She reached out to lightly touch his arm, wanting to wake him as gently as possible as opposed to startling him with her unexpected presence. She moved her fingers up and down his arm in a slight caress. Announcing that she was there. Calling him forth from dreaming into the waking world with care. He turned toward her, still half caught in slumber. "Scully...?" His voice was muzzy with sleep. He made a humming noise low in his throat and shifted under the covers. She felt his body stretch under her fingertips before burrowing back down into the comfort of the blankets with a contented sigh. One eye came half open to regard her and then both made it to a drowsy half-mast as he fully realized her presence. "Hey..." he said softly. If she read the sudden furrowing of his brow correctly, there was growing confusion about why she was in his bedroom in the middle of the night. "What's wrong?" he asked quickly. "Nothing, Mulder," she assured him softly. "I just wanted to let you know I'm heading back to my place...your couch and this suit are getting a little less than comfortable," she explained, glad to see his expression relax. He glanced over at his bedside table, no doubt regarding the numbers on his digital clock. When she looked in that direction, she saw all twos. 2:22. Odd. The symmetry of it, however, was soothing. She paused for a second and realized that her hand was still moving gently up and down his arm. Up and down, describing a path. The same, clock- like rhythm they took in all their interactions. Two steps forward, two steps back. Equal and even in their progress in both forward and backward motion. Scully's hand stopped its wanderings. She made herself lift the offending appendage away from his body. All those silent alarms that told her it was time to go, time to break off the contact, were sounding off annoyingly in her head. Unable to be ignored, as always. She was painfully conscious of her actions. "I just wanted to say thanks for listening to me tonight," she stated quietly. Technically, it had been last night and this was a new day. Despite the timing, it seemed important to her to express her gratitude within this moment. Mulder's continued acceptance of her obstinate view of the way the world worked was important to her. He was much more patient with her stubborn convictions than she was with his own more open-minded wanderings. He stared at her for a minute, bringing his hand up to rub at his eyes. "You're going home?" he mumbled. His leg started to move, trying to untangle the blanket from where it had wrapped itself around his ankle and hung tenaciously on. She nodded. "I'll see you at work," she murmured. But something was still holding her there long enough so she didn't make the final move to get up until it was too late. Mulder's hand moved over and closed around her wrist. "Don't go," he murmured. The hush that fell over the room was almost palpable. She listened to the silence and stared down at where his hand joined her to him. "Mulder..." "Stay." "Here?" she said cautiously, knowing what he meant. "Depends on what you mean by here," he finally said dryly. "What do *you* mean by it?" she asked slowly. He patted the bed beside him. "Here, Scully," he answered quietly. They had become such experts at not addressing those more interpersonal issues between them that there was an immediate knee-jerk reaction of momentary terror on her part. "This suit is not exactly my favorite pair of silk pajamas," she observed finally. "I'm uncomfortable..." Mulder drew in a deep breath and let it out. He pulled the blanket away from the lower half of his body. "Scully, I'm in nothing more than a pair of boxers here. Just take it off." She stared at Mulder's mostly bare body in the moonlight. "Take the suit off?" she stammered increduously. But she was distracted from her astonishment by the unexpected wandering of her eyes down his body and wished suddenly that he'd pull the covers back over his exposure. "That's what I said." Her eyes flew back up to his face. She cleared her throat carefully. He was waiting. "You mean that, don't you?" "I said it, didn't I?" She needed an answer. Unfortunately, the night and her exhaustion weren't lending her the necessary wisdom. The line they'd so carefully drawn long ago was blurring. "Mulder, if I do that...and I'm not saying that I'm about to...I'll be wearing only my..." she searched and failed at any dignified way to describe her undergarments even as she felt ridiculously relieved that the ones she had on were aesthetically acceptable. And in the midst of all this, Mulder snorted and turned onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow while still managing to keep hold of her wrist. His shoulders started shaking. He was laughing at her, the nerve. "What's so funny, Mulder?" she demanded. He turned his face out of the pillow. "You," he said shortly. "Correction...us. We're funny. I'm laughing at us." "Us?" "Yes. I'm laughing at us. We're pathetically incompetent at this." "What exactly is the 'this' we're so incompetent at?" "I believe it's called intimacy." "Excuse me?" Her voice rose in an annoying squeak. "You heard me." Oh, yes. She'd certainly heard him. The disbelief took a notch up. "Speak for yourself, Mulder," was all that she managed to come up with. "Scully, you probably can't even say that word aloud." He managed to get the blanket off his ankle finally by reaching down and wrestling his leg free. "And don't even try to convince me otherwise." She paused, searching for a comeback but nothing came to her. Mulder always won in the war of the quick wits. She wasn't sure why she always insisted on playing. And she could certainly say the aforementioned word but she was necessarily cautious about what kind of situation that would create. So instead, she asked a question. The question that was almost too obvious. "Mulder," she said carefully, "what are you suggesting?" He sighed impatiently. "What I'm suggesting is nothing more than I've been covertly suggesting for the past seven years. But you haven't taken me up on it yet, so I don't know why I'm expecting you to now." He flopped back down on his back and stared up at her. "Seven years, Mulder? Isn't that a bit exaggerated? Did you even notice I was here seven years ago?" she asked softly, with a wry smile for him. He clutched at his heart with his free hand, the one that wasn't still holding her in place. He smiled back, not offended by her comment. "Scully, you wound me. I've always thought you were hot." The fact they were talking about this at all was daunting. The fact that they were making jokes about it was obviously the only way they could bring it out onto the playing field. In the face of all they'd seen and done and how closely they'd had to work to accomplish it, this step seemed somehow both a natural progression and a violation of some unwritten rule. She knew why they hadn't taken this step. She knew about muddying the waters. It was easy enough to contrast how seemingly simple their relationship had been for the past seven years with how much more complicated it would become with this step. She wondered what this moment would make of their lives. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ end Part (1/2) continued in Part (2/2) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TITLE: Standing Still (2/2) AUTHOR: KatyBlue DISCLAIMER: See Part (1/2) for all that business... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Part (2/2) They fell silent, humor fleeing in the face of the more serious and meaningful reality. In the face of what they were doing here. Of how inevitable was this step, on a journey begun so long ago. And even as she imagined not taking it, she knew that they would. The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling the gentle clasp of Mulder's fingers still around her wrist. "Stay, Scully," he urged. She felt herself nodding. She felt sleepy. His bed seemed so very comfortable. It would be so easy to lie down here with him. Mulder's hand left her wrist to slide up to her waist, his fingers gliding over the material of her skirt, looking for the clasp. "Take off the suit, Scully," he whispered. "Mulder..." "Please..." She felt tears burn in her eyes, though she wasn't sure why. Surely, she wasn't sad. She felt Mulder's fingers make a slow, warm trail over her. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted all of this. She wanted to be able to express to him who she was as a woman, not just a colleague, consortium be damned. Was Mulder the wisest choice for her? Maybe there are no absolutes in life. Maybe most of the time, there is only trust in yourself that you are making the right decision. And the inevitability of placing that trust into another's hands. Certainly, she loved him. Her own fingers closed over where Mulder fumbled ineptly with the zipper on her skirt. She moved his hands out of the way, feeling a strange tenderness steal over her even as she undid it herself. The skirt slipped easily to the floor and she peeled off her hose next, dropping them beside their companion. Mulder was very quiet next to her. She shrugged her jacket off next, leaning down to the bottom of the bed and draping it on the chest there in the hopes that it would remain wrinkle-free despite this indignity. Lastly, she crossed her arms and grasped the edges of the sweater she wore, lifting it over her head and dropping it next to the rest. She felt exposed then. Vulnerable. Silly. Like a girl who has never made love before and doesn't know what to expect, or a charlatan who is going to be found out at any second for the sham she is trying to pull. Quickly now, she slid under the covers that Mulder had somehow managed to fully untangle from himself and hold out for her. He closed around her from behind as she moved in and she jumped a little as his arms came around her waist and his hands slid across her stomach. "This is nice, Scully," he murmured into her neck as they settled and she felt his fingertips glance almost accidentally over the lace of her brassiere. "Mulder..." Her tone was cautionary. She was terrified that he would rush her. That despite these seven long years of foreplay, they would turn out to be sexually incompatible through some bizarre quirk in his or her own nature that they hadn't anticipated, despite the perfect meshing of every other aspect of their lives. She should have known better. He was using his mind reading skills again. "Hate to disappoint you, Scully, but I think the sensory overload of this alone is enough for me tonight." The statement served its purpose. She felt herself relaxing into his hold, smiling slightly. Marveling at the fact that she was lying in Mulder's bed, in Mulder's arms, wearing almost nothing. She was amazed at how natural it all felt even as she admitted how bizarre it seemed that they could be doing this. And still, the voices of reason and doubt could not be completely silenced. "What are we doing, Mulder?" she whispered. He put his chin on her shoulder. "We're moving forward, Scully," he murmured into her ear. "Do you think it's the wrong direction?" "No," she answered finally. "It's just..." "Just what?" "I don't know." "Are you scared?" he asked gently. And she felt like a child then. The question was the kind one would ask of a child who's too young to know any better. When the fact that the world throws twists and turns and entirely new experiences at you in a continual, relentless barrage is a frightening thing to realize. But Scully was an adult who spent most of her waking hours in a dangerous job, successfully fielding that barrage of horrors. She should know how to handle fear. "A little." She turned a bit in his arms so that she could see him. And there he was. Just Mulder, half naked in his bed and holding her. Holding her. Imagine that? She smiled then and felt that wave of tenderness hit her again when she noted his tentative answering smile. "So am I, Scully," he admitted. "In fact, you scare the hell out of me sometimes." The fear left her. "Don't you mean most of the time?" What were they doing? Well, the surface answer to that part was easy. The other aspects only slightly more obscure. Mulder's expression was uncertain. And there was a fiercely protective streak that ran very strong through her for her partner. She had watched his back for seven years, making sure that no harm came to him. She felt protective now. Funny, that she'd be placed in a position that suddenly made her also feel like a possible threat to him. But he had not misplaced his trust. She brought her hands up to capture his face. He stayed where he was, possibly shocked by the gesture. His breath come more rapidly against her palms as she moved upward and placed her lips on his in a kiss singularly unlike any other they might have shared in the past. This one proclaimed intimacy, even as it tested the waters. It would no doubt have been called chaste by any voyeur. But it was gentle and tender and shared between them with something like wonder and possibly reverence. And when she pulled back, they settled on their respective sides of the bed, laying their heads on their pillows in order to regard one another. "Wow," Mulder said finally. "I might amend that statement I made earlier." "Which was..." "That the sensory overload of being in the bed with you was enough for tonight. That definitely tops it." She studied him then, this wounded yet resilient person in the bed with her. He intrigued her. He challenged her. He obviously loved her. She had admitted to Mulder tonight that she'd been ready to spend the rest of her life with Daniel. And she could remember the feelings for Daniel fairly clearly, if she cast her mind back. The small corner on contentment that she thought she'd found at the time with the older man's love. Love comes in many forms, after all. But it doesn't always have the answers to life's questions or insecurities. Nor is it always healthy. Was she traveling the same path of self-destruction with Mulder? Did anyone ever really know, with great certainty, when something was unquestionably right? And despite the worries that plagued her about making the one right choice, it also wasn't in her nature to do anything but question absolute statements when they were offered. Was there any one right choice? She'd like to see a scientific study that quantified the nature of love. Where in the gene pool did one find the alleles that code for forever? With these answers, perhaps the risk of this step could be evaluated. Barring that, she would have to content herself with her own intuition. Right now, this felt right. She had long ago placed her trust in Mulder. And he'd returned the favor. "How was Stonehenge, Mulder?" "Are you changing the subject?" "Not really." "You saw my hat, Scully. It rocked." He laughed quietly. "Actually, there were lots of families there, gawking at rocks and taking pictures. Photos that will feature most prominently the necessary barriers placed around the spectacle in order to keep people from stealing each little piece of it until it's all gone. After that, they pulled out picnic baskets and desecrated the surrounding grounds. You know...the usual." "So you didn't feel the power of it then?" she teased. He gave her a rueful little grin. "Maybe if it'd been a full moon. And it was just you and I and a circle of druids standing out there." She was going to say, if she were there, that definitely wouldn't have happened. She was going to say that around her, nothing magical seemed to happen. But then, she realized this wasn't true. That the events of the past seventy-two hours had slightly changed her perspective. She was still clinging to the old perspective because it defined her. It had shaped her into who she was. But she could no longer say what she'd been about to say. Her world had altered slightly. And she thought, if she'd been there, she might have felt some small suggestion of power. And that the next time she would go with Mulder when he asked her. She tried a different direction with the conversation. A lighter note. Her attempt at innuendo. "I don't know about the druids, but the 'just you and I' part sounds good, Mulder." He gave her a pleased but surprised smile. "It does?" There was a twinge of pain then, that he voiced this doubt. A realization of her great inability to let him know what he meant to her. Still, even armed with this knowledge, she couldn't think of an answer that didn't seem foolish or unlike her. So finally, all she said was, "Of course it does, Mulder." His arms wrapped more tightly around her. He pulled her up against him, squeezing her briefly before fitting her body more closely to his. She experienced only a momentary, fleeting panic before she gave in and found herself responding. Finding the place where she felt most comfortable in against him. His body was warm and solid. Her arms crept up around his neck and she could feel the uneven rise and fall of their rib cages expanding and contracting against each other. She kissed his ear because that's where her lips were. And he moved his head back in order to place his mouth on hers and kiss her lips instead. "We should sleep," she murmured, overwhelmed for a second by the tumult of her feelings. The noise created by the landslide of her emotions. She wanted this to stay simple. "We'll have to get up in a few hours and I still need to go home and change." Mulder nodded and wrapped himself around her. "Sleep, Scully," he murmured. "Tomorrow will get here soon enough." And that made it simple. Somehow, she ended up in against his side with her head resting on his chest and his arms holding her in place. It was an unexpected place to be. She listened to the beat of his heart under her fingertips. His skin was warm against hers, a tactile indulgence that was unrivaled. And she thought about how strange it is to stop and take stock of your life and see something entirely new. How most people just keep running on through, trying to keep up with the changes or escape them. Never stopping to notice where it is they are. Mulder had never been the one running, she realized. His ceaseless forward motion was only evidence of his fearlessness at facing life's disappointments and challenges, facing the great impermanence of it all, head on. She also realized, if she cast a hard eye on herself, that it was she who was running through life. Sometimes, it felt like she was doing so just to hold her place. The moments where time grew still for her were important. They oriented her. They allowed her to intelligently evaluate what fell behind and what might lie ahead. But mostly, they let her be content with no more than just knowing that she was still standing. She could let go of the circling worries about the past and the future that her mind insisted on practicing so diligently. It is in the present that we make our greatest impact. Slowly, she relaxed against Mulder. If she listened carefully to her heart, she knew where she was. She trusted this moment to lead them to the next. And from there, eventually into the next. In the end, they'd reach where they were going. Mulder had the courage to move them beyond hope and fear to find it. She need only move with him and recognize the limitless space of the human heart. And really, it was the journey that was the important part anyway. It was how well they traced this path through life that was the real goal. Not where they ended it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE END Send feedback to katy2blue@aol.com I know I'm slow in returning it, but I promise I'm appreciative. I like to keep it around me for a while and marvel at the fact that people actually read these stories...thanks all who do! :) AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was inspired by the book 'When Things Fall Apart; Heart Advice for Difficult Times'. This book was acknowledged by GA to be her very favorite book of the year, so of course I just had to read it I found it to be full of explanations for 'All Things' as well as full of wisdom on living well (in the buddhist tradition...just to warn you...which can also be slightly unnerving and does not seem all that easy to achieve! As we philes like to say, it's a bit 'out there') Some of said 'good karma' imparted to me through reading this book I have borrowed for this story with humble thanks to GA and to its author, Pema Chodron, and with the ridiculous hope that I interpreted the wisdom correctly, whether I'm able to follow it or not . The following is a quote paraphrased from the conclusion of the book, (the last paragraph of which even had the term 'all things' in it ) ... "When we realize that the path is the goal, there's a sense of workability...What seems undesirable in our lives doesn't have to trigger habitual reactions. We can let it show us where we're at and let it encourage precision, gentleness, and loving-kindness toward every moment. When we live this way, we feel frequently - maybe continuously - at a crossroads, never knowing what's ahead. It's an insecure way to live... We often find ourselves in the middle of a dilemma - what should I do? But we can use a difficult situation to encourage ourselves to take a leap, to step out into that ambiguity. This teaching applies to even the most horrendous situations life can dish out. This is our choice in every moment. Do we relate to our circumstances with bitterness or with openess? Whatever occurs can be regarded as the path and all things, not just some things, are workable. This teaching is a fearless proclamation of what's possible for ordinary people like you and me." ~Pema Chodron~ May we all find this place when contemplating season 8... Peace on earth to all ...Katy :) NOTE: If you own a fish tank, and you'd like that wonderful floating UFO ornament, I found it!!! Go to... https://www.petgiants.com/cgi-bin/petgiants.storefront and search under 'aquarium ornaments-aerating' for the 'interplanetary voyager' Enjoy!