From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 14 Dec 1999 16:38:30 -0600 Subject: Talking to the Walls (1/1): A Sequel to \"Redhead Dancing Girl\" by SisterZooey Source: direct Reply To: SisterZooey@yahoo.com Title: Talking to the Walls (1/1) Author: SisterZooey Rating: PG-13, I'd say. Category: MSR-ish Distribution Statement: Anywhere, babies. Just let me know. Feedback: SisterZooey@yahoo.com Spoilers: Amor Fati (I let it drop who bites it in that episode). Other than that, none. It should be read in relation to the events of "Millenium", even though I don't make direct reference to them. Summary: Scully's a nosy little thing. This story will make much more sense if you read "Redhead Dancing Girl" first. It can be found on Ephemeral, as I am too lazy to make my own page quite yet. Author's Notes: Thanks to all of the people who sent me nice feedback for "Redhead Dancing Girl". I hope you all dig this. Big up to my gal pals at OBSSE, especially Ms. Krikkit and Ms. Bead (I re-read "This Side of Paradise" - woo!). Disclaimer: Nope, they're still not mine. They still belong to Mr. CC and 1013. I think Scully has a lot more fun when I bring her out to play, though. Talking to the Walls (1/1) "Come to me There is something I have got to tell you and I can't tell Something taking shape Something that has a new name A new dimension A new use A new illusion It is ambient And it is in your eyes Something shiny Something only for you Something I must not see It is in my ears Something very resonant Something that you must not hear Something only for me Let us be very jealous Very suspicious Very conservative Very cruel Or we might make an end to the jostling of aspirations Disorb inviolate egos Where two or three are welded together They shall become god -------------------- Oh that's right Keep away from me Please give me a push Don't let me understand you Don't realise me Or we might tumble together Depersonalized Identical Into the terrific Nirvana Me you - you - me" -Mina Loy "Songs to Johannes" #XIII Thursday, January 20, 2000 6:00 p.m. Alexandria, VA Mulder's apartment was utterly still. It made me shiver. I set my bag down by the door and took a few steps into the room. Silent, stuffy... a bit dusty. I closed the door and jumped at the sound it made. I opened one of the windows over his desk and let in a blast of cool air. When I turned, I saw that the fish had all gravitated to the corner of the tank closest to me. "Hi guys," my voice was stunningly loud. "Hungry?" I lifted the lid on the tank and sprinkled some food on the surface of the water. They made quick work of it. I watched them until they finished eating and returned to important fish business. I turned to face the apartment as if it were demanding something of me. The room and I stood examining one another for a handful of moments. I had crossed my arms at my chest. When I realized this, I let them drop, let my shoulders slump a bit. I was feeling guilty and I was letting Mulder's apartment interrogate me. I straightened my spine, chewed the inside of my cheek. It was either this or go insane wondering. 'You could always **ask** him, Dana,' someone said behind me and I swatted at them over my shoulder. New determination rose up in me. Yes. I was going to do this. I strode back over to the door, snatching up what I will now acknowledge was an overnight bag. Without thinking, I passed back into the living room and opened Mulder's bedroom door. There. Just like making an Y- incision. One does not think. One simply does, in the name of larger and greater causes. Still striding, I passed into his room. Generic. Absolutely generic. There was a bed, a dresser, and clothes here and there. He had left a book resting pages-down on his nightstand. His reading glasses perched on the spine. I took a deep breath. The room smelled wonderfully of his body. So I took another. And perhaps a third. My mouth twisted into a little smile. I simply had to sleep in here that night. The couch was out of the question, even though that had been my plan before I had set foot in this intoxicating room. Since I had to sleep in here, I needed a plan. "Mulder, I just sat down to watch the news and next thing I knew it was 11:30. I didn't think you'd mind." Or how about, "Mulder, after it got dark I didn't really want to go back outside. With you gone, no one would have noticed me missing for two days." No, no that was too much. The first one was the better of the two. Or - Or I could just say nothing at all and let the smell of my hair on his pillow speak silent volumes. Tempting. That was, however, not the moment to be making that decision. For every moment I held still, I became slightly less resolved to stay. I went back into the living room, which still seemed suspicious of my intentions. I think it imagined me to be holding a tape measure and frilly curtains behind my back. I sat down on the couch. The couch knew me. The couch, I would go so far as to say, liked me. I ran my hands over the cool leather as I toed off my shoes. I shrugged out of my jacket, draped it over one arm of the couch and put my gun on the coffee table. I put my feet up and draped my arms along the back of the couch. I tilted my head back and checked that the peephole in the ceiling was still puttied up. It was. All was right with the world. The phone jolted me out of my reverie several minutes later. I regarded it as it yelled at me from the desk. Maybe it was Mulder. Maybe he had tried my place, had not reached me there, and was trying his own number, assuming I would be there. Just in case it was... "Hello?" "Agent Scully?" "Yes, this is. Frohike?" "Indeed it is, Scully. How have you been, darlin'?" I snorted inwardly. "Fine, Frohike, just fine. What's up?" "Is Mulder there?" "No, he's out of town." "Is he, really? I didn't know that." "Is there something I can help you with, Frohike?" "No, I was just calling to invite Mulder over for Mexican night." Frohike lowered his voice, "I don't suppose you'd be interested, wouldja, Scully?" "Thanks all the same, but I think I'll pass." "Fish sitting?" "You know it." "Well, I hope you have more luck than I do with the little bastards." "Thanks, Frohike, you have a good night." "Good night, Agent Scully." Click said the phone and click said my head. I had heard Mulder tell the guys that he couldn't make it to Mexican night. Frohike was conniving, but he wasn't forgetful. "Hmm," I said. "All right, Melvin, where is it?" I said very loudly. "Mulder told you I'd be in here, didn't he?" I sighed. "Damnit, Frohike, I don't want to spend the evening unscrewing every wall plate in this place and breaking all of Mulder's light bulbs." The phone rang. I nodded, turned on one heel, and snatched it up. "Yes?" "It's in the lid on the fish food container." Click. Sure enough. It looked like an electronic spider had laid eggs in the tetra food lid. I leaned in close and whispered into the jumble. "This better be the only one. Good night, gentlemen." I then dropped the lid on the floor, slipped one shoe on, and crushed it with my heel. I had run the first gantlet. The Gunmen were conquered. Regaining my stride, I made my way to the kitchen. My legs felt long and strong. I wasn't going to let this apartment boss me around. I was hungry, dammit, and it was going to feed me. The cupboards in Mulder's kitchen were a homage to the canned food industry. I suppose, I thought as I selected a can of chicken noodle soup for myself, that it is only practical. I didn't like to think about how much food had spoiled once it had come into my care. He had an old church-key can opener that I found after forays into three drawers. The can and I wrestled, with the church key favoring the can in the struggle, but I eventually won out. I heated the soup and made myself a peanut butter sandwich. While I poured myself a glass of orange juice, I realized I had assembled what had been my favorite meal in high school. I was an honors student. Frequently, I was at school so late studying and participating in one activity or another that I would miss dinner. When I got home, I would cook this very meal for myself. It took me two trips to get the bowl and the plate and the glass into the living room. I cleared off a spot on the coffee table for my meal and sat down onto the floor to eat. To keep me company, I turned on the TV. Apparently, Mulder had been watching CNN before he left that morning. I tucked that fact away in the back of my mind. After all, what was my little sleepover party with Mulder's place but a fact-finding expedition? I ate quickly, watching a Simpsons rerun that I had seen about 500 times. I washed my plate and bowl. I wiped down the counters that I had used in the kitchen. I think it confused them. They probably had no idea what I was doing. Back in the living room, I checked my watch. It was very nearly 7:00. The apartment was staring at me again, wondering what I was going to do next. I decided to change into my sweats. I changed my clothes in the bedroom with the door open. Rather than put on the T-shirt I had packed, I took one from Mulder's drawer. Perhaps, I thought (but only for a moment) that I am taking this a bit too far. I thought this, though, as I was pulling the shirt over my head. It hung almost to my knees and smelled wonderful. In my new armor, I proceeded to examine the place in greater detail. I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the bed. Cardboard boxes labeled "Books and Magazines" in Mulder's handwriting. I stood at the bedroom window for a moment, taking in the view that Mulder saw every morning. I put on a pair of his socks that I found mated on the floor and wiggled my toes in them. The bathroom was very small and incredibly clean, aside from a pool of towels on the floor. I hung them up. I opened the medicine cabinet slowly. I read a story in a magazine once about a person who filled their medicine cabinet with Ping-Pong balls to catch snoopers. Ever since then, I have opened other people's medicine cabinets very slowly. There were no Ping-Pong balls. There was -- after all, I had to check. As a doctor, I feel I am obligated to make sure that my closest friend has the proper first aid supplies. There was a box of Band-Aids (all different sizes), a half empty tube of Neosporin, a pair of tweezers, a bottle of Bactine which looked as though it hadn't been touched in five years. I know. I hate that stuff, too, Mulder. He had some gauze pads and tape. He had some burn ointment and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I picked it up and swished the contents around. It was very nearly empty. I wondered if he liked pouring it down the drain to hear it fizzle, too. I was satisfied with his medical supplies, so I moved on to the other full shelf. There was deodorant, a tube of toothpaste squeezed flat in the middle and bulging at both ends, unwrapped bars of soap, an unopened toothbrush, and a bottle of vitamins. There was a box whose contents I couldn't identify from looking at the side, so I pulled it from the shelf, careful to memorize how it had been position before I took it down. It was hair dye. Well, not really, it was that comb in stuff that hides gray. Fact number two of the evening - Mulder has gray hair somewhere on his head. I wasn't surprised. So do I. The last item in the cabinet was a small box of condoms. I snatched it up and turned it over and over in my hands. It was unopened. I examined it again, finding the expiration date on the side. February 1997. This gave me pause. I had found out about my infertility in December of 96. If coincidences are coincidences... I dismissed my thoughts with a shake of my head and tucked the box away. I closed the cabinet, leaving the painkiller shelf unexplored. I had seen the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. All that remained to examine was the living room. I was shaking slightly as I sat down on the floor in front of the fish tank. The movies were on the bottom shelf, seemingly untouched since I had seen them a couple weeks ago. My stomach was tied up in knots. I began to remove one tape at a time from the row of films, careful to keep them in order, careful not to disturb the dust. I almost wished I had latex gloves for a silly moment. I didn't look at what was revealed to me until I had removed all the tapes. I stared hard at the pile of "normal" tapes next to me for a long moment before I lifted my head to confront damning (God, I hoped) evidence. Mulder's fabled "Collection" was lined up before me. It looked to be about 24 tapes, which immediately made me wonder if there were more. I had always imagined there would be more. No matter, though, this was probably an adequate cross-section. I ran my eyes down the row and then back up it. I did it again, more slowly. "Every single one of them," I murmured. There was a wanton woman with deep orange hair on the side of every single box. I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. "My God," I whispered, "he wants me." I jerked my head up at my own words. Wait, no. There was the distinct possibility that I was wrong. But, once again my mind rang with Mulder's voice, if coincidences are coincidences... I methodically replaced the tapes, shifting them around until I was satisfied with their positioning. I stood up slowly. He wants you, you know it, the tapes, why would he get off on watching redheads, you're the only redhead he knows (you think), Dana, he wants you, the condoms, could that really be a coincidence, that could, I suppose, but the tapes, two dozen redheads, you know what this means, you nosy little thing, this means that Mulder probably lays on this couch and touches himself while he thinks about you - Enough! I sat down hard on the couch. Enough. Why had I done this? I wasn't going to be able to look him in the eye on Monday. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, paralyzing my optic nerve. I sat and watched the colors pass by for several minutes, not really entirely able to escape my realization. The problem was, I had no idea what to do with it. Why had I done this? "Okay," I said aloud, my voice distorted from the sides of my hands pinching my nose closed. "Okay, I know why I did this. Are you interested in hearing?" The apartment pressed in closer. I had its attention. "I did this because I know everything but the little tiny things about Mulder. I've seen him dying, for God's sake. How more personal can you get than that?" I jerked my head back from my hands. The world swam into focus. "I did this because I'm a coward. I can't confront Mulder with the way I feel about him," I paused for a moment. That was the first time I had ever acknowledged it aloud. "I can't tell him that I need him until I am sure he needs me in the exact same way." I laughed humorlessly. "Control freak." That's really what this was all about. I could have this on my terms and my terms only. I didn't need to put myself on the line in the least this way. Rather than ask him how many of his tapes had redheads on them, I made his apartment tell me. In return, nothing was demanded of me. It was at about this point that I realized I was crying. "I'm sorry, Mulder." Tears ran down my face quietly. He would forgive me, I knew. Mulder knew me; he would have known why I was doing this before I did. I would bet money that he knew I was doing this. "I'm sorry I dug through your stuff." I sniffed and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I went in search of Kleenex with my wet hand. I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, splashing cupped handfuls of icy water on my burning face. I supported myself with shaky hands and arms planted and locked on either side of the sink, letting the cool water drip off of my face. I could feel the lethargy that always comes after tears creeping in. I had read somewhere that it was a defense mechanism. One cries and their body releases chemicals to put them to sleep, to protect them. Sleep was beginning to sound ridiculously wonderful. I patted my face dry and crept off to the bedroom. I had just enough presence of mind to set the alarm. I did have to work in the morning, after all. I slid under the covers, settling into the dead center of the bed. Every muscle in my body uncoiled simultaneously and I sighed shakily. I was enclosed in warm, soft blankets and the smell of Mulder as he slept. I felt as if the bed was holding me, wrapping itself around me, soothing me, imploring me to stop crying, not to worry. I drifted off slowly as a phantom hand with long, tapered fingers stroked my hair. XXXXX 2:30 a.m. Fox Mulder's Bedroom I woke up abruptly to the sound of someone moving around in the living room. I sat straight up in bed, braced on my arms, eyes wide, and strained to listen. Cancerman, Krycek, the Gunmen with more fish food lid microphones, Diana Fowley's ghost coming for my ass... I cleared my throat and, in my best imitation of Agent Scully, I yelled "I'm a Federal Agent and I'm armed." As I said this, I remembered my gun was under the coffee table, in the living room, with whoever was out there. The bedroom door swung open. It was just light enough that I could see the shadow of a tall man. My gun hung in his left hand. It glinted in the dark. "You know, Scully, when you make that threat, you should probably be sure that you could back it up." I flopped back in the bed, my hand clutching my chest. "Jesus, Mulder, you scared the hell out of me." I could hear his smile in the dark. "I'll be sure to knock next time." I blushed. "Why - why are you home so soon? I wasn't expecting you until Saturday." He set his overnight bag down on the floor near the closet and toed off his shoes. "Well, let's just say my lawyer is going to be dealing with this one." "I'm sorry to hear that, Mulder." I saw his shrug in the dark. His back was to me. He shed his shirt and left it lying over his bag. He padded into the bathroom. I listened to him brush his teeth and wash up. I heard and the clink of the metal on his belt. I listened to quiet fabric sounds. The bathroom light blinked out and Mulder came back into the bedroom, wearing a pair of flannel pants. The light from the streetlight illuminated him for me as he passed through the room to the bed. His eyes met mine for a moment and I scooted over. He drew the covers back and fell heavily into the bed, settling himself quickly. "Is the alarm set?" "For seven." "Good." He yawned. "Goodnight, Scully." "Night, Mulder." We had settled down with our backs to one another. I lay very still for a moment, trying to decide if he was asleep. My wondering was interrupted when Mulder rolled over and drew me into his arms. We ended up spooned together in the center of the bed. He kissed the top of my head, but said nothing, letting his actions speak silent volumes. XXXFINXXX feedback me, babies