From: HamletAndEggs Date: 10 May 2002 13:17:28 GMT Subject: Trying again: not your usual fanfiction Source: atxc Warning: this is rated R for language and sexually explicit imagery. (This isn't what makes it unusual, however; I'm not that naive!) Veni, Vidi, Vici Another day, another letter, another twenty-four hours. Sometimes the monotony of it all is overwhelming. You understand, Dana. Ive seen you bracing yourself against a desk at the end of a work shift, fighting the urge to close your eyes. Ive seen you more often than you think I have. The skill of an agent: being able to watch without being noticed. I watch. I observe. I want. I'm writing this in a public library; I can't say where, but whether it's two thousand or two miles away from you, it's too far. I've never really told you how I feel, have I? Funny how so much can happen over the course of a year -- how much is left unsaid between us. I want to say it all in front of you, to witness the reaction on your beautiful face, to see the flush on your cheeks near your hair in tint. But, instead, I'm sitting at a computer terminal, looking behind me to make sure no one's watching. I'm not sure if I'll even send this; Christ knows it's dangerous. I could be found out. And you -- do you reciprocate these feelings, Dana? If you laugh at me, at this -- I don't know if I'm imagining what we have, or if there's something more. Then again, my intuition's rarely off. Ive seen you glance at me, Agent Scully; the proper, the righteous. I take those glances and weave them into stories, stories I play in my head at night in a cold bed. You say to me I know this is wrong, I know we work together and we shouldnt and my name, after that, the syllables raw and untested. My name again from your lips, as I move my mouth to your neck. There have been other women, of course, late night fucks in the backs of bars, longer relationships that have the pretense of commitment going for them. There have been women of which I like to think you would be jealous. I see you, in these glances, taking ownership. Mine, you say. Mine. I submit, I give, I want. Your detachment. After all this time, Christ, youre still so distant. Weve shared things together other agents havent experienced in a lifetime. And yet it is this same detachment that makes me writhe in the dark, my hand moving quickly between my legs; the idea of you moaning from my touch, the thought of breaking down that barrier between us. The idea that I might be the one to do it. Power, as you know, Dana, is the greatest aphrodisiac. I can see you as you read this, your mouth parting slightly in astonishment. Youve never considered me, have you? You take me for granted. You think of him while I imagine you twisting in my arms. Mulder, you say, nights alone, mirroring my futile attempts at satisfaction, hands pushing at your own skin. Mulder. The baby is in the next room, safe for the next few minutes, youre sure. Youre never right. Right initial, Dana, wrong name. You came to me yesterday, your forehead furrowed with worry. I wasnt able to get the results you wanted, you said. The name hung between us, still. Mulder. I was the only one aware of it. I didnt, couldnt speak. You wanted to know if I was all right. Agent Reyes, you pressed. Monica. I left. I wanted to tell you why; Im telling you now. I felt you staring at my back, wondering, using a fraction of your mind to care, the other ninety-eight percent focused on William, the case. On him. I held, I hold that Monica. Ill hear it tonight, replayed over and over, while I convince myself that those three syllables were code. I am the master of denial, the master of disguise, the master of want. There is magic in threes. My intuition, Dana, is rarely off. Finis.