Title: Wild Things: Part One: Where They Are

Author: RocketMan

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No

infringement is intended.

1. Where They Are

"Your mother never read you 'Where the Wild Things Are,' Scully?" he

asks, his face the most astonished that I have ever seen it.

"And obviously your mother did," I say, my eyebrow raising to indicate

his subtle oddities - the tie askew, the dress shoes that don't match

exactly with his suit, not to mention the look of mystery that steals

across his face.

His face reflects the small hurt that did and he says, "Yes, she did.

Your mother must have been quite lacking in her duties, Scully, to-"

I raise my hand. "Mulder," I say softly, my voice almost threatening.

"Let's not get started on mothers, because you know you would lose hands

down."

His eyes flicker and his face never changes, but I hurt him. I'm not

sure if I meant to or not.

"Anyway, Scully, the book is about a boy named Max who gets sent to bed

without his supper and his room turns into a jungle. He finds a sea and

travels across it for forever until he lands where the wild things live.

They make him king and he has fun for a while, but then he starts to

miss his mother, so he sails back home to find his supper waiting for

him."

Mulder's face looks almost childish as he recounts his tale and I don't

want to laugh, but I can't stiffle it all and a noise escapes my mouth.

He looks to me, his jaw working and his eyes glinting and I realize I

have gone too far.

I think I have found where the wild things are in Mulder.

"Scully . . . " he says softly, his eyes taking on the hue that always

signals storms.

"Mulder, I-"

"You just love messing with me, don't you?"

I jerk back as his hand snakes out.

"Well, no, Mulder. I don't-"

"Yes." he says, answering for me. "You do. But what I'm trying to figure

out is if you do it to purposefully hurt me, or out of some kind of

woman's reflex."

He's playing the same game today.

"Woman's reflex?"

"Yes, that must be it. So, taking this into consideration, I'll let it

go for now."

Yes, he definitely knows how to push my buttons, find the wild things in

me.

"Let it go for now?" I say, my voice dangerously low.

"What's wrong, Scully, can you not understand my last few words, is that

why you're repeating them?"

"What?!" I say, my own eyes swirling like a tumultuous sea.

I stand in front of him, my hands clenched unconsciously and my lips

parted and he's sitting calmly, laughing at me.

I quickly cross my arms over my chest and sit back down, glaring at him.

"You did that on purpose, Mulder."

He gives me a quirky smile. "So, maybe you'll shut up and listen now,

huh?"

I feel my muscles bunch under my jaw, and he sees how incredibly peeved

I am at him and he smiles.

Which, of course, makes me livid.

I stand and start stalking to the door.

He moves quickly, capturing me before I can leave and blocks my way.

I say nothing only try my stare on him.

He seems to be impervious to it.

"We have worked entirely too long together," I say, shaking my head.

He freezes.

My head shoots up to see him, to try and take away what I said. He's much

too sensitive for his own good.

"Mulder," I say softly, "That's not how I meant it."

He moves away, as if saying, go on and leave, I'm not standing in your

way.

"Mulder . . . "

He looks to me, then gives me a little smile. "I guess so, if you know

me that well, huh?"

I smile reassuringly. "But it's good."

I seem to be lacking in words today to describe this.

"Yeah." he agrees and sits down on his desk.

His eyes close for an instant.

"Max gets his supper in the end, Scully, and it turns out he wasn't

really gone."

It takes me a moment to catch up with his radical jumps in thought.

"Oh. What does that have to do with our next assignment?"

"Huh?" he says, looking at me.

"This case, about the Santa Claus who says he was taken up by aliens?"

HIs head kind of jerks. "What? Oh, nothing."

I stare at him for a moment.

We went through that entire thing for nothing?

Wild.

end

adios

RM

Title: Wild Things Part Two: Only For Your Thumb

Author: RocketMan

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. Thanks to Crash Test

Dummies for the lyric.

Wild Things Part Two: Only For Your Thumb

"Only for your thumb and forefinger supposed to show you're not a wild

beast."

--In The Days of The Caveman, by Crash Test Dummies

I feel the dizziness fall away and the reality set in.

The man is there, his smile like the Grinch that stole Christmas and his

eyes as cold as Scrooge. I shiver to feel his breath across my skin and

fingers to my throat. He grins again and rubs the crook of my arm; I am

too drugged to fight.

A needle comes and hurts and I feel a surge of toxin burn through my

blood and into my heart where it is pumped foolishly into my body. I try

to keep from breathing, to keep the panic down, but all I can think of

is the others who have died at this man's hands before me. The other

agents, the other women, the horrible frozen corpses deposited at the

doorsteps of their friends and relatives.

I can see Mulder opening his door on Christmas to my blind eyes.

I gag as the posion erupts in my stomach as chewing acid and eats me

away.

"Oh.....God...." he breathes, his breath mingling with mine.

I jerk my face from his and crawl to the very corner, determined to die

with my eyes shut, at least for Mulder's sake.

It comes harder, like eruptions of lava and I feel the sweat break and

flow down, making me slick and hot.

It's all heat and pain and icicles in my mouth and I can't feel my toes

anymore because it's paralyzing me; I'm dying here I know it.

I squeeze my eyes to block out everything, to keep some dignity, some

sanity for him, and feel the trembling start.

I'm shaking so violentally, I can't keep still, I can't control it, my

head is slamming into the floor over and over and this darkness, oh God,

thank you for the utter black oblivion.....sobbing.....

arms

Mulder

cool strength and cool words

flowing through me in tides

of compassion, agony coflicting with agony

cool water and cool lips

pressing my forehead

frantic fingers exploring

cool touch and cool hope

life ebbing

to and fro and away and near

dark

cold

dark

I wake to him and his eyes pleading for me to wake.

I feel his arms immediately and sink gratefully into their promise. He

smiles and puts his lips to my hands, my fingers wiping his tears.

I can't speak but only cling to him, discovering the safety again and

hoarding it for myself.

"Scully," he moans.

I shake my head, my voice will not work. I guess the drug paralyzed it.

"We got to you in time, Scully. You're going to be fine. You're going to

be okay."

I nod but my eyes don't.

"I won't let anyone near you, Scully. I swear I won't. He can't hurt you

anymore."

I nod but again my eyes are this woman's Benedict Arnold.

He pulls me up and holds to my waist, letting my head fall to his

shoulder in relief.

"He's dead Scully. I killed him."

His words are dead.

His voice is hurting and his eyes are scared.

I nod and my eyes heal him.

"I killed him Scully. It wasn't self defense." he whispers.

"Mul..r..." I groan.

I shake my head, my eyes filling and my fingers reaching for his face,

to either slap him or hold him I don't know.

"I couldn't stand his.....oh, Scully, we thought you were dead and he

was just sitting there, waiting for us with that Grinch grin and I lost

it. I lost it. The other agent with me told me . . . afterwards he came

up to me and said it was clearly self defense. That man is going to lie

for me Scully. I was wrong. I hurt him, killed him and . . . but he hurt

you, I thought he had killed you . . . he almost had."

I offer my arms and he comes into them, always the hurting man, the

suffering innocent. I cradle him and wish I could talk, that my vocal

cords would unfreeze.

But even choking out that small part of his name ripped apart my throat.

"I'm going to let him, Scully." he says quietly and will not look at me.

The animal instinct in him reacted to infringement on his territory, to

what he thought was the slaughter of one of his own, and he lashed out,

defended his name and mine.

Of course, that's justification only for lions and wild beasts.

And that's not human, right?

Maybe it is and it's all right, but then what is truth?

He sees this in my eyes and shakes his head.

"I have to Scully. I have to. Otherwise, it's all over." he says and

moves away from me, initiating the break away before he thinks I will.

But I wasn't going to pull away from him.

I hold on to his shirt and pull him back.

He frowns and his eyes darken into fountains of night.

I take his hand and run my finger along his thumb. It is one small thing

that separates us from animals. A thumb and a soul.

And Mulder's soul is beautiful, not animal.

His hand raises and his thumb strokes my chin briefly.

It brings a smile and I kiss his palm, surprising him and me.

Then he rises again, leaving in peacefulness and calm, knowing I am not

condemning him.

He told me before, in a similar hospital room, that he came to see if he

was making the wrong decision, knowing I'd talk him out of it.

I can't talk, but I still gave him my opinion.

Only this time, I'm not sure it was right.

What is our animal truth?

end

adios

RM

Subject: Wild Things Part Three: Steely Knives

Date: Wed, 17 Dec 1997 16:21:53 +0000

From: Lyle Bontrager <[email protected]>

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Title: Wild Things Part Three: Steely Knives

Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<

Dsiclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. No infringement on CC

or Fox is intended.

SPOILER FOR EMILY!!!!!!!

Steely Knives

"They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the

beast."

--Hotel California by the Eagles

"So how does that Potato face go again Mulder?"

His eyebrows shoot up and he shakes his head.

I smile partway and then lapse back into silence.

I shouldn't have brought it up. It only makes me remember Emily clearer,

better, with her child face and fingers and the shy smile she gave him

when he came in.

"Hey, Scully..." he says, as if pleading with me not to start again.

I say nothing only flash him a tight 'I'm fine' smile and turn away.

"Scully, you need to talk about her. You want to talk about her, but

every time you start, you close up again."

I shake my head. I just don't want to remember anymore. I was fine

before, without her and not knowing about her, so why can't I make it go

away?

"Scully," he says sharply, as if he can hear my thoughts.

"Stop it Mulder. I don't need to talk."

I start to walk away from him, but the airport is crowded and I don't

want to lose him. Our plane is waiting to take us back to D.C.

So I sort of stand aside and move so that I no longer feel his heat

against me.

"Scully," he says again and walks right up to my ear, tickling it with

his voice's echo.

"Mulder, stop! I just want to stop remembering her!"

Silence freezes between us.

I gulp and realize what has just been said.

I can't speak.

He's staring at me like I'm the worst woman, mother, on earth.

His hand comes up . . . I think in a brief flash he will hit me . . . it

covers my neck . . . slight easy touch . .

"I'm sorry - I -"

He shakes his head. "I know what you mean. You wish it could go back to

the way it was. Not that you wish you didn't know Emily."

I nod soundlessly and sink to the chair before me, the hard form

fitting, but not my form, airport chair.

I bury my face in my hands.

"Oh Mulder, it hurts so bad."

He sits next to me and does not reach out, he knows I don't want him to

touch me really.

"She was a beautiful little girl." he says softly. "Just like her

mother."

I only shake.

I've lost something so valuable, something that should never have been

taken from me, from my body or my life.

My own little girl, hurting and afraid, dying within while I'm without

and I couldn't even touch her.

"I couldn't even touch her till the very end Mulder." I say, almost

transfixed in my grief.

He nods and simply watches my eyes, my pain swirling there.

"I laid down next to her until she just floated away."

He takes my body, my shaking almost crying body, and wraps his love

around me. I could float away too.

"I just want the peace back again, Mulder. I thought when I beat the

cancer, that nothing could hurt me again. But this . . . how many more

Emilys are there?"

"I know you want the hurt to go away, Scully, and it's okay to feel

that. But I know you don't want Emily to go away. And that part of her

will stay with you forever."

I nod into him and sink gratefully into the never failing Mulder logic.

I sit there, in the airport with millions of people around us, in

Mulder's arms and somewhere my mother getting herself a cup of coffee,

and I really couldn't care less.

This feels right . . . it feels comforting.

I don't care what people read into it, or even what it really means, I

just need my friend.

He tilts my face up and smiles.

I laugh as he makes the Potato face.

"I guess it works like a charm on all the Scully women," he whispers.

end

adios

RocketMan

Subject: Wild Things: Zebras (1/1)

Date: Tue, 23 Dec 1997 20:23:48 +0000

From: Lyle Bontrager <[email protected]>

To: [email protected]

Title: Wild Things: Zebras (1/1)

Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<

Dislcaimer: I do not own zebras, I believe they were created by God, so

that would entitle him to full property rights. Oh, yeah, I don't own

Mulder and Scully either. CC, 1013, and Fox do though. (Doesn't it sound

like some kind of ER episode with CC in there like medicine dosage or

something?) I forget, is this part 3 or 4 or 5?

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE.

Zebras

"Yeah, so what?"

"Charlie, shut up. You sound like a moron."

"Yeah, so what?"

"Shut up, you moron."

"Mom! Dana's calling me a moron!"

"Shut up!"

"Dana, don't call your brother a moron."

"Moron . . ."

"Mo - om!"

"Da - na!"

"I didn't!"

"Dana don't lie."

"All right . . . he is a moron, I'm not lying. . ."

"All right . . . he is a moro-"

"Mom! Charlie's copying me!"

"You two behave now! or Santa Claus won't come at all!"

Silence.

"moron"

"butthead"

"idiot"

"oh, good one, slime face"

"shut up, dork breath"

"you're just a dork"

"well . . . "

"well what smarty?"

Dana pouted.

She'd never been good at name calling. Not original enough.

"Well you're both morons, okay?"

"Shut up Melissa!" they said in sync.

And then went off to play as best friends again.

~*~*~*~*~

"Scully?"

"Huh?"

"Where were you?"

"Uhm, just thinking about Christmas."

"Excited?"

"Nah. Just remembering old Christmases."

"Oh. Good ones?"

"Yeah. We always had good ones. Didn't realize it then, but we did."

"Santa Claus never gave you coal?"

A laugh.

"I guess that's a no."

"Actually, my mother once gave me a stocking full of coal, but this was

in October and I'd been caught smoking and well, doing some things I

shouldn't have and she'd been trying to reach me. Gave me coal."

"As a warning? What, afraid Santa would give you coal on Christmas?"

"No, afraid my parents would kick me out for Christmas."

"Really? Good little Scully? Kicked out?"

"Yeah."

"Did you do anything else really bad ever in your life?"

A sheepish look. "Well, yeah."

"Coal deserving?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

"Tell me."

"What? Now?"

"What else is there to do?"

"Uhm, hhm, work?"

"Nope. Tell me."

"I ran away."

"What?!"

"I did."

"Scully, ran away? Why?"

"Because I was mad. And only four years old."

"Where'd you go?"

"To the zoo."

"The zoo. Kind of a stupid place to go."

"Well, I bet you just went around the block when it was dark when *you*

ran away from home."

"Ouch. Touche."

"So, I went to the zoo. Stayed with the zebras."

"Zebras?" He was laughing. "What? Did you think you could blend in?"

"Ha. Ha. Funny today Mulder."

"Oh, now, come on. Why zebras?"

"I like zebras. They're not like anything else. I mean a horse and a

mule maybe, but those wild stripes . . "

"So, it made you feel wild to run away from home and so did those

stripes?"

"Sure . . ."

"So how'd you like a zebra feeling now?"

"Huh?"

He'd been getting closer with every word, every exchange and now she

realized he was right there.

Right there.

Zebras were stampeding.

He bent forward, looking her right in the eye.

"How'd you like that zebra wildness again?"

"Well . . ."

He took it as a yes.

And kissed her.

Stampede, stampede.

end

adios

RM

Subject: Wild Thing 5: I Want To Know

Date: Thu, 01 Jan 1998 01:34:50 +0000

From: Lyle Bontrager <[email protected]>

To: [email protected]

Title: Wild Thing 5: I Want To Know

Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<

Disclaimer: M&S belong to CC, 1013, and Fox.

THIS IS NOT IN FIRST PERSON LIKE THE OTHERS.

"Wild thing, I think I love you . . . Well, I wanna know for sure."

--Wild Thing, The Troggs

I Want To Know

"Well, Happy New Year, Scully."

She smiled and patted his arm as he leaned against the doorframe, taking

in her aroma and her breath.

Once again, on a case, on a holiday.

Not that either of them had anything better to do. And the only reason

they were up at midnight was beacause of the case. It had taken longer

than they had thought to get back-up for the stakeout. Of course, they

should've known, since it was New Year's.

He let her into the bathroom first, grumbling at having to share when

every other time motels had a bathroom for each room.

She walked in and he switched on the television, watching a million

people cheering in Times Square as the ball was already dropped and the

clock now read 12:13. Great, another year gone and he was no closer to

anything, really. Sure, he'd gotten to see Samantha for about ten

minutes, but she was frightened of him and hadn't called back, ever. He

had a bad feeling she never would either.

And all he had managed on the Scully front was a meager kiss that left

him reeling and her dazed.

He hadn't tried a thing since: he was a bit frightened.

He sank into the bed and ignored the TV and listened instead to the

sound of water hitting tiles and shower curtain and her bare body and

sliding down her skin to the curve of her breasts and across her

shoulders, down, down, down to places he had only imagined and places if

she knew he was imagining she would be moritfied.

He closed his eyes and shivered, drifting off into a coma like trance

where all he did was replay their kiss and see her lips closer and

closer until he went cross-eyed and had to close them.

He loved her. Right?

Then why couldn't he get up the nerve to kiss her again?

The water had stopped finally and all he heard was nothing.

He stood and walked stiffly to the bathroom door, shaking as he kept

seeing her lips in his mind, moist from him.

"Scully?"

Nothing again.

"Scully?"

"Just a second, Mulder. I'm drying off."

He nodded even though she couldn't see it and sat down in the chair by

the door, feeling his legs quake a little.

The door popped open a bit later and she came out, saying, "Your turn

Mulder."

Then she left through the other door, connecting her motel room to his

through their mutual bathroom.

He walked in and started the water and stripped down to his boxers

before realizing he didn't have any shampoo and that the cheap motel

hadn't provided any like he'd hoped.

He walked into her room and saw a flash of skin before her robe came

quickly around her shoulders.

"Uh, Scully, can I borrow your shampoo?"

She nodded and smiled and he left, his mind reeling from the after image

of her skin burned into his retinas.

He got in the shower and began lathering soap across his body and on his

face, scrubbing like he'd been taught.

He rinsed under the shower head and then grabbed her bottle of Herbal

Essences shampoo.

Her smell hit him like physical blow to the chest.

His lungs filled with the flavor and then would not breathe out, afraid

there would be none left. It was everywhere though and he had to sag

against the wall in order to catch his breath.

Her.

That smell of clean warm human flesh without noxious flowery perfume,

only soap and shampoo and water.

He put a ton of the gel into his hand and lathered his hair, smelling

and smelling and smelling until he had her smell printed deep into his

consciousness to where nothing could make him forget it.

He used her conditioner too, wanting to get the full effect.

When he stepped out of the shower and dried off she was still there.

Her smell anyway.

He put on deoderant and a dab of cologne and then his pajamas. Plaid

pants with a white T-shirt.

As the cologne mixed with the Her-smell he suddenly felt weak, as if a

horse had dragged him along behind.

It was the mixture that killed him. It smelled like them together, if

they had been woven into a tight oneness that had defied all reasons.

One person, one smell, one love and grace and beauty.

Her and him.

And it was right. It didn't clash or irritate his senses or disagree

with his stomach.

He went slamming into her door and through it and next to her as she sat

up in bed in sweat pants and a white T-shirt that she had borrowed from

him once when she'd forgotten her own pajamas.

And he kissed her hard.

She surged back, away from his recklessness and irrationality.

"Mulder!"

He smiled foolishly, not caring that he had been way out of line and

crazy but only that she was right for him and perfect, perfect.

"Mulder?"

"You're it." he said and smiled goofily.

She shook her head. "I'm too tired to play games, Mulder. What are you

doing?"

"Loving you."

Her jaw dropped and he laughed.

Her eyes looked like blue popsicles with a bite shaving off the top so

that the little shards of ice could be seen radiating out from the

center stick.

They looked cold and blue and lovable.

Very lovable.

"Do you love me?"

She shook her head dumbly. "Mulder. I-"

"Nope, answer."

"What? Not now, Mulder. In the morning, this is too crazy. You're tired

and -"

"Um, no. Answer..."

"No!"

"No, you won't answer, or no you odn't love me?"

"No, I don't love you. Now go to bed."

He stared at her, not contemplating rejection. "No?"

His voice was little and hurt and she felt bad, but it really wasn't the

right time to ask, after Emily and everything.

"Is it okay if I love you anyway?" he said, sounding small and fragile

and stepped on.

She bit her lip and took hid hand. "Yes, but Mulder, seriously, get some

sleep and then talk to me. It's already 1:23."

He sighed. "I won't be able to sleep."

Then his eyes perked up. "You don't hate me for loving you?"

"Mulder," she groaned. "You need some sleep. Of course I don't hate

you."

"Then you must love me."

"No," she started but couldn't say to him again that she didn't love

him. Part of her was revolting inside.

"Mulder," she said softly. "Are you being serious?"

"I'm serious. Giddy because I finally told you, but serious."

"Giddy?"

"Go with it Scully."

She nodded and then kissed him, pulling him close until her lips were

against his and shocks like when you accidentally touch the current were

running through them both.

"What was that?"

"Me going with it."

He smiled. "Go with it some more."

She shook her head. "Mulder, I don't love someone unless I think it's

forever."

He stopped laughing and joking and ran a finger along her cheek. "I

think this is forever here. There's no way I couldn't love you."

Scully nodded. "This is kind of wild."

He smiled and touched her hair reverently almost.

"Yeah. Wild."

She shook her head. "Go back to bed, Mulder. We'll talk in the morning."

Mulder eased off her bed and slipped through the bathroom back to his

room. That had been the most awkward way of saying what he meant than

ever.

At least she had believed him.

But he still kind of wondered. Did she love him? She had kissed him and

'gone with it' but said nothing.

It was all crazy anyway. Her smell and his seducing him until he had to

kiss her. Crazy.

Wild.

True.

His whole life could start with her.

Forever.

end

adios

RM

Title: Wild Things: Zebras (1/1)

Author: RocketMan

Disclaimer: I do not own zebras, I believe they were created by God, so

that would entitle him to full property rights. Oh, yeah, I don't own

Mulder and Scully either. CC, 1013, and Fox do though. (Doesn't it sound

like some kind of ER episode with CC in there like medicine dosage or

something?) I forget, is this part 3 or 4 or 5?

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE.

Wild Things Part Four: Zebras

"Yeah, so what?"

"Charlie, shut up. You sound like a moron."

"Yeah, so what?"

"Shut up, you moron."

"Mom! Dana's calling me a moron!"

"Shut up!"

"Dana, don't call your brother a moron."

"Moron . . ."

"Mo - om!"

"Da - na!"

"I didn't!"

"Dana don't lie."

"All right . . . he is a moron, I'm not lying. . ."

"All right . . . he is a moro-"

"Mom! Charlie's copying me!"

"You two behave now! or Santa Claus won't come at all!"

Silence.

"moron"

"butthead"

"idiot"

"oh, good one, slime face"

"shut up, dork breath"

"you're just a dork"

"well . . . "

"well what smarty?"

Dana pouted.

She'd never been good at name calling. Not original enough.

"Well you're both morons, okay?"

"Shut up Melissa!" they said in sync.

And then went off to play as best friends again.

~*~*~*~*~

"Scully?"

"Huh?"

"Where were you?"

"Uhm, just thinking about Christmas."

"Excited?"

"Nah. Just remembering old Christmases."

"Oh. Good ones?"

"Yeah. We always had good ones. Didn't realize it then, but we did."

"Santa Claus never gave you coal?"

A laugh.

"I guess that's a no."

"Actually, my mother once gave me a stocking full of coal, but this was

in October and I'd been caught smoking and well, doing some things I

shouldn't have and she'd been trying to reach me. Gave me coal."

"As a warning? What, afraid Santa would give you coal on Christmas?"

"No, afraid my parents would kick me out for Christmas."

"Really? Good little Scully? Kicked out?"

"Yeah."

"Did you do anything else really bad ever in your life?"

A sheepish look. "Well, yeah."

"Coal deserving?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

"Tell me."

"What? Now?"

"What else is there to do?"

"Uhm, hhm, work?"

"Nope. Tell me."

"I ran away."

"What?!"

"I did."

"Scully, ran away? Why?"

"Because I was mad. And only four years old."

"Where'd you go?"

"To the zoo."

"The zoo. Kind of a stupid place to go."

"Well, I bet you just went around the block when it was dark when *you*

ran away from home."

"Ouch. Touche."

"So, I went to the zoo. Stayed with the zebras."

"Zebras?" He was laughing. "What? Did you think you could blend in?"

"Ha. Ha. Funny today Mulder."

"Oh, now, come on. Why zebras?"

"I like zebras. They're not like anything else. I mean a horse and a

mule maybe, but those wild stripes . . "

"So, it made you feel wild to run away from home and so did those

stripes?"

"Sure . . ."

"So how'd you like a zebra feeling now?"

"Huh?"

He'd been getting closer with every word, every exchange and now she

realized he was right there.

Right there.

Zebras were stampeding.

He bent forward, looking her right in the eye.

"How'd you like that zebra wildness again?"

"Well . . ."

He took it as a yes.

And kissed her.

Stampede, stampede.

end

adios

RM

Title: Wild Things 5: I Want To Know

Author: RocketMan

Disclaimer: M&S belong to CC, 1013, and Fox.

THIS IS NOT IN FIRST PERSON LIKE THE OTHERS.

"Wild thing, I think I love you . . . Well, I wanna know for sure."

--Wild Thing, The Troggs

Wild Things 5: I Want To Know

"Well, Happy New Year, Scully."

She smiled and patted his arm as he leaned against the doorframe, taking

in her aroma and her breath.

Once again, on a case, on a holiday.

Not that either of them had anything better to do. And the only reason

they were up at midnight was beacause of the case. It had taken longer

than they had thought to get back-up for the stakeout. Of course, they

should've known, since it was New Year's.

He let her into the bathroom first, grumbling at having to share when

every other time motels had a bathroom for each room.

She walked in and he switched on the television, watching a million

people cheering in Times Square as the ball was already dropped and the

clock now read 12:13. Great, another year gone and he was no closer to

anything, really. Sure, he'd gotten to see Samantha for about ten

minutes, but she was frightened of him and hadn't called back, ever. He

had a bad feeling she never would either.

And all he had managed on the Scully front was a meager kiss that left

him reeling and her dazed.

He hadn't tried a thing since: he was a bit frightened.

He sank into the bed and ignored the TV and listened instead to the

sound of water hitting tiles and shower curtain and her bare body and

sliding down her skin to the curve of her breasts and across her

shoulders, down, down, down to places he had only imagined and places if

she knew he was imagining she would be moritfied.

He closed his eyes and shivered, drifting off into a coma like trance

where all he did was replay their kiss and see her lips closer and

closer until he went cross-eyed and had to close them.

He loved her. Right?

Then why couldn't he get up the nerve to kiss her again?

The water had stopped finally and all he heard was nothing.

He stood and walked stiffly to the bathroom door, shaking as he kept

seeing her lips in his mind, moist from him.

"Scully?"

Nothing again.

"Scully?"

"Just a second, Mulder. I'm drying off."

He nodded even though she couldn't see it and sat down in the chair by

the door, feeling his legs quake a little.

The door popped open a bit later and she came out, saying, "Your turn

Mulder."

Then she left through the other door, connecting her motel room to his

through their mutual bathroom.

He walked in and started the water and stripped down to his boxers

before realizing he didn't have any shampoo and that the cheap motel

hadn't provided any like he'd hoped.

He walked into her room and saw a flash of skin before her robe came

quickly around her shoulders.

"Uh, Scully, can I borrow your shampoo?"

She nodded and smiled and he left, his mind reeling from the after image

of her skin burned into his retinas.

He got in the shower and began lathering soap across his body and on his

face, scrubbing like he'd been taught.

He rinsed under the shower head and then grabbed her bottle of Herbal

Essences shampoo.

Her smell hit him like physical blow to the chest.

His lungs filled with the flavor and then would not breathe out, afraid

there would be none left. It was everywhere though and he had to sag

against the wall in order to catch his breath.

Her.

That smell of clean warm human flesh without noxious flowery perfume,

only soap and shampoo and water.

He put a ton of the gel into his hand and lathered his hair, smelling

and smelling and smelling until he had her smell printed deep into his

consciousness to where nothing could make him forget it.

He used her conditioner too, wanting to get the full effect.

When he stepped out of the shower and dried off she was still there.

Her smell anyway.

He put on deoderant and a dab of cologne and then his pajamas. Plaid

pants with a white T-shirt.

As the cologne mixed with the Her-smell he suddenly felt weak, as if a

horse had dragged him along behind.

It was the mixture that killed him. It smelled like them together, if

they had been woven into a tight oneness that had defied all reasons.

One person, one smell, one love and grace and beauty.

Her and him.

And it was right. It didn't clash or irritate his senses or disagree

with his stomach.

He went slamming into her door and through it and next to her as she sat

up in bed in sweat pants and a white T-shirt that she had borrowed from

him once when she'd forgotten her own pajamas.

And he kissed her hard.

She surged back, away from his recklessness and irrationality.

"Mulder!"

He smiled foolishly, not caring that he had been way out of line and

crazy but only that she was right for him and perfect, perfect.

"Mulder?"

"You're it." he said and smiled goofily.

She shook her head. "I'm too tired to play games, Mulder. What are you

doing?"

"Loving you."

Her jaw dropped and he laughed.

Her eyes looked like blue popsicles with a bite shaving off the top so

that the little shards of ice could be seen radiating out from the

center stick.

They looked cold and blue and lovable.

Very lovable.

"Do you love me?"

She shook her head dumbly. "Mulder. I-"

"Nope, answer."

"What? Not now, Mulder. In the morning, this is too crazy. You're tired

and -"

"Um, no. Answer..."

"No!"

"No, you won't answer, or no you don't love me?"

"No, I don't love you. Now go to bed."

He stared at her, not contemplating rejection. "No?"

His voice was little and hurt and she felt bad, but it really wasn't the

right time to ask, after Emily and everything.

"Is it okay if I love you anyway?" he said, sounding small and fragile

and stepped on.

She bit her lip and took hid hand. "Yes, but Mulder, seriously, get some

sleep and then talk to me. It's already 1:23."

He sighed. "I won't be able to sleep."

Then his eyes perked up. "You don't hate me for loving you?"

"Mulder," she groaned. "You need some sleep. Of course I don't hate

you."

"Then you must love me."

"No," she started but couldn't say to him again that she didn't love

him. Part of her was revolting inside.

"Mulder," she said softly. "Are you being serious?"

"I'm serious. Giddy because I finally told you, but serious."

"Giddy?"

"Go with it Scully."

She nodded and then kissed him, pulling him close until her lips were

against his and shocks like when you accidentally touch the current were

running through them both.

"What was that?"

"Me going with it."

He smiled. "Go with it some more."

She shook her head. "Mulder, I don't love someone unless I think it's

forever."

He stopped laughing and joking and ran a finger along her cheek. "I

think this is forever here. There's no way I couldn't love you."

Scully nodded. "This is kind of wild."

He smiled and touched her hair reverently almost.

"Yeah. Wild."

She shook her head. "Go back to bed, Mulder. We'll talk in the morning."

Mulder eased off her bed and slipped through the bathroom back to his

room. That had been the most awkward way of saying what he meant than

ever.

At least she had believed him.

But he still kind of wondered. Did she love him? She had kissed him and

'gone with it' but said nothing.

It was all crazy anyway. Her smell and his seducing him until he had to

kiss her. Crazy.

Wild.

True.

His whole life could start with her.

Forever.

end

adios

RM

Title: Wild Things VI: Heart-Histories

Author: RocketMan

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No

infringement is intended.

THIS IS IN FIRST PERSON AS THE OTHERS

"All-all expired save thee-save less than thou:

Save only the divine light in thine eyes-

Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes.

I saw but them-they were the world to me.

I saw but them-saw only them for hours-

Saw only them until the moon went down.

What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten

Upon thos crystalline, celestial spheres!

. . . How fathomless a capacity for love!"

--'To Helen' Edgar Allan Poe

Wild Things VI: Heart-Histories

"Are we back again to that?"

"I think it's fascianting."

"But, Mulder, really, get serious."

"I am being serious."

I frown at him and shake my head. He really needs to get this "Where the

Wild Things Are" out of his system. He keeps saying that our killer is a

wild thing.

"Mulder, Wild Things is only in the imagination of your friend Max, and

well, Max too, is only in someone else's imagination."

"That's what they said about Vampires to the person who wrote Count

Dracula."

I nod and shake my head. "So?"

"So, there *are* vampires!"

"Sure, Mulder."

"Don't patronize me."

"Oh, I'm not. I'm trying to lull you into a false sense of security so

that you won't blow up at me for not believing your theories and run off

somewhere, leaving me to follow those outrageous leaps of insight."

He smiles shyly and shrugs his shoulders. "Oh, is *that* all?"

I smile back and I really am tempted to kiss him, but I don't.

Not at work. Not with the other agents watching us argue in front of the

desk to requisition a car.

"That's all."

He lifts an eyebrow and I am about to lift mine back when a sudden

flutter starts residing under my ribs and makes it hard to breathe.

I shake my head and pull away from him but he's not even looking at me

anymore, only grabbing the keys to the car and walks ahead.

I falter and finally get the flutter to stop and head for our standard

grey blue Bureau vehicle.

I strap in and watch listlessly as he pulls out of the garage and heads

back to the old house where the ninety year old woman was brutally

attacked and slaughtered. It certainly appeared that an animal had done

it.

Then the fluttering starts again, but it hurts more this time, like a

knife sticking into my ribs and puncturing my lung whenever I try to

breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the door handle and am very

glad Mulder hasn't noticed.

He's still thinking about Wild Things.

My eyes turn to his and he jerks and I can see him actually *shaking*

and that frightens me more than the fact that it hurts whenever I

breathe.

Too much to breathe.

"Scully?"

I shake my head: talking would require more breath than I am willing to

take in.

"Scully, do you need a hopsital?"

I nod and feel the world start blacking out in some places, losing my

vision in sharp corners until all I see are his calm brown eyes.

I feel the car swerve around and squeals meet my ears but I really can't

even keep my eyes open anymore because the pain is so bad, so bad.

"Scully?" His voice is strained. "Scully, open your eyes so that I know

you're still awake . . "

At least he doesn't want me to sing . . .

My eyes crack open and roll over to him and his brown ones aren't so

calm anymore.

"What's going on, Scully?"

I shake my head. I don't know. I really don't understand why it feels

like my ribs are catching on my lungs as I try to breathe or why

suddenly it feels like I have swallowed sharp things whole and they are

now digging into my stomach and back.

He reaches out and grabs my hand: small comfort; I want him to keep

driving and do it carefully.

But I black out before anything else comes.

~~~~

I wake up panicked in a scratchy bed with a machine controlling my

breaths and I know rationally it is a ventillator, but it still scares

me because I know what a vent is *for*.

"Scully, it's okay. You're okay."

I turn and hitch my breath because my heart beat is faster than the pump

and he catches hold of my hand and kisses it.

I nod but I'm soon back into a trance because the vent keeps my breath

at a certain speed and that speed is sleep speed.

But I feel Mulder kiss my forehead and my hand again and stay right

there.

I need that.

~~~~

I wake this time without the vent and feel much better even though it is

the same way I felt before but knowing that I'm well enough to be off

the ventillator is a good thing. Getting off is the hardest for most

patients and some die when you take them off it.

It's an addiction I guees in a way.

Mulder squeezes my shoulders and answers the questions in my eyes.

"You had some kind of asthma or something is what I'm hearing."

"Read my chart," I say in a scratchy voice.

He reads words that make no sense to him, but they do to me and I smile

and nod. "Just asthma."

He seems more relieved than me but that's becasue I still don't know why

I had asthma problems. I've never had it before.

"The doctor told me you could be allergic to something," he says and

sits on my bed, holding me.

"Well, I've never been to this FBI office before, maybe it's something

there in the cleaning?"

Mulder nods, eager to accept this and go on.

"You scared me."

I look up to him and smile. "I scared me."

He kisses my forehead again and says, "It'll be all right, though. The

doctor will get you some medicine that you can take to keep it from

happening again while we're here."

I nod and let my head fall into his arms.

"I guess I can go then, huh?"

He nods again and things seem very strange and not at all real to me, as

if this Mulder were a puppet being directed by someone else's words and

rules. I look at him and behind the relief that had become so obvious

there is an underlying fear.

What's really going on?

"Mulder . . ."

He shakes his head quickly, anxiously, a brief out of control gesture

that tells me more than any words.

Something isn't right.

Then he is that outward calm again and I narrow my eyes at him. His eyes

are pleading with me to go along with it.

<Go with it, Scully.>

I can feel my limbs shaking as I get out of the bed and pull on my

clothes. He watches me and nods softly, as if he is enjoying it, but I

can tell he is very afraid.

When we leave he makes a big show of it and then, in the car, my

medicine ready to be taken, he stills my hand and stares straight into

me.

I leave the pill and pretend I took it.

We get to the motel room and he explains over the roaring of the shower

in the bathroom that he saw someone do something to the Coke I had

earlier and that the doctor found a toxin of alien origin in my blood

and hid it, but told everyone it was asthma so that he could give me a

pill to maybe kill me.

Except Mulder had caught his mistake and found the real reports.

He grabbed my head and kissed me roughly on the mouth.

"When I saw your eyes roll back, those eyes that tell me every day that

you love me, I almost died. They're after us Scully. They really hate

that we're together."

I nod and shake all over, realizing that those pills could have really

killed me and so grateful that Mulder was as paranoid as he was.

I held him for a long time and remembered that this was just the

beginning of our long history together.

end

adios

RM

Title: Wild Things VII: This. This. This.

Author: RocketMan

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me and I take no credit

or wealth from their creation. They are the full property of Chris

Carter and 1013 in production with Twentieth Century Fox Broadcasting.

No infringement is intended.

Lucille Clifton is a poet and the following poem is hers also, found in

"The Book Of Light" published by Copper Canyon Press. No infringment is

intended.

Can I help it if I am inspired?

SPOILER FOR ****KITSUNEGARI****

Wild Things VII: This. This. This.

"it was a dream

in which my greater self

rose up before me

accusing me of my life

with her extra finger

whirling in a gyre of rage

at what my days had come to.

what,

i pleaded with her, could i do,

oh what could i have done?

and she twisted her wild hair

and sparked her wild eyes

and screamed as long as

i could hear her

This. This. This."

This. This. This. (1/1)

So maybe I was very anxious to get Mulder away from anything relating to

Robert Patrick Modell, but I really didn't mean to get him away from me.

I mean, I only wanted to keep him safe from Pusher's words and thoughts

that could somehow, somehow, destroy a man's will and eat away his soul.

I didn't want that happening again.

But he saw it as me not trusting him enough. Of course, Mulder would,

being Mulder.

I want to reach out to him now, tell him that I was wrong and he was

right, but that won't change what he thinks I've done to him.

I thought things had changed, evolved beyond this pettiness, this sudden

Mulder attitude that he gets -- 'I'm alone in the world and no one

understands me.'

He is *not* alone and I *do* understand him.

I don't agree, but I understand.

But, really, to keep him safe, what *else* could I have done?

Something in me says I could have approached it differently, had a

little more faith, believed more in him and less in Modell.

This: I could have let him come to me and we could have done it together

no matter how much I did not believe his theory -- if only to prove him

wrong.

This: I could have soothed his wounded ego and told him that I did

believe him, but that Skinner was Skinner and we had to obey him -- but

I'd keep an eye out for Linda Bowman.

This: I could have gone to him and made him see that it was crazy at the

time to think what he was thinking but that I didn't love him any less

or think him any worse.

<Yes, but just as Skinner is Skinner, Mulder is Mulder and do you really

think he would have stopped?>

I wish I had done something, I wish I had stopped it.

But he has come out cleanly again, without injury and with the killer.

His soul may be a bit more battered but I can help --

"Scully?"

"Yeah?" My head turns to see him exit Skinner's office and although I'm

dying to know what has happened, I can tell by his face he won't talk

about it.

"Thanks for waiting."

"Sure Mulder. And good job. You figured it out again."

"What?" He is startled by words and by my suddenly odd demeanor. Maybe I

can shock him back to reality. I want the old easiness back with us

again.

"You did a good job catching Linda Bowman, Mulder. Let's celebrate,

okay?"

I can tell I am completely confusing him.

"But Scully, I almost killed you."

"So?"

"So......I almost ki --"

"I heard you the first time you said it and the other million times you

thought it at me."

His eyebrow curls up and I can see exactly what he's thinking -- psychic?

-- but it's not because of any kind of mental telepathy that I can tell,

only that he is the most readable man when you really know him like I

do.

"Scully, I really just want to go home...."

"So let me come with you and I'll make you dinner, how about that?"

He shakes his head. "Can't believe I'd hear that from you, but I'm going

to be incredibly stupid and say no."

"Why be stupid more than you have to these past few days and just say

yes?"

Ouch. I got him.

One for Scully.

Not that I'm enjoying this . . . well, maybe a little. But he deserves

it.

A sigh emerges from deep within him. "All right."

"Cheer up, Mulder. I'm not such a burden as all that, am I?"

"No, but you really are confusing my poor deluded mind right now."

I raise an eyebrow and let him follow me out.

~~~~

"So, Mulder. Talk to me." I say, sitting beside him after rinsing the

dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. He is sitting on the couch

moodily and staring above his glass of tea like he is completely lost in

whatever slide show his mind is replaying for him.

"No." he says, quite bluntly, and quite honestly hurting me.

"Why not?" I say, but it is not soft like it should be: I hurt from his

words and his distance too much to let my guard down.

With Mulder. I do this with Mulder. This is sad.

"Because right now I would say things that would hurt you."

"You've already said things to hurt me."

His face swivels and it is touched with lasting pain. "I didn't mean

to."

"Well, then talk to me. You do love me, right?"

"That's not fair, Scully."

"I know. But I want to know that I haven't completely messed things up

for us."

His surprise is tantamount to mine when I'd heard his theory about Linda

Bowman. "You? That *you* haven't messed things up?"

"I guess I have." I say it before I can think.

I bite my lip and feel my defenses crumbling even though I had tried

very hard not to even let them slip. But he does that to me. Slips right

through my walls and then has a huge party in my heart for awhile and

then slips back out and I wonder why I miss all the noise.

"What?!" It takes time for my words to register, whispered as they were.

I look up at his incredulousness and watch the storm rage over his eyes

and be replaced by fear. "No, no. I -- You -- no. You haven't done

anything...."

"And that's just it, isn't it? I haven't done anything and I should

have. I should have called and said I didn't think you had lost your

senses. I should have --"

"But, Scully, did you think I had?"

I frown. "At the time, yes."

"Then I'm glad you didn't. I would feel worse if you had lied."

"You made me feel pretty bad for telling the truth, though."

"You deserved it. I never asked you to believe my theories, only me."

"But I do --"

"No, you don't. Maybe in me. But not just me. It's like that Jerry

Maguire thing."

Now I am the one confused.

"Remember what that girl says about being in love with Jerry? That she

loves him for the man he wants to be and the man he almost is."

I feel my heart shrivel as I realize the association he's made.

"No, Mulder. No, not --"

"Yes. Do you love me for me: or the man I almost am?"

His words are shaky and his eyes are spilling over silently and I wish I

had never even begun this, never forced him to talk to me. He was right.

He is only hurting me more.

"You can't answer."

I shake my head and turn away and feel that if I can run far enough I

will be away from this horribleness.

"So, you do think that." It's not a question any longer.

I want to shake my head no and fall into him and hold onto him for dear

life because he has to understand that it's not that, not at all.....

"Well, let me tell you Scully. This is what I am and even if -- if I had

the truth it is who I would be. I d-don't want your love if it is in the

hope of my changing. I don't want it."

I think he is trying to convince himself, but he is doing a good job of

convincing me and I turn away from him and dig my fist into my mouth and

cannot let out my scream.

It's all gone so wrong.

I can't keep it from going out of control. I have to leave before it's

even worse, before it hurts even more.

I snatch my coat and purse and keys, scrambling to be away from this

hurt even though I know somewhere that my leaving will hurt him more and

in that way, hurt me.

But as my hand catches the doorknob he speaks.

"I never wanted to hurt you."

Fury replaces fear. Harshness replaces hurt.

"How dare you! How dare you say that to me as you rip me apart?!"

I spin around and snatch at the door and it won't turn and I twist

blindly, rage clouding my eyes and I could kill him for this, I could

kill him....

"The door is locked, Scully," he whispers in my ear.

I moan at this wonderful, invigorating voice as it slides across me and

into my heart.

"Damn you Mulder, stop it."

"You're coming to hell with me."

His words echo through me, across me, around and under and in me and I

can't help but fall back.

Retreat: fall back: die to my pain.

"Mulder, why do I do this? And why do you let me?"

"I'm not letting you anymore."

I turn and refuse his eyes. It is as hard as refusing my body of breath.

"Tell me how it is then, Scully. Tell me how you love me."

<How do I love thee..... There are no ways to count. It just is.>

"I just do. I just do. Can I stop now? Can I? Because this hurts more

than anything -- more than --"

"More than it's worth?"

"No!" My cry is anguished. "You keep twisting my words around. Why do

you think like that? I just love you! Isn't that enough?"

"No."

It is hard and cold and cruel and I am crying and not even realizing it

and I want to leave him, but I can't because I do love him and if I hurt

him, then I'd hurt me even more.

"It's not enough. Scully...." He lets out a choked, pent-up sound of

fury and fear. Fear rising above and stinking the whole room. "It can't

be only that to be worth it. I almost killed you! I almost killed you! I

won't let you stay if it's only love and nothing else! Don't you see? If

it's only for loving me that you will keep putting yourself in danger

then I can't -- I won't -- it can't keep going.....it's not worth it."

I slap him.

Slap him.

The sound of stinging flesh echoes coldly.

"It is worth it. Am I worth it?"

And as I whisper coldly, forcing my words out to be cruel, I see

realization on his face like lightning and he shakes, trembles deep

within and falls.

I let him fall.

He can't speak, but only crawls on the floor, like a stunned wild animal

in pain, cringing with the blow.

He looks up at me as I lower myself to the floor.

His eyes are open arms and I take him to me, son to mother, lover to

lover, friend to friend.

I cradle his head in my lap and he does not cry, does not talk, only

lays there.

It is his apology.

It is my apology.

And this is what I have done to right the wrong.

This.

This.

This.

end

adios

RM

Title: Wild Things VIII: There's Someone

Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is

intended. In this universe, however, CC would instantly disclaim any

ownership of them.

Content: MSR, SPOILER::::::The End:::::

~~~~~

Wild Things VIII: There's Someone

~~~~~

There's Someone

~~~~~

"She had trusted many

But been unfamiliar with

Almost everyone but you

Well maybe I'm just thinking that the rooms are all on fire."

--'Rooms on Fire' Stevie Nicks

"Outside my door...the rain is falling

A cold, wild wind will come

Well there's someone for me...somewhere

But I still miss that one"

--'I Still Miss Someone' Stevie Nicks

~~~~~

I watch his eyes as the room disolves from view.

Watch the ever present ache swallow him whole this time.

I wish there is some magic word to make this vanish, to have us back at

his apartment, concerned only for a young boy with psychic ability.

Coming now to him, wanting to bury my face in his shirt, but staring out

at the blackened world from the relative safety of his muscled arm, I can

feel his horror.

He does not hold me, does not attempt to reach for me.

Please, Mulder, please. I need your touch, now more than ever.

He trembles and pushes my body from him, falling to his knees in the

destruction.

My eyes still plead with him to reaffirm our connection.

He stays mute, a deeply religious man crying for the loss of his god.

I can't stay here and watch him hurt, watch him hurt me, and not feel the

fear, not have the residual bitterness rise in me.

I step around him, brushing my fingers along the top of a charred desk,

coming away with blackened fingers and the smell of forever lost in my

nose.

I leave quickly.

I refuse to cry.

~~~~~

There is always the past to come sneaking up on one of us.

Always the suggestion of something more than what we've said. Maybe we

have kept secrets, maybe our relationship isn't so honest, so truthful as

I thought.

I thought.

And while I don't suppose I could ever accuse him of outright lying, I

also couldn't accuse him of being entirely honest with me.

Little chickadee.

Is that how the Lone Gunmen are going to explain me away to the next green

agent that manages to wind up loving the most insensitive, the most

beautiful man on earth?

I should know that this is more real than anything either of us has ever

experienced, and I really did used to think that. . . things change,

despite all our promises.

I'm willing. . . I'd be thrilled to forgive him. I'd be ecstatic to have

him come to me and explain the woman lying in the hospital, and I'd take

him in my arms right then and let him cry into me.

Except he won't do that.

I'm here, Mulder. I'm here.

And that's always met with: I can handle this on my own.

Not that I don't do the same, just that I usually end up saying such

things about my health, not about my former lovers.

I'm not even angry with him, although a part of me says I really ought to

be.

I'm not angry, I'm sad.

I don't want us to come to this. A burned office and the memory of his

stoic refusal to let me in, to let me grieve right along with him.

Can't he see this isn't just him anymore?

The work is just as vital to me as it is to him; those files are as much a

part of me, now, as they have always been for him.

More so, with my heart being so caught up, entangled, in his own.

I can't let this happen. I can't let this be the end of us - not over her,

or over the X-Files.

Pulling myself from the couch and into the hall, all I can picture is his

face when I will come to him tonight.

It is a range of things -angry, sad, regretful, annoyed, loving.

All of those would be fine.

Any of those would be welcome.

I just couldn't deal with that blankness.

The unemotion that his eyes were drowning in, back at the ruins of our

life.

I shiver as I open the door.

Please, Mulder, I need you.

~~~~~

The wind is bitter across my cheeks, stinging where my tears have fallen

from my eyes, despite all my best attempts at keeping them in check.

The car sits forlornly on the street; my fingers are numb from the cold.

I sit outside, propped against the entrance to his apartment complex,

shivering in the cold, wishing desparately for the strength to walk inside

and knock on his door.

But I can't. I just can't face him.

Not with the threat of his uncaring, not with the fear that he will turn

me away when I need him the most.

If I don't reach out, he can't refuse.

It begins to drizzle again and I hunker down into the partial shelter of

the doorway, closing my eyes to the wind, to the sharp tug of my soul

withering inside.

I can feel my stomach revolting, tossing from side to side in restless

fear and bitter disgust.

I hate my weakness, I hate that I can't go to the one man I want to love

more than anything.

Want.....

No, I do love him. There is no want in it. It just is.

I do.

The brick is chilled, scraping my cheek as I shiver under my coat and the

wind bites through it. I want to fall back into the wall, to collapse into

the cold arms of unfeelingness, to have that numbness that Mulder carries

around so easily.

If only to keep away the fear that I have lost everything.

Not only the files, not only my work, but my life as well.

My love.

If it weren't for loving Mulder, I'd have tatters in my soul, a half

formed emotion with no direction and no understanding of all the wonderful

things that could be.

I don't want to lose that, not yet.

Everything goes away.

Everything dies.

Could his love for me have died so quickly?

The wind knocks into me suddenly and I tremble, pushing closer to the

entrance and trying to find the courage to stand up and walk up those

stairs and down the hall to his door.

Trying to find the strength to face certain rejection.

I can't do this.

I panic and stand quickly, turning, twisting, feet clumsy across the

slick, wet pavement, slipping into the cold air.

Falling into a warm, warm body.

I glance up, up, into dark eyes, churning with emotion, with genuine

feeling.

I can't look away from him.

"What are you doing out here, Scully?"

I want to cry in relief.

"Waiting for you," I say quickly, and find my footing.

He snakes an arm around me and takes my body into his, securing me under

his arm, tucked into his side.

Then, pulling me back into the relative warmth of the corridor, he makes

me face the fears I had been hiding out from.

"Where were you going?" I ask, rubbing my arms in a futile attempt to

regain circulation.

His eyes shift nervously and his answer is too quick, too practiced.

"To see you."

I sigh and close my eyes. Do I even dare call him on his obvious lie? Can

I face this right now?

"Mulder. . .no you weren't."

My eyes open to see his closed face, the resigned look of 'over' that

scares me more than the idea of him lying straight to my face.

He offers no explanation, no real reason, but he doesn't try to lie to me

either.

And suddenly, with the leftover warmth of his arm around me, and the chill

rooted deep into my veins, I can't do this anymore.

I can't do this.

I turn and push open the door, sliding back into the darkness of furious

clouds, and a freezing winter rain.

He does not follow me.

~~~~~

Sitting in my car, breathing through the tightness in my chest, I think of

other things.

I try to remember the way I felt when Emily laid dying, her small body

wrapped in disease and a monster that just didn't go away.

I try to remember the way I felt when Jack Willis told me he didn't love

me anymore, that it had never been like that, and my furious reprisal

afterwards.

I try to remember the ache in my soul when I came back to find my sister

dead, her life given up in my place.

None of this can compare to the emptiness within, now that I do not even

have Mulder.

It is far more bitter than the lost feeling I had when I took Mulder off

the Pusher case, far more wrenching than seeing him in that psych hospital

as he claimed to see big. . .bugs.

I cannot fathom going through this without him, but it seems he can.

I won't let him hurt me like this. I can't have allowed him so close, I

can't have been so stupid as to fall in love with a weak, pathetic man

again.

I can't have. . .I can't have let him in so close to me.

~~~~~

There is the couch, with memories all its own, and a silent television,

with daunting thoughts accompanying it.

Every piece of my self is found here, wined extricably with him.

I can see his eyes when I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, see the

way he had come up behind me, placed his hands on my shoulders and simply

watched.

I can see his smile as the dark TV sits on the stand, its black face a

paraody of the darkness within me.

I feel his hands as the shower caresses my skin, taste his lips as the

water trickles down my throat.

His hands as I get ready for bed, his feet when the sheets are cold, his

fingers when the sheet tickles my cheek, his arms when the comforter

embraces my body.

I ache for him.

Please, Mulder. I need you. So much is gone. So much has been taken from

us.

Please Mulder.

~~~~~

I wake crying at one o'clock, feeling wretched and cold.

My covers are on the floor and I'm shivering, watching the moon spill into

my room like an intruder.

The tears stop as I regain control, and I stand shakily, pushing my hurt

to the back, pushing my fear away.

I pull on jeans and a sweatshirt, forgetting a bra until I reach the door

and hesitating only a moment.

I sweep out of my apartment building and to the car, angry at my hurting

heart, confused that I could have let anyone get so close again.

~~~~~

The Hoover Building is dark, the guard on duty scrutinizes my picture ID

with a judgemental look, then allows me to walk to the elevators.

The ping of the doors wakens me from my drugged like state and I slip into

the stale air of the car, managing not to feel for these brief moments.

There is just the lights as we descend to the basement level, the chrome

of shiny paneling behind me, the coldness of my heart as it plunges along

with the elevator.

With a resoluteness born of a job completed, the elevator stops and opens

with a cheery ding that sounds rather like the tone of the death knell in

'For Whom the Bell Tolls' that one of my high schools put on for the fall

play.

I step out and slip quietly down the corridor, down the stairs that reach

further into the bowels of the basement, stairs and tile that I know blind

because of my long days and wonderful years spent here.

This has been home, and never has Mulder made me feel out of place in its

depths.

Except tonight.

It is silent and cold to me, the walls echoing his stony refusal to gain

me access, the burnt smell of life and flesh lacing the air with a kind of

gut-sick feeling that almost makes me run back to the elevator.

I wait at the door, staring dumbly at the charred remains of his office,

surprised to find that somewhere in me, I had thought it was all a dream.

The place looks awful.

Dead.

Finally, the word comes to me. Dead.

This is the X-Files, and so, this is us.

Our fate is tied to these files, our love founded in them, and therefore,

our destruction.

I hesitantly step inside, realizing a second thing that makes me just as

sick as seeing the leftovers of our lives.

I call this his office. Even now, it is his.

I shake, feeling my knees slipping in their joints, wanting to throw up.

It's all his. It's never been mine.

And he thinks that too.

These files, this life I shared with him, it all meant absolutely nothing,

not to him, and now, I see, not to me.

I choke on the horror of such a thought and kneel in the ash, trailing my

fingers through it, staining my jeans as I crumple there.

I can't do this anymore.

If the X-Files miraculously are resurrected, I don't think I'll be back.

I can't have my life tied to something and someone who does not matter to

me, not really matter deep down.

I feel bitter as I think this.

Sure, right.

Mulder does matter, that's the problem, stupid. He just doesn't think you

think it matters, or he doesn't want you to matter, or maybe, you really

don't matter.

I am the X-Files personified, I see that now.

With the office burned, he has lost his connection to me, lost his excuse

to love me.

How pitiful for him, how painful for me.

When my fingers come away with soot and tears, I realize I am crying, and

that I can't stop now.

I lay my head down on the desk and weep, silent soft tears that steal down

my cheeks and mix with the ashes of my life.

~~~~~

I come awake at the touch, breath hitching and eyes wide.

Blinking away the soot and sleep, I see Mulder.

He is staring at me.

"Scully?"

A hand comes from nowhere and touches my cheek, rubbing hard at the

blackness there and coming away dirty.

I pull my face from his hand and rub at my skin, managing to merely smear

it around more, rather than clean it.

"Scully, stop."

I say nothing; I don't trust my voice. Not after crying over him, over

this.

I drag my T-shirt over my face and struggle to keep back the sobs that

threaten again.

I can't do this, not now. No crying in front of him, not for this.

His hands touch my face and I want to melt, to just fall into him, but I

don't.

I've always been the strong one, and he's never needed me anyway.

I can't need him now. Not after this.

Moving from him, I head for the door, taking deep breaths to give me

courage.

It is hard to walk away from him, even after it all.

"Scully, why were you here?"

I stop, dismayed, horrified, saddened.

Turning, my teared up eyes find his, and I feel myself trembling.

"This was my life too, Mulder."

He says nothing, but the shock on his face tells me everything.

He never thought it was.

~~~~~

For some reason, I can't let this go.

I can't let him go.

I am sitting on the floor by his apartment door, waiting for him, not

thinking I have the right to walk into his life anymore, and wondering if

I ever really did.

The smell of someone's dinner assaults me and my stomach growls; I flinch.

Hunching forward slightly, I rest my chin on my knees, playing with the

dust bunnies swirling on the floor.

I feel his steps before anything else, then his pant legs come into view,

his body slowing as he sees me.

Suddenly I am in his crushing embrace.

"I thought you were gone," he whispers.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "I am."

He freezes, pulls back from me.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know why I'm here. To understand maybe."

"Understand what?"

His face is so bewildered that, for a moment, I think I have gotten it

wrong.

But a crack comes shining through his innocence.

"I'm not the one that's gone, Mulder. You are."

He sighs and stands, pulling me up with him.

"The hall's not the place for this," he says by explanation, and drags me

inside.

Neither of us can sit down.

"Scully. . ."

"What was this to you, Mulder? Was . . .this. . .just an extension of the

X-Files? A way to immerse yourself completely in your selfish quest?"

"Why was, Scully. Why the past tense?"

I feel tense, wound up under his eyes. "Because you've put it there,

Mulder. Because I reached out to you and you left me."

He stretches his neck and sags down on the arm of the couch. "I've done

that before, why is now different?"

I blink hard. I know this somewhere in me.

And the answer is hard to admit, something I don't want to say to him.

But I have to let him know what. . .what this meant to me. Above

everything, he will know that I loved him. Love him.

"I needed you, Mulder. And you left me. The one time. . .one time I

reached out to you first, and you left me."

I turn away from him, struggling to keep my face nuetral.

But saying this has unstopped the true, real me.

I know something now, that I had been dancing over before.

I'm not sad that he never told me about his partner, and I really do

understand his numbness when I reached out to hold him.

This has all been about my own insecurity, the idea that maybe this could

all fall apart some day.

"I'm sorry," he says, but wisely stays away from me.

I feel my breaths like lead weights in my lungs.

I was being selfish.

This wasn't about him, it was about me.

In a moment of pure, blind trust, I reached out to him, reached out to

have him pick me up, ignoring the strength he needed and asking for

something he could not give me.

And I saw his failure to help me as something entirely different. I saw it

as the death of us, as the destruction of our relationship.

How could I be so . . . messed up? To have put such a cruel twist to his

non response, to force myself to believe he didn't love me, all from the

sad little attempt of mine to trust him.

His hand falls to my waist and slowly, his thumb rubs across my skin.

"I'm here now, Scully. If you can trust me again, I'm here."

I want to sob and say I'm sorry, that this was all my messed up head

rationalizing the lack of response I got, not as his own pain, but as his

refusal to love me.

I guess he thinks I'm hurt by him, because he slips in close to me and

kisses my neck softly.

"Let me make it up to you, Scully. I didn't --"

I turn in his arms, pushing my body into him, silencing his words with the

force of my embrace.

I can't let him feel guilty for this, not when I've hurt him so much more

by playing the victim in this, the abused.

"It's my fault, Mulder, my fault. I shouldn't have asked that from you.

Your life was burned to ashes and I was being selfish and acting --"

He places his finger to my lips and shakes his head, a simple smile

lighting his face.

"No. You had every right to ask it from me. You're mine, Scully, and you

had every right to get from me the strength I always get from you. I

always think to myself that if I could just have the chance to be strong

for you, that you'd realize how much I love you. And I messed up the first

chance you gave me."

I think I'm going to break down, right here, in his eyes.

"How about a second chance?" I whisper and close my eyes.

His arms tighten around me, pushing my head to his chest.

For a long, agonizing moment, I'm frozen, unable to to feel.

And then the tears cascade down my face in unrelenting waves of sorrow and

healing.

As he holds me, strong and comforting, I can almost smell the fire burned

office, the remnants of another life, and the soot of a dying woman.

From those ashes, we have moved to another level of us, another state of

love and life.

I laugh suddenly, and he pulls back, wiping the tears with his thumbs.

"Feel better?"

I nod and smile, then lean forward and kiss him.

He closes his eyes and then sighs. "Diana came off the vent, Scully. I

went to see her."

I must have tensed because he slips his hands to my shoulders and rubs

them, digging his fingers into my skin.

I close my eyes. "Then she's going to be all right?"

He nods and brushes a feather light kiss across my forehead.

"Are you going to be all right?" he says.

Surprised, I look up to him.

"No matter what you were to each other, Mulder, I have you now. Forever.

And, besides," I say, smirking at him. "I'm a doctor."

He smiles and catches me up into his arms again, laughing with relief.

"You're a mess, Scully."

I poke his stomach and hiss, "It's all your fault, you know."

"I can deal with that." His eyes glance deep into me and then he frowns,

skimming his hands down my face.

"You might want to wash all this soot off your face, Scully. You look like

a wild animal."

I remember crying in the remains of our office, face buried in the ash.

"Well, wild or not, this is how I am. Take it or leave it."

My words are a kind of challenge and he sees them for that.

"I'll take you. Anyday, Scully."

~~~~~

end

adios

RM