Title: Tonight: part 1: Longing but never alone (Part 1 of 3) Rated: G Classification: S/R/A Mulder/Scully Romance Spoilers: A little season 5 (Cancer episodes—any mention of it) Summary: There is only one person who can save Mulder from himself. But does she need saving as well? Disclaimer: I think we all know who owns our favorite X Files Duo, and it isn’t me. Although if I win the lottery there’s no telling what I might do—watch out Chris Carter. At any rate, he owns them and I’m only borrowing them—I promise to return them later. Please don’t sue. I own nothing. Thank you. For Jen: My best friend who inspired me to write this. Thank god for someone who is just as obsessed as I am…(sniff sniff) Touching isn’t it? Tonight 1: Longing but never alone By Jaime Lyn So I ran like wind to the water. Please don’t leave me again—I cried. And I threw bitter tears to the ocean, but all I got back was the tide… ---Sarah McLachlan, I Will Not Forget You A lock of auburn hair has crept into her face again, and I gaze as she distractedly swats it away, for what must be the ninetieth time tonight. I watch her intently, longingly, and I realize it’s a good thing she is too busy to notice me. I know she’d probably kill me if she knew how painstakingly I memorized the exact paths her fingers used to curl coppery red strands over her ear. The exact shade of her currently troubled blue eyes, focused on her laptop screen. She raises a weary hand to her temple and rubs at the bridge of her nose in exhaustion . I can tell she is beyond the brink of dead tired, but her stubborness, her innate ability to work herself to into a coma overtakes the urge to rest. She has become like me in that respect, although I don’t believe it was her intention when she breezed into my basement office 5 years ago, a fresh faced new partner. It terrifies me to know I have affected her in that way. That subconciously, somehow, I have “rubbed” off on her. My insecurities, cynicism, and my work ethic making their way over the depths of her brilliant mind like some sort of evil plague. A dominating force I never meant to unleash on her. And every time I see her like this, concentrated,as her fingers race over her laptop at 3:30 in the morning, I am reminded of it. Oh, how I wish to god I weren’t. It pains me to know that she deserves better than the fate she has resided herself to. That she should have more than a basement job and motional wreck for a partner. Why she stays to allow my demons to consume her the way she has is almost beyond me. It sometimes scares me down to my core when I look at her, the determination like roaring flames in her eyes, always ignited. I am afraid that one day it will swallow her whole, as I often feel it has done to me. My eyes, I begin to realize, must have become indiscreet in their fixating. I think I have been staring too long. Now she is looking back at me, cocking her head to one side as if confused. I wonder whether she’s going to inquire about my staring, or ask if I’ve gotten any work done. To my vague surprise though, she says nothing. Instead, she reaches her thumb and forefinger to the middle of her wire-frame glasses and removes them placidly, placing them in an orderly fashion onto the desk next to the monitor. Her eyes never leave my expressive, ponderous gaze, and I think that perhaps this is her way of trying to delve into my mind. That maybe her silent backwards stare is an attempt to crash into me. To swim around in my brain and see what it is I am seeing when I lose myself the way I have just now. I fleetingly wonder if she can really see into that part of me. The part that belongs solely to her, losing itself in her every time our eyes meet, and every time we share a touch. She smiles faintly and seems to almost look into me, as if for a moment, she truly does understand. I watch as her eyes divert, and she stifles an impending yawn. I should tell her what I’m feeling for once, I decide. I should tell her. I should say something…say how I feel about her…say… anything… So I clear my throat and open my mouth. “Mulder, I think this is going nowhere,” she finally speaks up, and calls my idea to a grinding halt. I sigh in weariness and defeat. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I concur, leaning back into her striped couch in an utter frustration. She raises an infamous “Scully” eyebrow in shock at my statement, and her tired aqua eyes widen slightly. “You’re agreeing with me here?” I look at her indifferently and shrug my shoulders. She stares back perplexed. “Alright then Mulder, I guess we’ll save it for tomorrow or uhh…” She watches me still, and curiosity creeps into her voice. “Whenever,” she finishes, her voice trailing off as her gaze once again rests on the computer monitor. The information she so diligently slaved over minutes before is saved inside the memory of her gray laptop, as she flicks off the power button distractedly. She closes her eyes weakly and cracks her neck. A sign that shows me her breaking point has been reached. Dammit Scully, you don’t have to kill yourself for me. A low moan escapes her throat and she stretches, cat-like as she rises, striding over towards the coach I have occupied for the last five and a half hours. Her arms fold across her chest in an almost bemused fashion as she addresses me. “I think it would be best if you just spent the night here,” she informs me tiredly. “It’s just too late to drive. Besides, you look really beat anyhow.” I smile at her invitation. “You trying to tell me something here Scully? Insinuate anything?” I waggle my eyebrows at her in mock leering and let my eyes connect with her’s. She rolls her own at my lame attempt at late-night joking and wanders off to the linen closet. I hear her voice emanate from the hallway. “Yeah, actually I am Mulder. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t want to pick your brains up off the street when you fall asleep at the wheel and hit a tree.” I let out an exagerrated sigh. Ha ha… “Oh come on now. Don’t you think I could find something bigger? A train maybe? You can be more creative than that. Frankly, Scully, I’m hurt. I really am.” I rise and stretch my sleepy muscles, meeting her halfway between the linen closet and her room. She tosses me a blanket and pillow haphazardly, a lazy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Oh shut up and get some sleep for once Mulder. It’s good for you—I promise.” I smile back at her warmly and close my eyes. Her hand impulsively reaches up to caress my cheek. A deep breath catches in my chest, and I feel her tenderly brush away a stubborn lock of my hair. “I’m serious Mulder. Are you sure you’re feeling ok? When was the last time you slept anyhow?” She lingers at the lines of my forehead for a fleeting moment, tracing the soft skin near my hairline, and waits for my response. My words come out harsher than I intend them to. “I’m fine, I really am, Dr. Scully,” I answer her in a firm voice, evading the “sleep” question. I’m not so sure I want to answer it. A frown now creasing her lips, she sighs in heavy defeat and removes her gentle fingers from my forehead. I can see her obvious distaste for my response. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything,” she replies, almost defensively, “I’m just concerned, that’s all. And I have a right to be you know…After all, if anything happens to you, who’s theories will I have to shoot down? Life just wouldn’t be the same.” Her eyes begin to sparkle mischieviously as I let out a low chuckle. Sometimes she knows just what to say… “Can’t argue with that now can I?” I quip back at her. “Seriously though …I’m fine Dana. Really… I am, just…Just get some sleep yourself.” She nods and stares at me almost quizically, as the use of her first name is not lost on deaf ears. She looks to me, almost childlike in expression at my response. She looks confused…almost…almost…Well. Whatdya know? There is a delicate Dana Scully. There were times I wasn’t sure there was. Her eyes are impassive. No posturing. No barriers to face. Just her. Its almost unreal—mostly because I hardly ever see her like this. The mere thought sends strange shivers throughout my spine… I need you Dana…I—no—no I can’t think things like that. The rational part of my mind is screaming. I want to shut it up. Angrilly, I tell my rational mind to stay out of my personal life. Suddenly I angle my head towards her perplexed face, and do something almost unimaginable by our invisibly set “professional” standards. A movement so uncharacteristic, it leaves her tender expression clearly dazed as my lips graze her forehead with a lazy slowness. I try to believe the moan she elicits at their touch is not only my imagination. My eyes are still closed in euphoria as I end it, an innocent, almost chaste kiss goodnight. She is affected, though. I can feel it as I hear her feet turn away from me, and quickly, almost, nervously, she is pattering off to bed. *** The hours of night tick by agonizingly slow for me tonight, as they always have in the past, and for this reason I do not dream. I toss and turn for god knows how long before I can do it no longer, and I am resigned to lying awake in the surrounding darkness. Demons and waking nightmares haunt me, tonight as always, and so I do not dare to dream. With clearly established unrestfulness, I decide to rise, searching within myself, for the strength that I always felt had elluded me at night. I often think that I lose it when the demons come searching for me again. I stretch out my arms and legs slowly, and my frustrated gaze wanders in the direction of Scully’s bedroom. Nearly invisible in the blackness of the apartment, it is somehow memorized by my feet, which seem to know just where to go. I follow them like a person possessed. They lead me to where I know my courage lies. They lead me to the foot of my partner’s bed. I kneel down next to her peaceful, sleeping form and touch my fingers to the cottony crease of her blanket. I bask in the ethereal glow that is my sleeping Dana Scully. She doesn’t know that I do this when I spend the night at her place. She doesn’t know that I watch her sleep. I think she’d kill me if she did… I bite down hard on my lip as I feel angry tears welling up inside but stubbornly, I refuse to shed them. I know she would never tolerate it. My Dana Scully would never willingly let me cry for her. Never allow me to shoulder the burden of grief over her abduction, the death of her sister, or most recently, her bout with cancer . I know she insists the blame is not mine, but one I know it is. I never place it n anyone but myself. I can’t help it. It’s rightfully mine for not being able to protect her, to save her. I gaze into her peaceful expression. I feel remorseful of everything. Silently I reach for the inner reserve of strength that always seems to radiate off her petite frame. It never ceases to amaze me. She is my savior, my light of hope. She is my Scully. Cautiously I move closer, careful not to disturb the tranquility of her slumber as I raise my hand to her porcelain cheeks, flushed with deep sleep. I caress their smoothness softly, ever so gently, and allow my fingers to memorize every line, every detail of her perfect delicate face. To me she is perfection. The amazing, strong, beautiful woman who’s always been able to beat anything and everything thrown at her. Only Dana Scully could stare a cancerous death in the face and smash it down. Hurl it away. She is the light to drive away my demons, to scatter them to the wind. God, Scully…I wish I could lie there with you…I whisper softly to her in her sleep, although I know I risk the chance of waking her. My fingers lightly trace the outlines of her scarlet lips, left only slightly ajar in her resting state. I ache for them as I never have for anything. I hear her mouth open fully to release a low moan, and I jump back, startled for fear I might have woken her. I sigh quietly. I don’t want to wake her. I can’t remain here any longer. My indulgent fantasy is over. I watch as she tosses fitfully, engaging in dreams that I cannot share with her, and I sag with defeat. My arms, I know, will not be able to coil around her as she turns over in bed. My lips will not touch her forehead as she lies in my embrace. God, that depresses me. Silently, I curse my dismal predicament. It’s not fair. Nothing…Nothing is…I realize. I cannot wake her, and I cannot have her. Silently, I steal back into the living room and take my assumed place on the couch. Its where I always sleep. Always…Oh god… My brain starts to unwind and I stare up into the darkness. I feel as if everything is always being taken from me…everything… I sigh. The only thing I know for sure now is that Dana will live. She will recover. She will not die of cancer. My heart resonates with that thought. That idea…that she will be ok. For how long I don’t know though. Sometimes I can’t always protect her. Sometimes she doesn’t let me. I sigh. Tonight, I will sleep alone… Sometimes in my sleep I can sense Mulder’s warm, caring, gaze upon me, almost as if he watches over me as I slumber. In the deepest of dreams I can almost feel him, gently touching my face, wistfully caressing my cheeks, and occasionally, resting his head next to mine. Sometimes his is so strong a sensation, I begin to believe that my dreams are real and he is there. That the soft, almost faint whispers of, “I love you” are of his heart speaking solely to mine. Tonight is one of those nights. I feel my lips release a moan as I try to hear his voice call to me again, to hold his hand, but I find I cannot reach it. The sound of him, the scent of him, and the essence of what can only be described of as “Mulder” has disappeared from me. As if an abrupt wind has swept him from me, his presence is gone, and suddenly, somehow, the room has grown darker. “Fox,” I whimper desperately through fitful sleep, though I know it is already too late. He is gone, and now only the darkness and wishful thinking lie here. “Please,” I whisper, “Please, I need…to tell…you…” My voice trails off as I feel the fit of delirious sleep wash over me again. Why is the night so bleak alone? Mulder?…Mulder, I need you… I sigh almost inaudibly. Mulder…Please come back…I don’t want to sleep alone … *** End…Until the next part…