Title: The Way I Saw It Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Rated: R, for bad language. My belief is that people have "potty mouth minds" when they're angry. Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance (actually UST first) Spoilers: If you haven't watched "The End" then you will have no clue who Diana Fowley is. Disclaimer: I don't own them. Please don't sue. Thank you. Summary: Scully has had an awful day, Mulder is drunk, and Diana Fowley thinks its all Scully's fault. Who is right? Who is wrong? And what the heck happened? ::Author's note:: Ok, this story is told as if the characters are the ones telling it, to you, to the audience, or to whoever, and the present time it takes place is around 2 am in Kansas. The "flashback" parts are told from the point of view of whichever character has current control of the storytelling, and are meant to be looked at as if they are happening in the present time. (Even though we can see that they have already happened in the past, but then, I guess that's the point of a flashback right?) Ok, that wasn't so hard right? <<<<>>>>> Ok, so on with the show. For Jen: My best bud. I was going to call this "How Scully Got Her Groove Back," but I decided against it. LOL. The Way I Saw It (part 1: Assumptions and Ruminations) By Jaime Lyn XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Corcoran Motel, Witchita Kansas, 2:14 am, Early August 14th. SCULLY STARTS HER STORY: ~^~^~^~^^~^~~^~ Ok. Little known fact: Visiting Kansas in August is like visiting Hell itself, only Kansas is less pleasant and hotter than Hell, and at least in Hell you're already dead, so life can't get much worse. Sigh. Unfortunately, I've learned throughout my years that life can and usually DOES get worse before it gets any better, but I mean, come on now. I honestly think that I've had my fill of "worse" for the day, so where the hell's the "better"? I certainly haven't seen it. And as for Mulder... well, let me just say that he is going to get a taste of just how bad life can and DOES get as soon as I get my hands on him. The second I see him, as a matter of fact. I'm going to kill him, I swear to god, the second he walks into this room. Why? Because Mulder's ditched me... again... AGAIN, goddamn it, and "again" must be the gigantic understatement of the year. I mean, how many times does this make it? Oh, I dunno, A BILLION? And not only that, but he left me with all the paperwork. ALL of it. And you know, I hate doing case write- ups. I do. No, I mean I really, REALLY hate them. Really fucking hate them with a really big fucking passion---please excuse the expletive. Sorry. He just MAKES me want to curse. I usually... I never... I mean I don't curse but... Well this is HIS goddamn fucking paperwork! He should be the one doing these stupid write ups instead of me... instead of me covering for him again. Doing his paperwork AGAIN. God, I hate these fucking things. I especially hate doing them after spending 12 fucking hours in a makeshift fucking autopsy bay out in the "middle of fucking nowhere," Kansas...or wherever it is that we are right now. And I really hate forgoing both breakfast and lunch to spend 6 fucking hours on a fucking airplane---a crowded and small fucking airplane---sitting next to Mr. "Dan-I-can't-stay-out-of-your-personal-space-how-are-you-beautiful?" Webster, computer salesman and LOSER extrordinaire ... And even THAT was after nearly 12 fucking hours the night before, of covering for HIS fucking paperwork... AGAIN!! But no, I'm not bitter...Really I'm not. Really. Truly. I'm not... I'm just enraged. Completely enraged. See, there's a BIG fucking difference. Oh, and did I mention when it was that I slept last? Well, I'd like to think it was sometime during the middle of last March, but I can't be positive about that. I really don't know. I don't know because I don't sleep. I don't sleep because I'm never home. I'm never home because of Mulder. Sensing a pattern here? The fucking bastard. I have criteria for that. But where was I again? Oh yeah. My story. So anyway, Mulder calls and wakes me up at 6 o clock this morning. 6 O CLOCK For god sakes! "Scully, get up," he says. "16 decapitated humans in Kansas with no discernable suspect," he says. "All have been drained of blood and we have an 8 o clock flight" he says. "Go away Mulder, it's Saturday" I say. I wanted to kill him. As a matter of fact, I still do. Oh, and did I mention that I'd already been up all night trying to make a dent in the expense reports that he so "casually left on my desk" the evening before?--- that bastard. Well I had. And I was pissed---to say the least. And tired. And annoyed. And so very NOT in the mood for him at the moment it wasn't even funny. But did he care?? No, why the hell would he? So anyhow, he repeats "8 o clock Scully" and of course, he doesn't understand how in the world I wouldn't want to go with him. Decapitated bodies at 8 o clock in the morning? Autopsies galore? Being up to my neck in blood and guts on a Saturday?? Oh yeah, that's certainly MY idea of fun. Of course, I'll go. It'd be an absolute honor Mulder. A real fucking field day. Wait---Lemme go get my party hat. You know,it's amazing. The man can be a relative genius when it comes to profiling and behavioral models, but when it comes to tact, he's about as thick as lead. And when it comes to ME, he's about as observant and considerate as an empty fish bowl sometimes. So OF COURSE he doesn't hear that I'm tired, and repeats "Scully" into my ear twice more while I groan, wishing that there were some way to successfully point and shoot a gun into the receiver. There wasn't, unfortunately, and with THAT option obviously being out, I distinctly remember telling him to "Go away." To which he succinctly replied "Wake up." To which I deftly replied "No," and then to which, of course, was answered with a "Get dressed." So being as chipper as I was at 6 am, I took a moment to angrily flip off the phone and realize that I should've just hung up when I had the chance. I should've just let him suffer. But I didn't, and if only I knew then what I know now, I would have hung up. I really would have. But he prodded me with "Oh come on Scully," and of course, I let him win. Why? Because I always let him win. Why? Because I am just inherently STUPID. I just AM. That's why. And when I failed to respond this first "Scully" he repeated "Scully" again and I swear to you, I was ready to kill. Maim, stab, shoot, ANYTHING. Oh Jesus Christ Mulder just let me sleep for THE LOVE OF GOD, I wanted to scream at him, I really did. But I didn't say a word and he took this as acceptance. "I'll be there in an hour," he says. "We'll eat along the way," he says. "I swear, you can sleep on the plane," he says. Yeah, right; whatever Mulder. You want to know what I ate today?? Huh?? Coffee. And a peanut--I think. And you wanna know what else? I would've just loved to have slept on the plane, I really would have... if only I hadn't been packed into it like a sardine... And relegated to conversation with "Dan-Mr Wonderful-prozac- poster boy." Oh yeah, that was fun too. A regular barrel of laughs let me tell you. But now I digress. So Mulder told me to get going and I of course responded the best way I could. "You know something Mulder? Fuck---" But unfortunately, he hung up on me. Right in the middle of my sentence, and right before I got to finish my expletive too--Damn it. He knows I never curse and I had really wanted him to hear it. But I'm sure he was, no doubt, so giddy and worked up over a bunch of mutilated, insanguinated tourists, that he decided to jump up and dance around his apartment before he came to pick me up and interrupt my Saturday. Of course, if I had known then that he was really on his car phone, that he was already on his way to picking HER up, I DEFINETLY would not have come. I wouldn't have even gotten dressed. I wouldn't have bothered. I would've hung up on his sorry ass and gone right back to bed. I would've slept all day. I could've slept all day. Damn him. And damn that Diana Fowley too. He thinks she's really on our side but I know better. I see her. I see what she wants and I can see through her games. I know that she can't be trusted. I see it and I SENSE it, but he doesn't and that bothers the living hell out of me. He sees her through rose colored glasses with blinders on. Oh yeah. Because Diana would never do that Scully, no NEVER. Not Diana. God, I hate her. That nuisance. That LEACH. I mean, just who exactly does she think she is? And where the hell does she come off anyway, just plastering herself to MY Mulder's side(and he is MY Mulder, by the way), acting like she's just the newly appointed goddess of everything X File? Well, you know what? She's not. She's just not and she never will be. I don't care who she is or where she came from. =I= am the only X Files Goddess(or whatever ridiculous name you wanna give it)around here. =I= earned that damn title god damn it. I spent 6 YEARS earning it, 6 YEARS, and I do NOT plan on beseeching it any time soon. I've been knee deep in monsters, alien abductions, conspiracies, and blood and guts for far too long to have her come along and take away what's rightfully mine. I've been through TOO much with the X Files and more importantly, too much with MULDER just to have her come along and try to undermine me with her "little miss sweet and innocent oh I believe you Mulder" cutsey FBI agent act and take it all away. I won't let her. There is very little that I find is stable for me in this life, and being the lone woman in Mulder's is my one true thing. And if she thinks she's going to upsurp me.... Well, now I'm just getting away from the point here. Where was I again? Let me think... phone call... Kansas... dead tourists... OH YEAH! Ok, I remember now. So after he picked me up... ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ SCULLY: FLASHBACK MUCH earlier that day... 7: 45 am, outside Scully's Apt. "Hey Scully, Rise and shine!" The first thing I notice is that Mulder is just way too chipper for 7 o clock in the morning. It's just sick. For some reason, he's like a fucking pop tart, and it's probably because of this ridiculous case. Uck. God, he reminds me of a hummingbird on speed, but in actuality, I think that the hummingbird would be less irritating. With a slightly raised eyebrow, I flip down my sunglasses and drop my suitcase into the trunk, shoving his own into the back carelessly. Good. I hope I broke something. I slam the trunk lid down hard, angrily, and he widens his eyes slightly. He looks so godammned stunned it's ridiculous. "Yikes Scully," he comments lightly. "Someone not have their v-8 yet?" I turn to look at him witheringly. Oh shut up Mulder. Just shut up before I deck you. He eyes me speculatively and I eye him back. We are so busy playing "optical showdown" that I fail to notice the extra duffel bag and I fail to see the extra passenger. FLASHBACK INTERRUPTION SCULLY NARRATES: <<>>> FLASHBACK TO THE MORNING. STILL SCULLY: So SHE is here. Great. I should've known. Wonderful. Terrfic. Life just doesn't get any better, thank you very much for letting me know in advance Mulder. "Diana wanted to assist in this particular assignment," Mulder explains poorly, and I don't even bother ASKING him how she found out about the case in the first place. I'm sure it's something I just don't want to know. Something that will no doubt make me hate her more, and right now, I don't need the added stress. "Fine. Whatever Mulder," I mutter, cursing whatever god has decided to hate me today, and grudgingly, I get into the back seat. I HATE the backseat. It sounds so petty, but I do. I hate sitting in the back, and I HATE the idea of her sitting in the front. With him. So close to him. Where =I= always sit. It just makes me want to throw up. "Scully?" he questions, "Are you ok?" Now I think I really WILL throw up. Oh yeah, I'm just peachy Mulder. I stare at him pointedly, and then closely observe as he shares a little furtive "glance" with Diana. I quickly decide that I don't like that little "look" AT ALL, and I grit my teeth to control my anger. No, I don't like that. Not one bit. Mulder and I are the only ones who are allowed to do the "slient look" thing, and she is most certainly NOT. So that alone, pisses me off. But then she shrugs and he looks back at me as if to say, "What, are you mad about the seating arrangement deal? That's kind of petty Scully" and I just want to choke the life out of them both. "I'm fine," I manage lowly, and he accepts it, closing the door and moving around to the driver's side to get in. Diana turns her head around again and smiles at Mulder. He closes his door and smiles back. All in all, it's a very disturbing scene at 7 am on a Saturday. Actually, it's a very disturbing scene for ANY time on ANY day really. "So Fox, you think I can handle a little Elvis today?" she asks him and then proceeds to laugh, as if what she's just said is the funniest thing in the world. Oh please. Mulder starts up the car and then steals a glance at her, nodding as if it's some stupid inside joke---which it probably IS---and then he begins to laugh as well. Oh ha ha, yeah I'm sure it's hilarious, whatever it means. God, I think I've just lost my appetite for the week. The year. The decade. I hate her. ~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^~^~~^ Keep going...there's more... Title: The Way I Saw It Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Disclaimer and all that fun stuff in the first part. Read on!! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ 2:14 am, Early August 14th, Ford Taurus Rental, Somewhere 5 minutes from the motel DIANA TELLS HER STORY: God, I hate her. I just really, REALLY do. This is all Agent Scully's fault, ALL of it, this whole day, and you know what? I hate her. Well ok, no, that's not completely true. Some of this is Mulder's fault, and maybe a TEENSY bit of it is mine, but mostly, it's hers. Her fault. All her fault. Because you know, if it wasn't for that damn woman, then none of this would be happening. NONE of it. I'm almost positive of it. If it wasn't for Dana Scully, then Mulder and I would be here, alone together---WITHOUT her or her god damned "expertise", happily investigating a case that we most DEFINETLY do NOT need her help on... But instead, here I am, driving a rented Taurus, while watching him look so sick I'm afraid for the upholstery's safety. Damn Dana Scully. So what happened, you ask? Well... EVERYTHING!! I just... I mean... EVERYTHING happened! Starting with the beginning of today, up until now, as I sit in this stupid rental, driving an intoxicated Mulder back to the hotel while he just sits here and whines something incoherent about disappointing his wonderful, precious "Scully." Did I mention that I hate her yet? Well I do. God, I mean where the HELL was she anyhow? And why didn't she turn her fucking cell phone on?? You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm starting to really wish that she HAD remembered to turn it on. If she'd had the brains to do so, then I wouldn't have been the one to be woken from a sound sleep just to go pick up his sorry drunken ass. And for that matter, what in the hell was Mulder THINKING when he downed 4 shots of bourbon anyhow? That it would somehow ENDEAR him to her? That Ms. Ice Queen herself would just come and get him and then take pity on his stupid ass? Well you know what, =I'M= not stupid and I know that for whatever reason, he went and drank because of her, but honestly, I don't know WHAT made him think that she would want to take pity on him because of it. And that only makes me angrier because I'M the one stuck picking him up. DAMN IT!! I'm going to kill Dana Scully. But now I've strayed from the story here. So anyhow, Mulder and I were talking on the phone this morning about a case involving dead tourists when OF COURSE, he realized that he just couldn't do ANYTHING without his wonderful little red headed partner, and so he just HAD to call her and tell her. Nevermind that it wasn't his place to do so, but then, being essentially "Mulder", he went ahead and did it anyhow. Then, about 15 minutes later, he called me from his car and told me that he had already made plane reservations for three people to Kansas. Of course, I didn't even have to ASK him why, or who the third person was going to be, because I already knew. So, trying just to be civil, I told him "ok. Sounds fine Mulder," and gritted my teeth the whole time, wishing that she would somehow be deathly ill and unable to come. But then he was at my doorstep, not even 5 minutes after that, throwing my stuff into the car, and my futile notion was beginning to fade fast. "Come on," he said. "We have to get to Scully's. I told her I'd only be an hour." At the mention of her name, I really felt like pounding my fists and screaming but I was good and so I didn't. Instead, I asked "So how long ago was that," like I really cared what time he had called her, and so he looked at his watch. "Damn---nearly 50 minutes ago" he replied and ordered me in. So then we got to Scully's place and she got in the car as icily as always, snapping at Mulder and acting like a complete Spoiled princess, I'm assuming, just because we woke her poor self up on a saturday. Like god forbid she should ever wake up early on a weekend right? Well anyways, she didn't say a word the whole car ride, not a single word to either of us, and just stared out the window like a petulant child, irritated and ignoring whatever it was we were talking about. See what I mean about her being irritating? I'm telling you, if you had met her, you'd hate her too. At any rate, about 20 minutes later, we pulled into the airport where of COURSE, Mulder felt so guilty about disturbing her precious "beauty sleep" that he just COULDN'T do enough for her... ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~~^ DIANA FLASHBACK: A little later but STILL earlier that day... Close to 8 am. DC International Airport God, they are just so sickeningly attached to each other that I think I may just throw up right here. Really, I just may. If I have to take another of his "knowing glances" or "concerned gazes" pointed in HER direction, I really, really may. I mean, it's bad enough that every time I tried to engage him in conversation while on the way here, he had to look up at the rearview mirror every 5 fucking minutes just to see what she was doing. Or to see if she was listening. Or to see if she was looking back at him. Or maybe even just to see whether or not she would decide to take her stupid sunglasses off. Which she didn't---by the way. But now everything is all "Scully I'll get that. Scully, let me take that for you. Scully, let me get you coffee. Scully, let me follow you around on a leash..." and it's making me want to bang my head up against a brick wall. Well ok, no he didn't TECHNICALLY say that last one, but he might as well have. It was written all over his face. And you know, I wonder if she even notices the way he constantly looks at her when he doesn't think she sees him. Like the way he's blatantly staring at her from behind the coffee shop counter right now. Just patently gazing at her like some ridiculous lovesick puppy in heat. Does that ever bother her at all? Does she know about it, or does she just not care? Sometimes I think it's the latter but then other times it's hard to tell. Because even though she's about as emotionally charged as a piece of bark, I can see that she is fiercely protective of him. Insanely, ridiculously so, and if I didn't know better, sometimes, I'd even say she was jealous----of any woman who even talks to him. But you know what really irritates me? What really irks me? The fact that even though this was MY case, MY assignment, and I JUST SO HAPPENED to let him in on it, he just HAD to call up his precious Scully anyhow. "Yeah" he said, "That sounds interesting Diana." He said. "Haven't had an interesting case in awhile." He said. And then of course, the inevitable "I'll call Scully and tell her. She's really good with stuff like this." Yeah right, I'm sure she is Mulder. I'm sure she's WONDERFUL with stuff like this. I'm sure she's just INCREDIBLE with stuff like this. Yeah, sure. Go right on ahead and tell her Mulder, I can't wait, really. And I'm sure she can't either. I'm sure she just LOVES being waken up at 6 o clock in the morning on a Saturday for stuff like this. I'm sure she relishes it. I'm sure she WAITS for it. I mean come on!! Scully is, after all, the end all to EVERYTHING, isn't she Mulder? Scully is perfect. Scully is God. Whatever. Please. Just kill me now. And THEN, to top of it all off, he goes and tells her that the case is HIS, and that I'm only "assissting" him---just so that she doesn't get mad at him-or at least mad-DER, in her case, or whatever. Well you know what? I'm going to make her SEE just whose case this is. Like I would really need HER help anyhow. Well, at least I can take comfort in the fact that I got that one little dig at her in the car. ---Our little Elvis joke from about a zillion years ago. The one that I KNEW she wouldn't get, it's sole purpose just to annoy her. It had been one of those little "inside jokes" that she hadn't been around for. One that he laughed at while she gritted her teeth in anger and irritation and didn't think I saw her. Well I did, and I really hope that it made her good and mad. But now I'm losing my train of thought here. Calm down Diana. So anyway, there's about 10 more minutes before we have to board, and I spy her, over by the gift shop's magazine rack. And being the glutton for punishment that I am, I casually decide to walk over to where she's standing and retrieve a pack of strawberry bubble yum. It's dumb, and I know I could probably just as easily get one over at the other shop, but I really want to get a good look at her. I want to find out what the hell is so damn wonderful that Mulder thinks the sun rises and sets around her. I want to try and figure out what the hell is so special about her. She notices me notice her and looks up briefly, almost disdainfully, and then raises an eyebrow, as if to say "what do YOU want" before she bows her head again and returns to whatever it is she's perusing through to pass time. It's almost as if her distaste for me is radiating off her in waves. INTERRUPT FLASHBACK: DIANA NARRATES <<<>>> CONTINUE FLASHBACK STILL DIANA: I glance up at her and watch as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, obviously pretending not to recognize my presence. So involved in this task is she, that she jumps ever so slightly when she hears someone come up behind her. "Hey Scully, coffee?" It's Mulder's voice and Mulder's feet approaching from behind and she realizes this quickly, her body apparently relaxing with the knowledge. I watch as he touches her shoulder, offering his hand out to her in what looks like a delicately ridiculous peace offering. It is the aforementioned scalding cup of coffee, and he somehow manages to make it look like he's handing her jewelry. She looks up from her paper and sighs, taking the cup from him like she's doing him a favor. Oh please. I just feel so bad for poor Scully, woken up at dawn this morning. My heart BREAKS for you, really it does. "It's decaf Scully," he declares proudly. "And uh, there's no cream because I know you don't um, like it and----" "Yes I can see that Mulder, thank you." He shuffles his feet and doesn't look at me at all. No surprise there. I wonder if he sees that I'm even around. Probably not, knowing him. After all, the light that is Dana Scully shine-th so bright that I may need sunglasses. ----Maybe she'll even let me borrow hers. Oh whatever. "Look Scully," he says. "I didn't mean to ahh... I mean I didn't want for...." "Me to be mad at you for waking me up." She finishes smoothly, blowing gently onto the surface of her coffee nonchalantly, as if she just ALWAYS finishes his sentences like a psychic friend. God, I think I may forgo the air sick bag and just be sick right here. How wonderfully cute. How incredibly adorable. God, I hate her. "Well I was" she answers pointedly, looking up from her drink, "but then I suppose I would've been even angrier if you'd have gone off half assed without me." For some reason that seems to make him smile although I don't see how it can possibly be construed as a compliment. Like I said, I just don't understand it. "So then I saved you the trouble of coming to save me?" he quips jokingly at her, and she just returns it with a withering, "Been there, done that" look. By god, I don't think the woman even KNOWS how to smile. "I wouldn't go that far Mulder," she answers him wryly, and that just makes his smile even wider. Damn it. This is really starting to piss me off. I just KNOW I must be missing something here. He gives her another goofy half grin and tips her chin gently up to look at him. The fact that he's touching her at all makes me want to dry heave, but the idea that he'd doing it as if he thinks she's going to break in half makes me want to regurgitate my entire breakfast. I really, REALLY hate her. "Hey there," he says gently. "Are we ok?" I'm only assuming that she takes that as his way of asking forgiveness, because she, to the surprise of myself, god, and the rest of the world, actually smiles back at him. "Yeah, we're ok." She replies, and then returns his gaze, as if they're talking in some secret code or something. It's so strangely cute it's repulsive. Then they look up, finally noticing they have company, I'm assuming, from the way that Mulder abruptly removes his fingers from Scully's chin as if he's embarrassed, and the way that Scully simply stares at me, like "Hel-LO? And you're here because??" It's almost like they've just all of a sudden realized that I was still alive, still HERE, which is probably the case, and as such, wanted to know why in the hell I was eavesdropping on them. Yeah, like I'd really care what they had to say to each other in an airport gift shop. Irritated, I force them a smile and offer my gum to the cashier, trying to keep my temper in check. Mulder mumbles something about going to check on the boarding and then silently disappears, leaving myself and the wonderful agent Scully alone together. Oh great. Thank you God. The gum now paid for, Scully and I regard each other quietly, uncomfortably. "So, how's the coffee?" I ask lightly. A pause. "Fine." We look away from each other. Thankfully though, our not-quite- conversation is interrupted when I hear the boarding announcement for our plane, a voice signaling the continuation of my descent into hell. ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ 2:16 am, Corcoran Motel. SCULLY CONTINUES HER STORY: <<<>>>> ~^~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^~^~ SCULLY: FLASHBACK Around 8 am flight 742, Nonstop to Kansas Where is Mulder goddamn it? Just where the FUCK is he? Why is it I can't turn my back on him for a second? Just one fucking second? WHY? GOD, I'm going to KILL him!! "Excuse me," someone calls from behind, and I try to move sideways for them, to let them pass, but I only manage to succeed in wedging my carry-on between two nearby seats. Oh shit. "Wonderful," I mutter irritated, and the man behind me begins to tap his foot impatiently, like oh yeah, I'm just getting a BIG kick out of fighting the seat for my luggage, and so my temper starts to rise. He taps his foot even louder and I wish to god that I could turn around and pummel the guy. Yeah Mister, Sure. I do this every time I get on an airplane--- just to piss other people off. Christ. Finally, I manage to pry it free with a low grunt, and Mr. asshole behind me mutters something like "Well it's about time," and I SWEAR, I am SO ready to just get out my gun and start firing at will. Where the FUCK is Mulder? Unable to figure out where the hell I'm supposed to be, I look down at my boarding pass and let out a miserable sigh. Oh god, I don't believe this. Coach it says. COACH!! I work for one of the most prominent federal agencies in the entire United States, and they won't even fork out the money for buisness class. Oh for the love of god. The cheap bastards. And then I hear it, an annoying alto voice from somewhere close by. "Oh just set it down there Fox, you don't have to carry it ALL over the plane." It's coming from across the aisle, and when I look up, I begin to wish that I hadn't. For Low and behold, there they are. My oh so wonderful partner and his oh so wonderful ex girlfriend slash federal agent are having an oh so wonderful conversation as he carries her oh so wonderful stuff while I'm stuck struggling with mine. Gee, thanx Mulder. No I'm fine---I have it---really. So much for chivalry. "Oh Good, 34 A and B. I guess we can discuss the case then," I hear her from across the aisle, and I stop to watch him nod. She then whispers and he's laughing at whatever it is she's just said. It's a scene that just makes my skin crawl all over. Oh yeah, she's just great isn't she Mulder? She's just the best. Why don't you go fuss all over her while I attempt to find my seat on the wing of the fucking plane. Then he stops and looks around, as if suddenly aware of missing something. Gee, did you LOSE something Mulder? Forget anything?? Did you perhaps misplace oh say...I dunno... your PARTNER?!?! "Where'd Scully go?" he queries, as if reading my mind, and I suddenly get the urge to transmit a telepathic message that says "fuck you." I watch as he then starts to crane his neck over people's heads to look for me. Yeah I'm sure it's great being 6 feet tall Mulder but Unfortunately, I can't keep tabs on YOU like that. "I thought she was right behind us," he frowns and Diana shrugs. "So did I," she offers and that makes me want to laugh out loud. Oh yeah Diana, I'm SO sure that you were paying SO close attention to whether I was "right behind you". I mean, you just SEEMED so enraptured with the idea of finding me and knowing where I was. I roll my eyes skyward. "I'm over here Mulder," I call dryly from across the aisle, struggling to get my bag under my seat, and he finally catches my eye, smiling in acknowledgement. "Hey!" he calls from the other row of seats, and sidesteps several people to get to me, eyeing my eminent struggle with my gray duffel. "Need any help?" he asks, and for the second time today, I feel like strangling him. No Mulder, why don't you go back to Ms "X-Queen" over there and try to see if you can get to second base before we hit Wichita? Oh god, where did THAT come from? Jesus, I really am immature about all this. I need to stop it. "No," I grumble irritated. "No, I'm fine." He raises an eyebrow and nods an "ok" before moving to try and get back across the traffic to his seat. His seat on the OTHER side of the aisle. His seat next to HER... with HER!! Damn it, things just can't get any worse. They can't. "Hi. Excuse me, Miss?" The voice is from behind me, and I slowly turn to try and smile at whoever is attempting pleasantries on this hellhole of a plane. At this point, even an ATTEMPT to be nice deserves some sort of acknowledgement in my book. To my not so wild surprise, it's a man. Nicely dressed and also carrying a gray duffel similar to mine. He's of average height and build, nothing special, nothing arousing, and he's smiling widely at me, gesturing towards the window seat. "That one's mine," he says, and I gently move to the side to let him through. Whatever, I don't care. Just move so that I can get myself seated soon and fall asleep. Finally, we sit and he extends a hand, as if I would want to get to know him or something, and I weakly take it. He seems to be genuinely pleased by this and grins wider, as if to say "yeah, getting to know strangers on airplanes is a passion of mine. Did I not mention that?" and I groan inwardly. I am just not in the mood for this at all. The "fasten seatbelt sign" then starts to blink on and off and I soon find, to complete this picture of idiocy, that mine is stuck. STUCK. My fucking seatbelt is stuck. Of course, how fitting. I groan and Mr. "Airplane friendly" next to me glances over and notices, frowning with a surprised, "So it's stuck huh?" and I just can't get over this. I can't. This just SOO figures. Yes, I silently hiss to myself. Yes it IS stuck, and thank you for noticing Captain Obvious... Ok, so I guess maybe THAT was a little uncalled for... I mean he IS just TRYING to be nice. I can't just go off on everyone because I'm mad at Mulder. None of this is HIS fault... I try to smile and then manage a "Yeah, it is." Captain Obvious smiles back and says "Well let me see it," as if I'm going to automatically let him, and then without warning or permission, he places his hands over mine to undo the knot that has it stuck. What the--- "See," he murmurs to me. "Not so hard to fix." He's still smiling. It's really unnerving. "So..." he pauses and flashes me what must be his "go get em'" smile. Oh god help me. "What's a beautiful woman like you going to Kansas for?" I surpress a groan of distaste and sneak a glance over at Mulder to see if he notices this at all. To see if he even cares. To see if it bothers him that some indiscriminate man is hitting on me... With horrible pick up lines, nonetheless. But of course, Mulder is so deep in conversation with Diana, he is just apparently oblivious to all reality, including airplane crowdedness, tiny seats, and not at all to my surprise, me as well. He seems perfectly content over there, across the aisle, gazing into HER eyes and sharing HER thoughts on the case... Oh god I hate her. I hate her. No. NOT this again. Oh GOD DAMN IT!! I. Will. NOT. Be. Jealous. Of. Diana. I will not. I have no reason to be. Slowly, I turn back to "Mr, Airline friendly" next to me and try to force a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry," he babbles, "That was way too forward of me. Let me introduce myself first. My name's Dan." He extends a hand to me and flashes another smile. Oh great. "Dana Scully," I reply in a non-commital tone, and then shake back firmly. His hand lingers over mine for just a little longer than I feel is necessary, and I'm seriously starting to consider telling him that I pack heat. That I am trained in hand to hand combat. Or maybe I'll just knee him in the groin instead and be done with it. I force out another tiny amicable smile, turning my head to look out the window, and I hope to god that by some miniscule chance, he'll "get the hint" and leave me be. But of course, because being Dana Scully means that I can't EVER win, It doesn't work. I'm not a fool and I can sense him looking me over, raking his eyes over my body like I'm a pork chop or some other main dish, and I'm starting to wish that the plane would just catch on fire. So, you like what you see buddy? Cause I can arrange it so that you don't EVER see ANYTHING again. "So, Dana," he says, interrupting the silence like I knew he would eventually. "You never answered my question. What's a pretty woman like yourself going to Kansas for?" The plane is starting to pull away from the gate. 6 more hours of this. Oh Jesus Christ, someone let me blow my brains out. This is SOO Mulder's fault. ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~~^^~^~^~ Coming soon to a theatre near you: MULDER'S SIDE OF THE STORY. Send me feedback and tell me what you think. Anxious to see what happens? What Mulder thinks of all this? Send feedback. Feedback gets you many stories and happy author!!! Title: The Way I Saw It Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Rated: "R" I guess, just because of the language. Category: S, R, H Spoilers: Diana Fowley from "The End." Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance (but UST first) Disclaimer: I don't own em'. Really, I don't. So please don't sue me, I beg of you. Summary: Mulder tells his side of the story on the way back to the motel. ~^~Author's note: If you haven't read parts 1 "a" and "b" please do so now. Otherwise, you'll be confused. Also, the next part I post should be the conclusion, so fear not. This one won't drag on forever. Ok, on with the show. Still for Jen. I hope you like it. The Way I Saw it Part 2: What he said By Jaime Lyn XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Back to the Car: 2:17 am, early August 14th MULDER TELLS HIS OWN STORY: ~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^~^~^ Oh god, my head really hurts. It really, REALLY does. It's like this endless non-stop pounding and it's going to crack my skull in two---I just know it. Now mind you, I'm not usually a weak drinker. I'm really not. On good days, if you can even call them that, I could probably inhale a good 5, no---a good 6 bourbons without even flinching. Without even batting an eyelash. I can ---really I can. You think I'm kidding you? You think I can't hold my liquor? Well you're wrong. I can... really. Truly. Really, I can... Ok, so I'm just bullshitting you now. I don't---I mean I never....I mean, well, I uh, I don't drink and right now I'm suffering from what has to be the world's most miserable hangover... Not to mention what has to be THE biggest blow to my ego yet. And I've had quite a few, trust me. Head...Pounding...Bump in the road... oh god... Did you know that the male ego is a very fragile thing? Well it is, and I think I'm just now discovering that. I mean, one minute I'm all macho and sucking down shots along with several police officers from the local PD like a "REAL MAN", and the next... Well, let's just say that sitting slumped on the floor, drunk as anything and whining about how much I need Scully, and how I always screw things up is just NOT the most conducive excersize in manly activities. Not that watching Diana drive me home with this miserable scowl on her face proves my manhood either, but then, at least I don't have a dozen or so law enforcement officers here in this car, laughing at me while I try to squeeze my eyes shut and keep my dinner from coming back up... Oh god, dinner.... Oh...god...I'm going to be ugh, sick....ugh... Bump in the road...pothole... Diana's pissed and doing about 80 down a dirt road. Wonderful. I think she's PURPOSELY trying to kill me. "Diana... Pull over..." a groan comes from next to me, and also what sounds like a hand angrily slapping against the steering wheel. "Fox, we are 30 damn seconds from the motel. Do you think you could just----" Diana stops in mid sentence as she turns to look at me. Or at least, I think that's what she's doing. I dunno. I dunno anymore. She's kinda hazy...Like she's bobbing up and down and... Damn it Diana, stop that...Just stop...stop spinning like that. I can barely see you. And why in the hell are there 3 of you anyways?? She's doing this on purpose. I just know it. "Stop that," I manage to rasp out, and she roughly yanks the car over to the shoulder of the road. Lurch, bump, lurch. Oh christ.... "What are you talking about? Stop what?" Sick...sick...I'm going to be sick... I should've thought about this before hand. I should've stayed at the motel. I should've... Ugh...My stomach... I shouldn't have gotten so mad at Scully. I yank open the door and sprint outside, Diana edging slowly behind me. I acted like a complete and total asshole towards her today, and then I went and yelled at her for something so...god I don't even know what anymore. But it was something stupid I'm sure. The point is, I acted like a jerk and she yelled back, and then things got out of hand, and I left and she stayed and oh god my stomach... I need to apologize to her. I really do. I really owe her one. Well actually, I owe her about a million, but for tonight I can only apologize for so much. She's mad at me you know. Insanely, homicidally mad at me and I deserve all of it. I'm just such an ass. After all, I was the idiot who woke her up this morning, demanding that she come with me when she didn't need to; when she could've slept. When she should've slept, especially after a night that I just KNOW she didn't spend sleeping because I accidentally left her all my paperwork the night before that. (Ok, now before you say ANYTHING, let me just mention that it was piled up so high on my desk that I put some of it on hers just to make sure that it wouldn't fall... Seriously---that's the ONLY reason, I SWEAR!! Now, how was I supposed to know she'd take it home with her??) Ok I know. I get it. I'm an ass. I mentioned that before. So I guess I could've called her and told her not to do all of it but... But you see, it was free HBO weekend and then Diana called and asked me out to get something to eat... And yeah, yeah, I know. I'm an ass. I know. But then, I'm allowed to have a life, am I not? I mean, it's not like I was cheating on Scully or anything by going somewhere with Diana. It's not like I should have felt guilty about it. After all, there's no reason FOR me to feel guilty. Scully and I aren't involved. We're not. She's my partner, my best friend, my... Well, to be honest, she's the person that... well to use a totally UN macho like term... she's the person that completes me. Totally. Wholly. I just... I know I could be content just to spend the rest of my life with her... even if we never kissed once. I could be happy just being around her. Seeing her everyday. Hearing her voice. Going on assignment with her. Being the only man in her life. Even if she never lets me hold her, it doesn't matter to me... Ok, so maybe that's a lie. Maybe it matters a little... Or a lot... So then why did I go out with Diana when she was at home doing the paperwork? I dunno. It's compicated. I just... I guess just I wanted someone who I knew wanted me back... Not that anything happened or anything because it DIDN'T...And don't think that I believe that that excuse excuses my inexcusable behavior , or that it means that I want Scully any less than I do... Because it doesn't. I know that. But... well, wanting Scully is just not as cut and dry as "wanting Scully." It's a complicated, multi-leveled feeling, and it involves so much more that just me wanting her. It involves knowing that she may want me back, and that the idea of such an occurance is terrifying to me. It involves commitment and major repurcussions at work. It involves letting her inside and then giving her something I don't know I'll ever be able give... So of course, I can't ever tell her. I can't ever let her know. I guess that for me it's just easier to live denial, and whenever in doubt, I can just fall back on old tactics. Act like an Ass to save her from me. Ditch her when she gets too deeply inside, and thus save her from getting sucked in and then leaving me because it gets to be too much for her. Just like Diana did. Something I promised never to let happen to me again... I figure that if I can save her, then I can also save myself from getting hurt. It's just that I'd rather have Scully here with me and not actually HAVE her, than have Scully hate me and leave me. But tonight, I think I went too far. I really pissed her off. I shouldn't have done it but... Well I guess I must have a real penchant for trouble sometimes... I'll tell you what happened but just give me a second to get my head to stop throbbing... Ok. Well, I guess you could say that it was my phone call to her this morning that really started all this, but then that's going way too far back as far as I'm concerned. Right now my head hurts way too much to even remember something from that early on today. Alright...think... Where could I...Oh, nevermind I know where to begin... Ok. I suppose I could just start with the plane ride... yeah, the plane ride. And that guy...whatever his name was. That idiotic guy I would have just loved to throttle halfway across Coach and out the plane for looking at her...for being near her... Not that I let her notice me notice him notice her of course... But then again, I tend to get rather stupid when it comes to Scully, and REALLY stupid when it comes to Scully admirers sooo... Well, let me just say that me and my stupid mouth only made a bad situation worse. The bad situation was that I was sitting all the way across the aisle from her on a ridiculously crowded plane full of irritating people. I had also become quite aware, from watching the icy way that they spoke and regarded each other, that my old partner and my present partner had absolutely no love lost for each other. So what was the WORST part? Well, like I said. Me and my stupid mouth... ~^~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^ MULDER: Flight 742 Nonstop to Kansas, Right after boarding the plane Somewhere around 8 am. "Yeah Fox, I remember reading that. See that's what I was thinking..." Ok, sometimes it really IS nice having a conversation with someone who actually thinks the way that you do. Someone who doesn't tear apart everything you say like a vulture moving in for the kill... Not that I mind Scully ripping into my theories but... Well sometimes I just miss having conversations with a person who doesn't have a perpetually raised eyebrow. "Oh--- here they are... I think... What do the boarding passes say again?" My brow furrows and I look up. Huh? What'd she say? Something about boarding passes? Oh great. I'm not even paying attention anymore. Diana looks at me and then glances up at the sign over the row of seats. The look on her face clearly says "Hello? You're holding the tickets stupid," and my eyes finally begin to register. Oh yeah, I am aren't I? "Umm..." I try to look down and suddenly realize that I'm dangerously close to dropping her carryon. Why am I carrying this thing for her again? "Yeah, I think this is it..." She smiles and nods. "Yeah---this is it." Oh thank god almighty, we've found the seats. Praise Allah. Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to carry two heavy bags through a throng of the most angry, annoying people in the history of airplanes? Well I can tell you, it's certainly not fun. "Oh, just set it down there Fox. You don't have to carry it ALL over the plane." Oh, whatever Diana. I shouldn't have had to carry it at ALL. What, did you just conveniently forget to take back your luggage after you asked me to hold it for you for "just a second?" "Oh Fox, just hold this for a second so I can put my gum away..." Oh yeah, no problem Diana. I don't mind. No-not at all... I don't mind holding your bags... for 10 fucking thankless minutes, nearly falling over because I can't fit through the aisle... Gee-did you finish putting your gum away yet? God, I hope not because I just LOVE dragging your shit all over tiny crowded airplanes. I live for it. I relish it. Oh yeah. But then, that just proves that some things never change doesn't it Diana? After all these years, I'm still your own personal concierge aren't I? Still your muse. You know that I hate carrying my own stuff, let alone your bags and your boarding pass. You know that--- I know you do. But then of course, you wouldn't be the same old Diana if you didn't act selfishly, like you could just do anything or say anything because you were just ALWAYS right. Just dragging me around like I'm your pet rock. Well you know something, I'm not that guy anymore Diana. I'm not. Scully knows that. Scully knows that I hate carrying my stuff onto these dammned airplanes. That's why Scully never asks me to carry hers... Oh crap... Where IS Scully? Shit. Shit. I did it again. I went and fucking did it again. I was so involved with discussing the case with Diana that I completely lost my partner. My very, very ANGRY partner. My very, very angry and very, very TIRED partner. The one I seriously pissed off this morning. Oh god. This is so NOT good. My very, very angry Scully is wandering around somewhere on this plane with a loaded gun and not a clue as to where I am. Oh god. "Oh good. 34 A and B, I guess we can discuss the case then," I hear from behind me. I furrow my brows and turn back to Diana nodding, trying to convince myself that Scully just lagged behind. She's right behind us. Right in back of us. Or, at least... She WAS... Just great stupid. You did it again. You fucking did it again Mulder. You went and fucked up again. I shake my head but I can't wear off the feeling. Scully somewhere on this plane, cursing my name and unable to figure out where the hell her seat is. I can just see it---No. This is not my fault. The plane is just too crowded, that's all. I'm rationalzing and it's not working... Diana leans into my ear and whispers, apparently unaware that we're missing our third party. "Hey---I think that guy just tried to check me out. You think I should kick his ass?" Oh yeah, same old Diana. Same old sense of humor. Was that what attracted me to her in the first place? Oh god, that was so long ago... I can't help but laugh at our old inside joke and she laughs too, a pleased grin covering her face. It doesn't surprise me at all that she hasn't inquired about where my partner is. After all, she seems perfectly content to be sharing a seat with me; to be sharing a row with me instead of the way it usually goes--- with me and Scully sitting together, and it's not like I don't know that's what she's thinking. I know that she's glad Scully's not the one sitting here, that Scully's not exactly a happy camper right now, and I wonder if she thinks I'm stupid or just blind. It's not like I can't see the way she looks at Scully--- with this high and mighty attitude as if she believes Scully's just some third wheel, or some little annoyance, and actually, it IS kind of flattering... in a weird sort of way but... Well, Scully's not a third wheel. And she's not an annoyance either. Not by any stretch of the imagination. So I can't help but feel guilty that I don't know where Scully is. I should really try to look for her. Behind us. She was right behind us. I know it. I swear she was. "Where'd Scully go?" I finally ask and feel a strange wave of something. You know, sometimes I would swear that my partner knows how to empathically imprint herself on my brain, making me FEEL her anger. Because right now, Scully's mad. I know it. I can feel it. She's pissed off, wherever she is, and I can sense it. I can always feel it when she's mad or upset, even when I'm not right next to her, and it's weird. I don't know why it happens but it does. Damn it, I thought she was right behind us. "I thought she was right behind us..." Oh yeah, that was intelligent buddy. Real smart. She's obviously NOT right behind you moron. "Yeah, so did I..." Oh please. That's a lie Diana and you know it. You did NOT think that. If you HAD known she was right behind, then I'm sure you would have made some condescending remark and thrown it her way. I know you Diana. I know what you do with other people who threaten your territory. I know how you get. I know that you think this is still your territory. I know what you want, and I know that you want it back; my trust, my loyalty... You want this to be your terrain again... I just don't know how to tell you that I can't give it to you. It's just not mine to give... Not anymore anyways... I crane my neck and try to spot Scully's red hair amongst the masses. The flash of that seldom found color that always alerts me to her prescence. It's probably the best way to spot her in ANY crowd. No one has hair the color of my Scully's... Ooohhh... you know, if she ever found out that I thought of her as "my" Scully she'd probably shoot me on the spot. She's certainly capable--she HAS done it before... Damn it, where is she? "I'm over here Mulder," sounds from somewhere close by, and it's as if she's reading my mind. You know, sometimes I think that either Scully must be one of those psychic friends or that she just has "Mulder radar." Either way, somehow, she almost always manages to track me down even when there's a gazillion people blocking her way. It's unbelievable. Really, it is. Ok, so where close by could she---OH! there she is. She was right across the aisle this whole time? Ok, so maybe I =AM= blind... Oh... Now THERE'S a sight... Scully's struggling to get her bag under the seat and I have to admit, it is really, REALLY cute. Well, ok, not cute in a "condescending 5 year old" sort of way, but cute in a "My partner who can shoot a dime off a can from 50 feet away can't get her bag under the seat" kind of way. I smile (mostly because I can't help but smile at the sight) and call "Hey," before tripping over several people just to get to her. Ok, now I really need to calm down. I'm just crossing the aisle after all, not the fucking Mississippi. Several people hurl some not so nice comments my way but I don't care. Sometimes I act like a lovesick teenager when it comes to Scully, and one of these days I am just going to end up falling out of the emergency exit while tripping over some really agitated passenger, just because I want to get to her fast enough. Shit. I am not even within arms reach of her and I can already tell that she's NOT happy to see me. Ok, so maybe she's relieved to have finally FOUND me, but then, being relieved to see my presence and actually WANTING it there are two TOTALLY different things entirely. Ok. Now I have to say something intelligent that won't get my head chopped off. "Need any help?" Damn, is that the best I can come up with? Her reaction tells me that this was OBVIOUSLY the wrong thing to say. Alright, strike one. She chances a quick glance over to Diana, I guess, because she thinks I won't notice, and a brief, almost imperceptible grimmace covers her face. It is gone almost as soon as it appeared though, And I'm supposing that she'd rather me not have seen that side of her. I can tell that she doesn't want me to know that Diana makes her feel threatened. What am do you think, that I'm blind Scully? Of course I see what's going on here. I know what's been bothering you... When she looks up, her expression is clear. 'Fuck off Mulder.' But of course, she doesn't say that. "No," she mutters through clenched teeth. "No, I'm fine." Her eyes are still saying 'Fuck off.' Alright, Warning. Red alert. I know Scully well enough to know that she is NOT fine, but I also know her well enough to know when to not press an issue... Even if I'm annoyed that she's annoyed with me. Ok, fine. I can play that game too. I nod and then move back to my seat, hoping to exchange some conversation with a person who would actually LISTEN to me. A person who isn't going to get pissed off at me every five fucking seconds. You know, I think I'm getting just a little sick of that 'Fuck off Mulder,' look. It's all I see these days... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Keep going--there's more to read. The Way I Saw It By Jaime Lyn All disclaimers and such in the beginning of this part. Read on. :o) ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ INTERRUPT FLASHBACK, MULDER NARRATES: <<<<<<>>>>> CONTINUE FLASHBACK Flight 742 Sometime close to 9 am. STILL MULDER: He's flirting with her. Relentlessly. That bastard is flirting with her! My Scully! MY SCULLY!! I'll kill him. "Fox, did you hear what I said?" Diana's speaking. She's saying something but I'm not really listening. I'm not even thinking in the same neighborhood as her anymore. Alright, mission: intercept Scully's little chat with whatever his name is before makes a move on MY partner. MY partner. Bastard. "Can I see that for a sec," I ask and Diana nods, handing me the folder. Examining the photos again, I risk another glance over towards Scully and spy her still talking to her wonderful seatmate. I'll break every bone in his body. I will. If he so much as TRIES anything… Ok, so I know Scully can handle herself just fine but… God, I hate him. I'll kill him. "I need to show this to Scully," I mumble, and I don't even know what it is that I'm looking at. I don't even know what the picture is of, or why I need to show it to her. Diana raises a speculative eyebrow but nods, and I rise from my seat to talk to Scully, grabbing a photo and some indiscriminate data sheet along the way. It takes me a little while and a lot of patience, but I somehow manage to weed through the aisle as dirty looks and "Excuse YOU's" are shot in my direction. One woman glares at me and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "asshole," but I don't care. I'm too concerned with breaking in between Scully and Mr. Seatmate friendly over there to care whether I've just been given the finger by… god, how old was that little girl? Like, 8? My god, where are the parents? Oh well, that's not the important thing here. The important thing is here is getting hit on my some asshole who I am just going to have to kill one way or the other. I cross from the aisle and kneel next to Scully, tapping her on the shoulder. "And so then he says to me---" Mr. "Prozac Airline happy" stops in mid-sentence as he spots me, and Scully turns, almost looking relieved for a quarter of a second, before that not so happy scowl re-affixes itself to her face. The 'Fuck you' look is still quite firmly planted there. Oh good god, she can't STILL be mad can she? She raises an eyebrow at me. "What?" Ok, so maybe she can. "I uh, need you to look at this." Another scowl, and she yanks it out of my hands. I really hope that she can't see through this pathetic reason to come over and talk to her… My god, am I really THAT pathetic? Am I? Well, it IS a good excuse right? And why shouldn't I come over to ask something like that. I mean, I always do. I'm always saying, "Look at this Scully. I need your expertise on this Scully. Help me with this Scully. Stop looking at me as if you want me to fall off the airplane Scully." Well no, I don't really ever say that LAST one, but maybe I should. She drops the data paper into her lap and examines the picture, turning it carefully; upside down and then right-side up; clockwise and then counterclockwise; sideways and back. She hands the photo back to me and stares at me in distaste. "So?" Great. She's still as pissed as ever and I've not helped it by coming over here. "So? That's it? Just 'so'?" I don't even know why I'm saying that or why I'm so surprised at her reaction, because in actuality, I don't even know what that photo was a picture of, but still… I feel the need to try and make a point here. Ok, so I don't know what that point is, but I still can't help but be stubborn about it. She sighs like I'm some sort of giant burden on her soul. Oh just excuse the FUCK out of me Scully. So sorry to have bothered you. "Can't this wait till we land Mulder?" She rubs hard at her temples, as if to say "You really are a shit Mulder," and I can't help but get the sudden urge to hit her; to just shake her. I hardly ever feel that; the urge to just up and smack her, but right now, I really, really want to. Now, of course I would never do that, but sometimes she just frustrates me so much, infuriates me so deeply, that I just want to shake her and scream "God Damn it Scully! I'm just SO SORRY that you hate me so much!!" I mean, what does she want me to do? Apologize every 30 fucking seconds for ruining her life? God, I don't know why I even bother anymore. Mr. Airline friendly chooses that exact moment to poke his head into the conversation and now I just KNOW I'm going to have to hit SOMETHING. "You two know each other?" he asks dully, and I can't help but push back a groan. Yes we do, and THANK YOU for noticing Captain Obvious. Was that the best you could come up with? "We're partners," Scully grits out through her teeth, and then folds her arms across her chest. She doesn't take her eyes off of me and I don't take my eyes off of her. She's still angry and piercing me with that 'come on, say something— -I dare you' look on her face, and so I stare back, un-moved. You wanna play hard ball agent Scully? Is that it? She raises a challenging eyebrow at me. "No, it can't wait," I tell her indignantly. It can't wait because I have the most immature urge to keep that guy from carrying on a conversation with you and this is the only way I know how to do it… "Why Mulder?" she demands. "What is so damned important that it can't wait a few hours?" Oh I dunno Scully…the fact that this guy's hitting on you… my own petty jealousy… The fact that I'm as stubborn as anything… "It's… It's…" She looks at me with folded arms and that expectant, irritated posture that she adopts when she's mad. I really don't know what to say. "Just… would you just read through this Scully?" She blinks and shakes her head in an "I can't believe him" kind of way. "Would you just let me sleep Mulder?" Oh please Scully. Give me a break. You certainly didn't LOOK like you were sleeping. "Oh, so now you sleep with your eyes open WHILE carrying on a conversation? You know that's quite a feat Scully. That's… that's---" She shoves the photo into my chest, hard. Ow. Damn it. The other paper I handed to her along with the photo is still sitting in her lap. "This conversation is OVER Mulder." Oh is it? Is it really Scully? I rest my arms on my knees and lean in closer, knowing that she won't be intimidated but feeling the need to piss her off. My breath falls onto her hands and I lean up even higher, making eye contact before looking past her to her little airline friend in the adjoining seat. Maybe he'll get the hint and take a bathroom break. Or maybe I can just kill him and get it over with. He looks confused and starts to mumble something. Oh god, you can't POSSIBLY be interested in this idiot Scully. Tell me you're not interested in him… please tell me you're not… "Partners," he murmurs out loud. "Oh... OH! Oh my god, I'm sorry Dana, I had no idea. I didn't know you two were----" "Not a couple," we both blurt out, so in unison that it's sick, and Scully turns to glare at me again. I glare back. "Whatever," I mutter. "I'm going back ok?" "Fine." "Fine." Damn, this is fucking mature as anything isn't it? What am I? In the fifth grade? Yeah Scully, maybe you hate me but I hate you more and you're a poopy head anyhow so it doesn't matter. Yeah, we're real grown-up aren't we? Why don't I just steal her sand bucket and pull on her pig-tails too while I'm at it? God. SO STUPID! I stare across the aisle and grimmace. Shit. She's always fucking mad at me. Damn you Scully... INTERRUPT FLASHBACK: MULDER NARRATES: Ok so I was mad. VERY mad. But of course I went away when she asked because ultimately, I ALWAYS end up going away when she asks. I always say "Yes scully, no Scully" like I'm saying "Yes dear, no dear" and it's pathetic. I have absolutely NO backbone. But whatever. Anyhow, after THAT unproductive conversation, I was still pissed. As a matter of fact, I was even MORE pissed AFTER I had spoken to her than I had been before hand. And this time it wasn't just directed at "Prozac Boy" either. I was pissed off at her. I was pissed off at myself. I was angry with the whole situation in general. But then it got even worse. When I got back to my seat, Diana asked me where the coroner's report was and I said I didn't know, not really caring and still angry from having an argument with Scully in front of that Don Juan wannabe. So then she said, "Well that means that agent Scully must have it and I suggest you get it back from her quickly." And that confused the hell out of me and so I asked her "Why shouldn't she see it?" Truth to be told, I hadn't read through the case report as thuoughly as I should have. I mean, I knew the bare facts---the ones that had pequed my interest, but I never took the time to read everything. I really should have. Because that's when Diana told me "Well, I didn't want to just spring it on her until we landed but... Well, no autopsies have been done yet." My mouth dropped open. Somehow I managed to get out "16 bodies were found four days ago and no autopsies had been done?" She merely shrugged… Oh god—-my stomach again… I can't think about dead bodies and…oh no…Hold on a second… I think I'm going to be sick… "Fox?" That's Diana. "Fox, let's GO!" Alright, I need to go and get back to the car before Diana pops a blood vessel, but I'll hurry and tell you what happened next... before my stomach erupts all over the pavement… You see, Scully and I had both assumed that all the bodies had been examined---- that all they would need were once overs---since the homicidal nature of the crime would have required an immediate autopsy, but then neither one of us had really gone through the report. At the very least, I figured that Diana would have TOLD me if the bodies needed to be examined... She would have said, "If you're going to bring Agent Scully, tell her that autopsies need to be done," but she didn't. Just why she didn't, I don't know. Maybe it was to piss Scully off. Maybe it was to piss me off. Maybe it was even to get Scully mad at me, but who knows. All I know is that not even 5 minutes after I made THAT revelation, Scully must have read through the paper I had left with her and discovered it too. Because that's when she made her way through the coach traffic... with a very purposeful stride and a really pissed off look on her face... CONTINUE FLASHBACK: Flight 742, Now 9:21 am STILL MULDER: "Why didn't you tell me about this Mulder?" Her voice is louder than I'm sure a lot of people around us would appreciate right now, and so I take a second to regard the passengers sitting across from us. Sure enough, the people in the center aisle are staring pointedly at me. And just what do YOU want? Christ! Go back to your magazine or something. God, some people are nosy. Stop staring! Don't you people have BETTER things to do? "Mulder?" Ok, don't look at her, don't look at her… If I look at her, I know I'm going to squirm... and I REALLY don't want to squirm. Not now. Not when I'm so mad...Not when I KNOW I'm the wrong one this time. I really HATE admitting that I' wrong. Especially to Scully. She likes to goad it over me until doom cracks. "Look at me Mulder," she snaps, and I finally stare at her, trying to keep my poker face straight. God, I suck at poker. "Why did you neglect to tell me that I was going to have to do all these autopsies?" Now the people in the center aisle are staring at us as if we're circus freaks, and I have to stifle the urge to tell my normally reserved partner to lower her voice. I look over at Diana and she shrugs again, her expression clearly saying "sorry buddy---not my partner, not my problem" and I think I'm going to strangle the both of them. GOD! I don't know how I'm ever going to survive this case. Why the hell did I tell Diana I'd help her? Why on earth did I call Scully and tell her to come? Why oh why doesn't the floor ever open up and swallow you when you need it to? And you know what the REALLY funny thing is? I've faced monsters and ghosts, gunshot wounds and aliens, but going on a case with my less that forgiving ex partner and my less than forgiving Scully will end up being be the death of me. I just know it. This is unbelievable. And very much my fault. Great. I really stuck my foot in my mouth this time. My god, from the look on her face, I'd say Diana was almost pleased with all this. But no. Diana wouldn't act like that... Would she? I know she's territorial but… "Well Mulder?" Scully, Diana, and passengers dumb and dumber in the center aisle are still staring at me. I don't know what to say. "Ok look," I try to reason, not even knowing what to do with myself anymore, "I only found out about this now myself. If I had known---" "If you had known then what Mulder? What? You would've let me sleep this morning?" Ok, that's not fair. "Scully I---" "What Mulder? What now? What else are you going to spring on me?" Diana is staring at me. Scully is staring at me. Half the center aisle is staring at me. Oh jesus christ this is a conspiracy. I don't know what to say anymore. I look down. I need to refocus my attention. I need to focus on something, I need... Ohmygod... How could I not have noticed... "Mulder?" Scully stares at me pointedly, expectantly, but I'm too busy staring at the corner of her shirt---near the hemline. Her jacket had been covering it up before, but now I can see more of the blouse underneath it and… Oh god. That's funny. That's really...wow that's just... That's so... Without warning I let out a chuckle and both women stare at me confused. Oh my god Scully. That's just too funny that's... "What's so funny?" she asks, piercing my gaze again. Ok. This is obviously NOT the time to alert her to this. This is NOT what I need to tell her. NOT what I need to be thinking... She's only going to get angrier if I mention it… "What? What are you laughing at? Say something Mulder," she warns. Yeah Mulder, say something... Say something. Say ANYTHING. By god, say something SOMEWHAT intelligent. But what do I say? Scully I'm sorry. Scully I need you. Scully I love you. "Scully your blouse is on inside-out." Shit. Oh Shit. WHY DID I SAY THAT?! Next to me, Diana stifles a chuckle and Scully looks down at her blouse in confusion, her cheeks turning a shade of crimson I've rarely seen on her. SHIT! She looks up and rolls her tongue inside of her cheek angrily, deftly proving that if looks could kill, I'd be dead and buried. Someone in the center aisle clears their throat and stifles their own chuckle. Oh great, go ahead. Laugh. Go on. Make this worse for me. Scully leans in close and I can feel her breath tickling my cheek. So this must be what trapped flies feel like... She gently takes my right hand from my lap, intently gazing at me through thin slits of narrowed eyes. Slowly, she grips my fingers and starts to squeeze... HOLY FUCK!! GODDAMN IT ALL TO HELL!! JESUS SCULLY THAT HURTS!!! I let out a painful hiss through my teeth and flinch, having not before realized just how strong a grip she's got. SHIT! OW! She leans in closer and I can feel her breath upon my ear now. Oh god oh god oh god... "I would have said this before but you hung up on me before I got the chance. Fuck You Mulder. And also, don't talk to me for the rest of this flight." She whispers it as if it's a sensual promise and not an angry retort, and now my cheeks are turning red. I open my mouth to say something but she is already up and away, apparently heading towards the bathroom to fix her blouse, and angry. VERY ANGRY, by the way I can see her tiny fists, balled up so tight that they're as white as the airsick bags. FUCK! It is confirmed. I am an idiot. "Well that must be embarrassing," I hear Diana mumble from beside me, either still engrossed in the case file or just not really interested in my helping with my dilemna, and I irritatedly bite my lip. I raise a weary hand to my head and rub my temples. Oh god, I'm in hell. I really am in hell. When do we land again? BACK TO THE RENTAL CAR: Early August 14th Around 2:24 am. 30 seconds from the motel MULDER NARRATES: <<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> ~^~^~^^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^ Coming soon: "Scully and Diana finish the story." So, you like? Think maybe you know where it's headed or just want to tell me what you think? All feedback is GREATLY appreciated, cherished and replied to. :o) Please send me yours. *grin. Title: The Way I Saw It,Part 4: Simple Immaturity Author:Jaime Lyn Rated: "R" (Once again, people's brains tend to have potty mouths.) Mulder also says one dirty word out loud. *grin* Spoilers: Well, the first 2 parts of course, and season 5 in general. Disclaimer: If I owned them I'd be VERY happy (and rich)right now. But I don't. Nuff said. Summary: An angry Scully, an immature Mulder, and one VERY heated confrontation, as our story continues. Author's note* Thank you to all who have read this. (and sent feedback)I love you guys. Also, I added a little something for all the "Simple Kiss" fans who have been waiting for that ONE THING to happen, that ONE THING that Mulder and Scully haven't gotten to yet in the other story... And I AM getting to the end here, slowly but surely. The next part should be it (if all goes according to plan...hmmm...) And please read parts 1 and 2 before you read this, if you haven't already. If you don't, you're going to be scratching your head through this whole story going, "What??" Still for Jen, my best friend in the world. You always inspire me, even if you don't know it. (poignantly touching, isn't it? ...whatever. ha ha.) "The Way I Saw It, Part 3: Simple Immaturity By Jaime Lyn ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~ Around 2:20 am, Early August 14th, Corocoran Motel SCULLY'S STORY: ~^~^~^~^~^~^~ Alright, that's it. I give up. I just fucking give up. I mean, there's irony and then there's IRONY. Ok, first of all, the heat index outside is about a gazillion degrees--- give or take a few hundred--- and the air conditioner's broken in my room--- NOT FUN, let me tell you. SECOND of all, it's about 4 o clock in the morning-4 O CLOCK, godamn it, and Mulder's STILL not back... That inconsiderate asshole... But even that's not really not what's eating at me right now. That's actually almost ok, really. That I can handle. That I'm almost USED to. After 7 years of nothing but miserable weather and his ridiculous cases out in the middle of nowhere, horrible working and sleeping arrangements I've learned to handle. Shitty hotel rooms I can handle. But here's something that very few people know about me. Here's something that I absolutely CANNOT handle---especially at this hour. Something that makes me want to run and hide and crawl under the bed... The theme music for "Hawaii Five-0". It just eats at my eardrums and makes me want to smother my face with a pillow. Really, it does. And you'd think, I mean seriously, you'd really think, that a town with absolutely NOTHING to do...whatsoever...at any time...at all... would want to or at least TRY to invest in more than 5 goddamn channels on the television. You'd think they would WANT cable. Right? Am I right? And you'd also think, maybe just because there are about a ZILLION different television shows to choose from, that at least SOMETHING different would be programmed to air on each of these 5 measly channels. You'd think so, wouldn't you? Well, sorry to say there's not, and I think I've somehow become trapped in the middle of "The Twilight Zone," South Kansas, USA. Once again, the gods of sadistic irony have laughed upon Dana Katherine Scully. Frowning, I turn the remote upside down, sideways, backwards, and then right-side up. I stab at the buttons and frown again. For those of you who don't know, this is the universal, completely un-practical but frustrated sign of the dis-pleased television viewer. It's the irrational idea that the approximate position and angle of the remote is somehow directly related to the quality of television programming. Unfortunately it never works, and so the uncaring remote is tossed to the bed with a grunt of disgust. Damn it! Where the hell IS HE?! Ok, now I'm just losing it completely and I'm sorry. I apologize. I know I just need to... to breath and then relax and then get a grip. I need to get back my self-control and pray to god that I can find the strength to keep my head from exploding the second Mulder walks through that door. I need... I need a cigarette. I really need a cigarette. God, I don't even smoke and I really need one. Ok, before you say anything, I'm not crazy---really I'm not. I'm also not a chain smoker either. I swear. I never smoke---I don't... Well, hardly ever anyhow. Or at least I try not to... Oh shut up. If you were in my place, you'd want to smoke too. I mean, considering that some people have cracked after working only one DAY with Mulder, you'd think that after 5 years I'd get some sort of promotion to sainthood or something... Alright, fine. So I'm no saint. I know that, but still. A lesser person would have lost their mind by now. A lesser person would have pulled all their hair out by now. But then, all of the lesser people I know are snug and warm in their beds, right now, sleeping peacefully and looking forward to their lazy Sunday... Well screw them. I hate them. I hate Mulder and as immature as it sounds, I hate that Fowley woman too. And more than anything, I HATE "Hawaii Five-0" And I don't just mean "hate" as a slight term. I mean I HATE it...HATE with a glorified passion. I think it's the dumbest, most ridiculous show ever, right up there next to "Suddenly Susan" and "Dharma and Greg", and so OF COURSE, it's on every single goddamn fucking channel. But where was I before I turned the TV on? Oh yeah. Plane ride. Ok, so anyhow, much to my ultimate surprise, Mulder did just as I asked of him--for once in this life or any other--- and he stayed away from me for the rest of the plane ride. He didn't look at me, talk to me, or even so much as lean in my direction once. It was refreshing and nice---almost as if he ACTUALLY listened to me this time, and that's something he hardly EVER does. But what would have otherwise been a very pleasant turn of events actually, ended up being a curse of my own making. It's amazing how Mulder chooses to heed my words at the most INAPPROPRIATE moments. Because, as I had quickly discovered, "no Mulder" meant that I had no defense for being anti-social without being downright rude. "No Mulder", as it turned out, did NOT make for a quiet, non stressful plane ride. No. Rather, it was quite the opposite. "No Mulder", meant 4 more straight hours of wonderfully boring, incredibly innate "chit chat" with Mr. Prozac Webster, who just happened to think that computer sales were the most fascinating thing next to "must see TV" and my "blue as chlorine" eyes--which---I think, is exactly the way that he put it. At one point, the guy even leaned over to me and said--in what I think he believed to be his most sexy voice---and no, I am NOT kidding, "Hows about you and me go for a little coffee after the flight touches down. I mean, I like you and you like me and we can go as slow as you want...or as fast as you want---if you know what I mean,"---Wink wink, nudge nudge. I thought I was going to throw up. And now that I think about it, well... I think that maybe I should've just shot the idiot and been done with it. Well, no, I guess I couldn't have done that---not without getting arrested anyhow---but I COULD have told him that I was a lesbian or something. I have a feeling that THAT would have shut him up GOOD. But alas, no, I didn't say it. I, being the glutton for punishment that I am, just couldn't bring myself to say anything rude. I SHOULD'VE said it but I didn't. I instead, politely told him "I'm sorry, but I just don't think that's a good idea," and left it at that. He was still talkative and immensely irritating afterwards, but I think I managed to get my point across pretty well. Even if he DID hand me his number on the way off the plane. I think I let Diana use it as a wrapper to spit her gum out on. But anyhow, thankfully, before I was forced to rip all of my hair out due to sheer irritation, the plane ride finally ended, uneventfully, thank god, a few miserable hours later. Suffice to say, all three of us got off relatively unharmed, but no better for the wear. And as I dragged my stuff out into the terminal, Diana proceeded to plod along, short-handedly debriefing Mulder and I on the case. (Which, I might add, had never really been Mulder's case at all, but Diana's, and so it turned out that I had been woken up on a Saturday for HER, and that, for some reason, REALLY ticked me off.) But out of resignation, and I what I guess was just sheer exhaustion, I decided to keep my mouth shut. I mean, what was I going to say? What could I say? There was just no way to rectify the matter, at least not after I'd already spent a million hours on a plane getting here, and so I didn't say anything about it. And if Mulder ever realized I had figured out that he had lied to me this morning, he certainly never made any apologies about it. But whatever. Back to the terminal. So this time around, Diana was carrying her own useless stuff, I was carrying mine, Mulder was carrying his, and we were all equally miserable as we shuffled through the crowded terminal. That idea, for some reason, just made me feel better. I don't know why. And then, to my ultimate relief, we all managed to make our way to the motel uncharacteristically silent. Diana seemed to be engrossed in the scenery, Mulder seemed to be enthralled with the way his hands looked on the steering wheel as he drove, and I was too annoyed with the idea of having to autopsy 16 dead tourists to care about either of them. Needless to say, none of us were exactly in a "talking" mood. But then, I guess I realized in the back of my mind that, at some point, this relative quiet would HAVE to be broken somehow, because nature just seemed to dictate my life that way. And so, of course, after we made it to the motel, Mulder decided that, for reasons known only to him and god, it would be a good time to pick a fight with me. Ok, ok. Before I go any further, I'll admit that I know that's not really fair-of me to say. --I know he didn't pick a fight on purpose, even if he DID act like a COMPLETE ass, and even if he DID piss me off. He didn't really MEAN to start a fight I suppose, but he just kind of happened upon one. Well, no that's not the complete truth either I suppose, because he didn't really just stumble into the fight blindly, seeing as how we were BOTH involved in the arguing process... But then, it's not like he was innocent one in this either. Rather, he DID contribute to the fight/argument/exchange of harsh words, and he DID piss me off, but alright, I'll admit that he's not the ONLY one at fault... I know I'm to blame here too but... man oh MAN did he piss me off... ~^~^~~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~ Around 2:12 pm, give or take the time difference August 13th, Corcoran Motel, room 23-A SCULLY'S STORY: Rap rap, knock knock. POUND! I open an eye to glare at the door, as if it's the door's fault that someone is knocking on it. Rap rap. Ok, I summon all of my psychic and telekinetic powers, all the forces of the gods and the universe. I summon all that is true and holy... I summon thee and will you away, whoever you are. I will you to go. Go away. Please, PLEASE go away. Rap, knock, POUND! Alright, this is precisely why I don't believe in any of that nonsense that Mulder does. It NEVER works. NEVER. Damn it. This REALLY sucks. I SWEAR to god, I just sat down like, not even 30 seconds ago, and now someone's knocking on my door, bothering me. I just took my shoes off. I just took a deep breath. I just now finally decided to sit and try and relax for FIVE FUCKING SECONDS and someone's knocking on my door. It has to be Mulder. It just HAS to be. "WHAT?" I finally call annoyed, and the door is opened a crack. The hum from the bed's massage mechanism is thick and loud in the air, and it makes my voice waver slightly. Mulder's familiar face pops into my room and his hands curl around the outside of the door. He glances at me hesitantly before speaking. "Um, Scully?" I close my eyes. "What Mulder?" He lets out a breath. "Does this mean I'm allowed to talk to you now?" I open my eyes to look at him, and I can't decide whether he's being serious or sarcastic. His expression is impassive, unexpressive and it's really annoying. It's amazing that how in the span of a single morning, ALL of Mulder has suddenly become really annoying. I am going to reach up a hand and smack him. Go away, just go away and leave me alone, please Mulder. "What do you want?" I manage, and my tone is undeniably sharp. He grits his teeth. We glare at each other through tense air. "Always a bundle of sunshine, aren't you Scully?" he throws sarcastically. Once again, my under-developed telekinetic powers fail me, because the end-table I have summoned forth has not picked itself up the way I have willed it, and thrown itself atop him. I don't know what else to say except... "Shut up Mulder." He walks ever so slowly into the room and folds his arms in a defensive gesture at my response. "Get up," he orders simply. I glare at him. Does he really think he can just ORDER me around? "No," I spit. No way in hell Mulder. I'm tired. You can wait five goddamn minutes until my quarter in the bed's "magic fingers" thingie runs out. "So you're just going to lay there?" God, he sounds so wounded, so irritated, as if the mere action of my lying down for a moment has somehow had a direct effect on his injured psyche. God forbid I should ever get a seconds peace or rest in his presence. Sigh. "What do you want that can't wait a few minutes Mulder?" He furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side. "funny how that's all you've said this entire trip," he hurls at me, as if he's trying to mask a derogatory remark in an air of indifference. "And I meant it every time I said it," I reply coldly. "Now, what is it this time, and why can't it wait five more minutes?" He's annoyed, I'm annoyed, and I can almost feel the tension bouncing off the both of our bodies like a sick ping pong match. The only sound for a moment is that of the bed's shaky humming rhythm under me. "Well Scully," he begins nonchalantly, "I really didn't want to disturb your impressive display of doing nothing with this pesky little case, but you know, since we're in the neighborhood anyways, I thought hey. What the heck." I blink impassively at him. Oh you had BETTER run Mulder. You'll be lucky if I give you a head start... I narrow my eyes and clench my fists, pulling myself into a more upright position on the bed. Mulder's arms are folded across his chest, his face chastising, and I am raising my always useful "Mulder, I'm angry" eyebrow. My knuckles are nearly white from being balled up too far and too much, and I'm going to kill him. If it's a fight you want, Mulder, then I can play that game just as well as you can. I take a deep breath and stare at him as if he's nuts. He IS nuts... "First of all," I start evenly, trying to keep my anger in check, "YOU are the one who dragged ME out here, on MY Saturday, giving me little to no choice in the matter. Because if you'll recall correctly Mulder, I was perfectly content to be spending the morning sleeping,in my OWN bed and NOT in some motel out in the middle of---" I pause. Where the FUCK are we anyhow? "Witchita," Mulder deftly answers my silent question. Okkkaaayyyy... I'm just going to pretend that I didn't hear his perfectly synchronized response. I'm going to imagine that it wasn't really creepy. I'm just going to ignore the fact that Mulder just basically read my mind---for what, I think, was the second or third time today. It never happened, it never WILL happen, and... ok so I'm kidding myself. I just don't like the idea of Mulder being able to know what I'm thinking. It bugs me. Sometimes I think he does, that he somehow reads my mind, and I don't like that. The idea of him being able to read me like that is...god, it's just weird. If he knows what I'm thinking, if he can see into me like that then what if he sees... No Dana. DON'T go there... I try not to look so unnerved and continue. "Well whatever," I manage quickly, waving my arms purposely in front of me. I guess I do that because, for some reason, arm waving is important in getting your point across. I don't know why. It just is. "The point is, Mulder, that I DON'T want to be here. I DON'T need to be spending MY Saturday doing 16 autopsies for a case that isn't even assigned to me. The only, and I do stress ONLY reason that I AM here, is because I'm doing you, my apparently ungrateful and inconsiderate partner, a favor." Ha! You're wrong Mulder. You KNOW you're wrong. You KNOW it!! Admit it!! Admit it already, goddamn it!! Mulder rolls his tongue against his cheek slowly, in an "I'm going to get back control of this situation" type of way and I fold my arms to match his. "Gee, thanks a bunch Scully," he replies dryly. Oh whatever, you inconsiderate ingrate of a partner. "Gee thanks is right," I mutter back, irritated, and allow myself to fall gently backwards onto the bed. I close my eyes and sigh, hoping that this simple movement will be enough for him to get the message, to take the hint, to get the fact that all I want is for him to just go the fuck away before I'm forced to throw his lifeless body into a ditch. I don't hear him move. I don't even hear him breathe. Now, I know that Mulder can read my body language and I know that he knows what I'm silently telling him. He knows EXACTLY what I'm trying to get across to him right now, but if he doesn't move within the next 30 seconds, I am just going to have to get out my sig and shoot him. We'll do this my way Mulder, or we won't do it at all, and if you REALLY want, you can get Miss Wonderful Diana Fowley to try and do the autopsy for me because I'm not moving yet. I lean back for a moment... There's still no noise. Nothing to break the ominous silence. It means that he knows he's wrong. He knows it, and I can feel he does. Yeah, that's what I THOUGHT you'd say Mulder.... That's what I--- OW! Suddenly there is movement and the feeling of large hands forcefully ripping something out from underneath me. I nearly roll off the bed in surprise. What the HELL?! My fingers quickly grab the sheets for leverage and I nearly gasp out, opening my eyes wide enough to see Mulder clasping the case file I had been sitting on, dangling it just slightly above me. "Then why don't you go home Scully?" he challenges, and raises an eyebrow of his own. Excuse me? "Excuse me?" Ok, so it's not the most creative of comebacks, but hey, I can't think of anything else to say to him. His mouth twists upwards and then back in the slightest of grins. "I said Go. Home. Scully. Which part did you not understand? The 'go' the 'home' or the---" I purse my lips. "Just give me the file Mulder." "No." "Why?" "You don't really want it anyhow." Oh, so you're going to be like THAT, are you? Fine. I can play your game too. "Mulder, give it to me NOW!" He shakes his head. Now I am rising to my feet and my voice is warning. I am going to kill him where he stands. I am going to kick his ass across this miserably hot and worthless state. How dare he drag me all the way out here on a case that isn't even mine, and then insinuate that I'm somehow not doing my job because I want to rest for five goddamn minutes?? How dare he act like I should live and breathe in orbit around his little egotistical "Mulder" bubble?? You know, bubbles break Mulder... Frustrated beyond belief, I reach for the folder. But of COURSE, nothing with Mulder is EVER that easy, and in what has to be the most immature and patently ridiculous gesture I've seen out of him thus far, he raises the case file over his head and out of my reach. Asshole. "Why don't you make me Scully," he retaliates. I raise an eyebrow of disbelief at him and then I scrunch my face. Make me?!?! Did he say "Make me?" I should "Make him" give me the folder? Oh, you really are a jackass Mulder, you really are. And I think that this time you've even sunk to a new low. A low even lower than the low you had sunk to when you carried princess Fowley's luggage through Coach. And that's pretty low Mulder. I mean come ON! I should "Make you?" What are we, five years old? "Make you?" I retort in sheer disbelief. He grins demonically and nods. Oh god, I'm in hell and Mulder in the devil. "Yeah," he replies smugly. "Make me." INTERRUPTION, SCULLY NARRATES: <<<<< Well at this point, things had obviously gotten out of hand. Ridiculously out of hand, as a matter of fact. It was just that... well... you see, Mulder was angry, I was angry, it was hot, the moons were aligned, the planets, and the... So ok, I'm making bullshit excuses now. The point is that I wasn't thinking straight. Or maybe I really was, but I just wasn't thinking in the kind of "straight" that I should have been. Well actually, my straight was kind of crooked at that point and both mine and Mulder's logic became skewered and...well... I did what anyone would have done in that situation... I shoved Mulder... Hard.>>>>>> ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^ CONTINUE STORY, around 2:17 now, Scully's room STILL SCULLY: "I said GIVE IT TO ME!" I am practically screaming now, irrational, and I'm sure that the trailer trash- inbred morons who took our money at the front desk when we checked in, are probably taking bets right now on who will get the black eye. "Oh yeah? Well I said leave," Mulder retorts, and we are now both officially on an elementary school level. Well beyond angry, my hands move of their own accord to reach up and shove hard at Mulder's chest, pushing, smacking, and basically not succeeding. Mulder is still in front of me, still dangling a case folder about a foot above my head, but now he's laughing at me as well... Hysterically. Oh now you're really going to get it you son of a bitch... "I said give it to me Mulder." He snorts. "No." "Give it!" "Come and GET it!" God, does he think this is cute?? "Mulder---" He leans his head down so that it's only inches away from mine. Oh god oh god oh god... "I SAID, Come and get it Scully," he breathes almost menacingly, and I stare back at him with barely controlled rage. If I thought I wanted to kill him before, then the urge has CERTAINLY amplified about 15 times at this moment. If he thinks he's going to make me jump for that folder, then he's severely mistaken. And if he thinks he's going to to win this one--then he's even more severely mistaken than Custard was at his last stand. The only difference here between Custard and Mulder, is that Mulder's going to WISH he'd been scalped by indians when I get through with him. Because what I'M going to do to him... Our breathing is heavy and the air feels thick. What AM I going to do to him? Suddenly it's as if he's all around me and I can feel him everywhere. Oh god, I'm suffocating. I am. I can feel it. I'm hyperventilating in his presence, his scent... He's too close to me and yet at the same time not close enough and a world away... Oh god, Mulder's face is only an inch from mine. An INCH! HOLY SHIT! Oh GOD, what do I do? Think, think, think... NO! I shouldn't HAVE to think! Damn it!! Stop this Dana! Just STOP!! I know how I feel. I do. I hate him right now... I'm going to kill him... I am... Suddenly, his expression changes and he grins his masochistic smug little grin at me. It's the insane grin of the damned when they know that things just can't get any worse and they're ok with it. He does that when he thinks he's beaten me. I hate that grin. God, I'm just going to wipe that smug little smirk off your face Fox Mulder, I swear to god, if just one more WORD comes out of your mouth. Just one. That's all it's going to take. "So what's it going to be Scully?" My fists clench and my jaw tightens. Oh that's IT Mulder. That is IT!!! INTERRUPTION, SCULLY NARRATES: <<<<<< Ok, it's like I said before; we were having an argument. It was heated, it was stupid, I'll admit that, but it was also way past overdue. Mulder and I had been short and annoyed with each other all week. We had been leading to this culmination for awhile, had been gradually heading towards it... But I didn't imagine that it would happen like this. I mean, the whole thing was immature. It was stupid and it was uncalled for and it was also WAY out of control. Mulder and I were treading on very thin ice and we knew it. But even still, I guess that doesn't excuse what I did next. It doesn't excuse reacting to Mulder like some sort of freaked out crazy woman on crack----by doing what I did... But well...It's like I told you before. Everything was just so out of control. It was just something I NEVER should have done in my right mind---because I WASN'T in my right mind at the time, I couldn't have been---and it only snowballed the situation even further---even if it DID get me the folder back. And even if I DID end up getting the last word... It only made a bad situation worse. It only caused what has to be one of the most angry confrontations I've ever had with my partner to date... It's half the reason I'm angry with him now...>>>>>>> CONTINUE STORY, Now 2:19 Scully's room still. STILL SCULLY: "What's it going to be Scully?" A surge of an idea pops into me and I don't know where the hell it came from. It's completely crazy and I also don't know how to control it. I'm just so angry, so seethingly mad at him, and I am DETERMINED to beat him at his own game. My eyes narrow slightly. So what IS it going to be? I repeat the words again and run over them slowly. Say something Dana. Do something. "I don't know Mulder," I reply, half surprisingly nonchalant and half almost seductive. I don't know where it's coming from but I can't stop it. "Why don't you tell me?" He stares at me in utter confusion and opens his mouth to respond. Oh no. Not this time Mulder. I am NOT going to let you win this one. "What is it you WANT me to do Mulder?" He opens his mouth again, clearly lost but determined to get the last word---like always, but I am NOT going to let him. Oh no you don't. You're not getting the last word this time Mulder. DO IT DANA... Call it temporary insanity. Call it an out of body experience. Call it whatever you want, but whatever you call it, one thing's crystal clear. It's definitely NOT something that a sane person would do in this predicament. DO IT DO IT DO IT... It IS, unfortunately, what my apparently scrambled brain has decided upon in this precarious moment. Something in me just snaps. And so, yanking as hard as I can on his flagrantly ridiculous tie, I pull his head down with an angry forcefulness. I manuever his face to meet mine with a very-unladylike, very un-Scully like, "just shut up you stupid man" grunt, and I feel his nose smack into my cheek as his hands flailingly reach out to grab onto my shoulders. It's not a very romantic looking sight, believe me. It's just not the stuff of "Danielle Steel" novels. But soon that doesn't even matter. Because in an unspoken instant, lips are covering lips, hands are flying confusedly, and a very surprised, very un-macho- like leg curls around the back of mine before it lets go and falls back to a reasonable standing position. I can handle this I can handle this I can... I can't handle this. I...I... Can't...think... Oh... GOD! OH. MY. GOD!!! Light. Bright light. Blnding...Flashing...surging....ohhh... My lips, his lips,tugging, hard, fast, soft, longing, needing, quickly, slowly, no, there, yes, more, again, again, tongue, lips, rough, stubble, hands, reaching, needing, touching, roughly, now, yes, yes, oh god, I'm dying, I'm suffocating, please, oh, MORE, mmm, arms, fingers, in my hair, give, take, give, take, salty, sweet, Mulder, mmm, oh... He breaks away first and I am, needless to say, undone by my own actions. He gasps for air and I look down to spy the folder on the floor, lying at a heap at our feet. Mulder's face is flushed and he is still gasping for air. My eyes are wide and my lips feel as if they've been hit by a paperweight. And for some reason, one unbeknownst to even myself, I am somehow able to find the strength in between deep breaths to grab the folder and yank it off the carpet. I dangle it in front of his face and plaster a triumphant grin on my own. The pit of my stomach is doing world class gymnastics and my ears are pounding with the sound of my own heartbeat, but somehow, I am still able to grin at him coldly. "Now who's holding the folder? " I ask icily. His expression changes from one of pleasant surprise and wonder to anger in a matter of seconds. We are still angry as hell and in a fit of insanity I have managed to make it ten times worse. Oh shit. I shoudn't have done that. I shouldn't have. I couldn't have. I didn't. OH GOD. Oh god, please tell me I didn't do what I think I just did. Please tell me that it was just a figment of my imagination...please... But it wasn't. I know that it wasn't, that I didn't just hallucinate all of it, and now Mulder is still standing in front of me, looking for all the world, as if I've stabbed him in the chest. Oh shit!! SHIT SHIT SHIT!! What the hell was wrong with me?! What came over me? Am I insane?! Am I nuts?! Jesus Christ Dana!! What were you THINKING?!?! Mulder's eyes have hardened and he's using them like weapons to drill into me. "So then tell me something Scully," he remarks coldly. "If I had held a file cabinet over my head, would you have fucked me for it?" WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?!?! I blink in disbelief. "What?!" I breathe horrified. "You heard me," he retorts. I don't believe him. I don't believe me. I don't believe any of this. This is all too unbelievable. "You know, you really are an ass Mulder," I manage, forcing words through angry clenched teeth. I want to kill him and scream until my lungs hurt. Truth be told, I'm terrified of what I just did. Of the feelings I've just revealed. I'm scared and angry and I don't know where to direct any of it. I'm also starting to wonder where the hell Diana's been this entire time we've been arguing. Surely she must've heard SOMETHING. I mean, we weren't exactly whispering and these walls are so paper thin anyhow that... Wait a minute. Has she been listening this whole time? Was she eavesdropping on us, planning this, hoping for it? God, listen to yourself Dana. I'm being irrationally, ridiculously paraniod now. I'm thinking crazy things. I'm DOING crazy things. I just french kissed my partner with serious intent. Good lord, what's wrong with me?? I need to get out of here. I'm going to suffocate in here. I think I already have. I dunno. I dunno anymore... I'm walking away from him but he's following me. "Sure, just go ahead Scully," he growls, causing me to turn around. "Walk away. Avoid what you can't handle, just like you always do. Why don't you throw in an 'I'm fine' for good measure as well?" I glare horrified at him. Mulder's the only person in this entire world who manages to get to me every single time. He's the only one who knows just what to say to press every single one of my buttons and it's infuriating. Just about everything about him is infuriating. Half the time I want to be with him, to let him know me as well as he does, to let him be the only one with that knowledge...and then the other half it scares me. The fact that he sees me so wholly and completely, that he knows me better than anyone else in this entire world--even my own mother... It scares the shit out of me. It also makes me so angry that I want to scream and shake. I honestly don't know what's keeping me from doing either one right now. "I don't walk away," I counter with quiet rage. "That's your job." His back straightens as if I have really stung him with that last part. Good. "And I don't hide from my emotions," he spits out as if its bile. "That's your job." I let my eyes close for a moment to take that one in. My old nickname from the academy comes back to haunt me with the force of his words. Words that hurt. "Ice Queen Scully." At med school, at the academy, or at work, it made no difference. I was always the "ice queen", no matter where I was and what I did, and then for years and years and even afterwards, when other agents still didn't think I capable of overhearing them in bathroom stalls or from around the corner. "You'll never score with the ice queen" the men would joke to each other in huddled groups in the hallways and laugh. First at the academy dorms, and then at work. "She's too hard, no emotions---I swear, have you seen her?" "Bet she's never been laid," the women would callously joke, my peers, my supposed colleages, and of course I would pretend not to hear them. I'd outright ignore them or I'd just leave, even though I always thought that they said it specifically in my presence, and for my benefit. But then sometimes they didn't stop at just me either. They had to poke fun at Mulder too, calling me "Spooky's ice queen," and "Spooky's icy match" with sneers so cruel, it made me wonder how they ever passed the bureau's psych screening. But Mulder was always different. He was the one who saw through me. He was the one who knew me and never once thought of me as some unemotional "Ice queen." It hurts me that Mulder would say that now. It really hurts... More than anything. He was always the only one who never made me feel that way. Who never saw me as unfeeling. Or did I only want to think that he didn't? Well you're wrong Mulder. You're wrong. They're all wrong. There's nothing inside that I'm hiding from. You're just...you're just SO....WRONG!!! I'm not afraid... Oh god, I'm not. Not really... I need to better him, I need to one-up that, I need to get him back. I want to hurt him back. I mean, how dare he? How dare he imply that I can't handle myself? That I don't know how to face my feelings? I whirl on him in a blind rage. "Yeah, well you hide behind your truth," I sneer, satisfied with the remark. "You hide behind your cause and your damned search. You block out reality and create your own so that you don't have to face what really could have happened to your sister! What the truth might really mean!" He glares at my retort and we are both in an angry, fast paced rollercoaster, careening downwards at a ridiculous speed, and there's no way to stop it now. "So?" he snorts back disgusted. "You hide behind your science. You hide behind the clinical detachment of it so that you don't have to face what's really going on. You can't handle it Scully. You can't face it. Just like your abduction. Just like your daughter's death! You block it out in a different way but you block it out just the same. What's the fucking difference?!" My mouth drops open. Pain like that of an almost physical nature shoots through my spine and I am deadened by his words. Completely floored and totally stunned. How the hell dare he mention Emily like that?! How DARE he?! That goddmned son of a bitch! You knew that would hurt Mulder! You KNEW that would make me feel like shit and you just said it anyhow. You always do that and I always let you. Goddamn it!! My body stiffens and I shove my way roughly past Mulder, clutching the case file and heading towards the door. There is nothing left to say to make this better and I need to get away from him. "I have autopsies to do," I manage on my way out, not knowing what else to say, but needing to say something. Mulder is completely silent. SCULLY NARRATES: Around 2:25 am, Early August 14th. Scully's hotel room ~^~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~ <<<<< I thought that I could make it to the end with the third installment but, alas, it doesn't seem to be working out that way. I'm hoping that the next part will be the conclusion, but I'll have to see how long it gets. I may have to break it up again. At any rate, drop me a line and tell me what you think. Do you like it so far? Tell me how you'd like to see it end. I DO sometimes incorporate other people's ideas into my stories if I think they fit, and if I get some ideas from you guys, I just may include them (and of course give the credit where credit is due ) So please, those who have written before know that I love feedback and that it is always replied to. I cherish it! If you like what you see, then send me yours. Title: The Way I Saw It, Part 4a : Humiliation and Interrogations Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Category: S, R, H (and a teensy bit of "A" I guess) Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Spoilers: Well, obviously the first 3 parts. (duh) and Season 5 in general. Rated: Um, "R" only because of a bunch of swear words Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder, Scully, or Diana. I wish I did. I'd be rich then. Summary: Mulder confronts Scully, and an angry Diana sees something she wishes she hadn't. Authors Note : Well, this is the first part of the end (which is really just one conclusion chopped up in a few parts.) I hope you like it, and I'm glad you made it this far. Let's see if you can make it all the way to the end. *grin *. This one pretty much takes place without any flashbacks, so it's a straight through deal. Thank you so very much to EVERYONE who has sent me feedback for this, and also to everyone who has sent well wishes for when I was ill. Your support was, and still is, no short of incredible. For: The one who brought me brownies just because. She always makes me laugh when I'm sad, and always manages to "save me from myself." She knows who she is. It goes without saying. :o) Words can't say and I can't do enough to prove that it's all for you.-------- Sister Hazel. The Way I Saw It, Part 4a: Humiliation and Interrogations By Jaime Lyn ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~^~^~ Around 2:39 am, early August 14th, Diana Fowley's Motel Room, INSOMNIA, AND DIANA'S STORY: ~^~^^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~ Alright, that's just sooooo it. I can't take this anymore. I give up. I wave my little white flag. Note to self: Never take this man on another case ever again. It's good advice, trust me. Don't ever ask him what's wrong unless in a sadistic mood, and don't ever pick him up when he's so drunk that he can't even stand. Never. Not ever----not on a bet, not on a dare, and not even with the promise of money. It's just so not worth it, there aren't even words to describe it. To illustrate: Picking his drunk ass up and dragging it back to the motel----making routine pit stops along the way so that he can lose his lunch, is just NOT my idea of fun. OH! And did you know that his sense of self depreciating guilt gets even worse when under the influence? Well it does, somehow, and I think that if I hear "Oh god, I've failed Scully" just one more time, I will throw up myself. Here's another note to self: never underestimate Fox Mulder's ridiculous admiration of Dana Scully… Dana Scully… God. Now THERE'S a name I could go without hearing for the rest of my life, if not longer. You know, I should've just said "to hell with it all," and gone with him and gotten drunk. Hammered beyond recognition. Plastered out of my mind. Smashed off my ass into the floor. It would've been less messy for me, I think. I should've just walked into that stupid bar with him, anonymous and hidden behind my misery, and asked for a martini and rossi on the rocks---dry and shaken----just the way I like it… Straight up even… with an olive… and a side of whiskey, vodka, and something else that could've eaten through the wood of the counter. I really, really should have. But of course, I didn't. Stupidity ultimately won over, and I let him ditch me. I didn't make a move to stop him, didn't bother at all, and instead, I came back to this hell hole of a motel and went to sleep. Partly hoping to wear off the stain of anger that had been eating at me all day, and also partly to try and erase the embarrassment of being ditched during an interrogation. What am I talking about, you ask? Actually, I'm talking about earlier today. Around 3 o'clock—maybe, or maybe even later---give or take an hour, I think, but I can't recall exactly. It was some time after we had found our motel, our DISGUSTING motel by the way, and then driven an interminable amount of time to our interview. So I think that puts it around three…or maybe four---but like I said, I can't be sure. And since Mulder's little "scene" at the bar took place around ahhh…2 am I think, (He took a walk, hit his head on a rock, passed out, went back, fought with the local law enforcement, and was then consequently thrown out of the pub. I don't know the specifics of it---you'd have to ask him) I guess that puts the interview around midday. Yes, some time midday. At any rate we were working on this case. Or at least, we were trying to, and I'm talking about the humiliation that Mulder caused me, apparently stemming from certain distractions that, apparently, were caused by a certain red headed FBI agent who shall, at this time, remain nameless. (I'll give you a hint though. Her name rhymes with "mully"…) It was the subtle humiliation during the questioning of a Mrs. Lydia Hebbard, 36 years old, and discoverer of two of the 16 bodies that I'm talking about here. I'm talking about being ditched by "lovesick puppy Mulder", a man who should've had his mind on this case and NOT in his pants. But what really gets me, is that it was something SO stupid, something that I KNOW would not have happened, had Mulder been thinking about anyone but himself and, I'm assuming, that stupid fight he didn't think I overheard him having with his stupid partner Scully… Scully… Dana Scully… God, that name again. Always that name. I really hate that name. I think I may even buy myself a really ugly dog when we get back, just so I can name it "Scully." But now I digress. At any rate, like I said, it was midday. And after one hell of a silent unproductive car ride, one that Mulder spent staring out the window like it would swallow him or something, we finally made it to Mrs. Lydia Hebbard's home… A quaint little trailer on a quaint little dirt road, in quaint little, "Inbred- ville, 'Sunny Skies' RV park." Whatever. It was supposed to have been a helpful interview, a potential lead, but in actuality, it turned out to be nonsense on top of nonsense. It was an unproductive, non-responsive, ridiculous interrogation that pretty much went nowhere fast for the most part. It was an interrogation which, I might add, he was there for physically, although not mentally, because I don't believe he actually heard anything that anyone said. And this woman----I mean, she wasn't exactly hard to hear, or even hard to miss. This woman was a loud shrill, a true incarnation of "white trash", and a ridiculous moron so annoying and so nasal that even a deaf person couldn't have missed her. How it was that Mulder managed to tune her out is beyond me. And the most irritating part---the part that made me so angry that I gritted my teeth and grounded my fingers into white knuckles, was that she continued to address her responses to him, rather than to myself---the one who was actually paying attention, as if it weren't blatantly obvious that he wasn't listening. "The aliens Mr. Mulder. The aliens---they told me that they needed the blood from people to do their experiments," she just kept rambling in this miserably nasal tone, to which he only replied, "Uh huh," like he couldn't care less. She never noticed that though. "They said they needed to take me too, but I got away," she insisted (for, what I think, was at least the third time,) and each time, he muttered, "Yeah," without even so much as looking at her. He didn't even fucking look. And ok, so maybe Mrs. Hebbard wasn't the most sane of witnesses, especially considering that she was probably suffering from about a dozen mental disorders, not to mention a horrible memory recollection, but still. It wasn't fair the way he just ignored the interview like that. It was NOT right of him to just act like he didn't give a shit either way. It was NOT professional, NOR was it polite of him to just space out completely. It was just NOT. And so meanwhile, as he sat examining her "Elvis spoon collection" like it was the great wall of China, I was stuck trying to convince a seriously disturbed woman that, no, Reba McIntire had NOT, in fact, committed the murders to drain her blood, and aliens were NOT after her. Really. He just sat there and nodded when necessary, not making inferences, not bothering to respond, and he barely looked up. He fidgeted with his hands like an angry, spoiled two year old who had lost his mommy in a supermarket, and I wanted to kill him. And though he may not have acted outwardly beligerent, not yelling, not bullying the witness or worse, I DO know him. He was choosing to be petulant and obstinate, no way about it---And he was doing in true "Mulder" style; by blocking out the living and acting like he would rather be conversing with potted plants. And he was doing it because of HER. HER, DAMN IT!! He was on another planet because of Dana Scully, I just know that he was, and that really pisses me off. But you know something? I really don't give a shit what happened between the two of them. I really don't. His mind should've been in that ridiculous Elvis shrine of a trailer, interrogating the witness, where it belonged, and NOT pining after his partner. ----Even if Mrs. Hebbard WAS a few apples short of a fruit basket. But of course, he did just about everything except ask questions. I think he even spent 15 minutes staring at the woman's "Elvis limited edition collectors plates" without blinking once, like they were the fucking wonders of the world. And when he finally spoke, it wasn't because he had something intelligent to contribute. "Mrs. Hebbard, do you know of any bars or pubs in the area?" I remember that my eyebrow rose to my forehead and my mouth opened in astonishment. Mrs. Hebbard just looked at him funny, cocking her over-hairsprayed head to one side, the frosted blonde strands pressing against her 80's style shoulder pads, and I almost smacked Mulder in the head. It was a REAL professional thing for him to say, let me tell you. "Why, it's just down the road a smidge ," the woman had drawled, "Take a right at the park sign and then go on straight." He nodded distractedly and headed for the door. For a moment I just stood there, stunned. But then I knew. I KNEW, goddamn it, I KNEW, and I didn't forbid him to go. Something tells me that SHE would have, that SHE never would have let him leave, but then, I'm not her, and I knew that he would never listen to me anyhow. So of course, I wasn't about to go and waste my breath to try and make him stay. However, that does NOT mean that I was expecting him to just walk out of the interview without a second word. And at the time, considering I had NOT been prepared for it, I did the only thing I knew how to do in the situation. I ran after him. I chased him out the door, ignoring Mrs. Hebbard's frenzied inquiries, slack jawed and open mouthed like an idiot, and I demanded to know just what the fuck he thought he was doing. "Where the hell are you going?" He only gave me a simple answer. "I need to get out of here, I think. I have…some stuff… I'm sorry." Well THAT really pissed me off. Really, it did. I mean, he had "some stuff?" "SOME STUFF?" Oh give me a break. No Fox, I'm sorry. You just don't let yourself have "Stuff" during an ongoing case. You don't. I distinctly remember putting my hands on my hips, squaring my jaw, and demanding to know just why in the hell he decided to pick that particular moment to run off like an enlightened budda. "You're just leaving me here?" I asked. He purposely ignored the question. "Bar's just down the road," he told me. "So?" I exploded. "I can walk there; you take the car," he replied, and tossed me the keys. I caught them single-handedly with a grimace. First the airport, then the plane ride, then a disgusting motel, and now THIS. Great, I had thought. Just fucking wonderful. The sun had been scorching, the morning had been something close to a WONDERFUL slice of Hell, and so that, of course, just HAD to be the time for him to ditch not only me, but also our responsibility, his job and this case--- all for a cheap beer to drown his sorrows in. The bastard. Oh, how happy I would've been to have just killed him right where he stood.--- And you know, I would've done it too---I was that mad. I was so angry, I would have even hurled Mrs. Hebbard's tacky patio chairs at him, if I had thought it would knock him out and/or leave a concussion. I even envisioned such a thing for a moment. But in actuality, I opted not to harm him or scream like I very well could have done. I opted not to throw tacky patio furniture, and instead I simply… let him leave. I just let him walk out; I let him go, but I didn't just leave it at that. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I needed to know. I had to ask him. I just had to. So, I stood there and asked him a stupid question with an angry undertone. I asked him because I had to know. I asked him even though I knew the answer. I don't know why. "This is about Agent Scully, isn't it?" It was a completely unprofessional thing to do, a completely non-related, none- of-my-business thing to ask, especially considering our precarious situation, but I didn't even care at that point. In the end, I don't even think he really heard the question. I think that maybe her name registered somewhere in that brain of his, but not my question. Because he never answered me; just regarded me for a moment, his eyes clouding over with what looked like intense sadness, and then he just waved me off, turning slowly towards the direction of the main road----On foot, and very much alone. I had never been so embarrassed in my life. Not ever. "Woman troubles huh?" Mrs. Hebbard asked me, and I ignored her. I just walked to the car, not even bothering to acknowledge her question, not even wanting to go there. Woman troubles. Oh WHATEVER. Somehow, and I don't know how, I managed a simple, "We'll be in touch, thank you," and I let myself into the taurus. I smacked the dashboard and even cursed the steering wheel. Women troubles, my ass. He's lucky that I never decided to search him out and run him over with the car. I think that the only thing that eventually stopped me was the unappealing idea of losing my 50 dollar deposit. Woman troubles. Fox Mulder with woman troubles. If that isn't a joke, then I don't know what is. Fox Mulder does NOT have woman troubles---Not now, and not for as long as I've known him. And this is from someone who's kept tabs on Fox all these years; someone who's also known him intimately. I've kept track in my little ways, and so I know (from this and from personal experience) that Fox wouldn't know what to do with a woman if she landed naked and willing in his lap. He wouldn't look, wouldn't touch, nor would he care all that much, more than likely because his head would be buried so deeply in an X file, that you'd need a crowbar to pull him out. I've never, not in my whole life, ever met anyone so indifferent as he is to the opposite sex---at least not when it's something other than captured images on glossy paper or celluloid, so the idea of women troubles... Well, for me, mainly it was that sexual indifference, (not to mention the fights, and the complications of our jobs) that forced me to leave him---for another country no less, and it was also the main reason he barely noticed that I was gone. The idea that he would be having "women troubles," especially with his partner, it's just so… preposterous… Ridiculous… Unheard of and… Unacceptable. Completely, fucking unacceptable. He's not supposed to feel that way about her, and it makes me so fucking angry that I could scream. He's not supposed to be like this with HER! He's NOT supposed to be pining over his goddamn partner, and…well…god damn it! He's SUPPOSED to feel that way about me! It's just the written law of life. You know: Man loses girl, girl goes away for awhile, girl comes back and man wants girl. Everyone knows that! He's supposed to realize what a mistake we made and want me and…DAMN IT!! I was there first! I was fucking there FIRST!!! Jesus, I sound like a god damn first grader; so immature and stupid. And isn't that just pathetic as anything? Here I am, a grown woman, an FBI agent, and I'm acting like I should be a guest on the "Jerry Springer Show," screaming, "I want my man back, but that bitch stole him!" See? Pathetic, I'm telling you. I'm becoming a fucking stereotype. I hear a door open and then close somewhere down the hall. It's him entering her room or her entering his; whichever. I just know it. It's too late to be anyone else. I close my eyes. Oh fuck them both. Yanking the remote angrily off the bed, I stab at the "on" button cruelly. Whereas once I was sleeping, I am now completely, widely awake. Great. I'm not even fucking tired and it's 3 o clock in the fucking morning. The TV comes on in a blurry fuzz of color and sound and I squint my eyes against it. Frowning, I switch channels in a quick frustrated frenzy, staring at the tiny box in disbelief. Well isn't this just the icing on the fucking cake. Tell me God, would it have been too much to ask for cable? Collapsing on the musty bed in disgust, I burrow my head into my pillow. With a muffled curse, I try to block out the annoying theme music to "Hawaii Five-0" with the fluffy down. God, I really hope they kill each other. ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~ There's more…. Keep reading… Title: The Way I Saw It, Part 4b : Not too Drunk Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Category: S, R, H (and a teensy bit of "A" I guess) Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Spoilers: Well, obviously the first 3 parts. (duh) and Season 5 in general. Rated: Um, "R" only because of a bunch of swear words Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder, Scully, or Diana. I wish I did. I'd be rich then. Summary: Mulder confronts Scully, and an angry Diana sees something she wishes she hadn't. Authors Note : Well, this is the second part of the end (which is really just one conclusion chopped up in a few parts.) I hope you like it, and I'm glad you made it this far. Let's see if you can make it all the way to the end. *grin *. This one pretty much takes place without any flashbacks, so it's a straight through deal. Thank you so very much to EVERYONE who has sent me feedback for this, and also to everyone who has sent well wishes for when I was ill. Your support was, and still is, no short of incredible. For: The one who brought me brownies just because. She always makes me laugh when I'm sad, and always manages to "save me from myself." She knows who she is. It goes without saying. :o) Words can't say and I can't do enough to prove that it's all for you.--------Sister Hazel. The Way I Saw It, Part 4b: Not too Drunk By Jaime Lyn ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^^^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^ ~^~^~^~^~^~^^ Around 2:39 am, Early August 14th, Mulder's Motel Room, MULDER'S DILEMNA: ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~~^ Well, I think there's actually one advantage to throwing up on the side of the road, collapsing in a heap, and taking a dozen advil. My headache's at least gone now. Ha. Now, isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? I mean, here I am, about to approach the most important person in my life, a woman I have pretty umm…well, INTENSE feelings for, to apologize for giving her seven years of personal Hell, and my first thought is, "well, at least my headache is gone." Is that typical or what? Well, actually, it's not unheard of. Like for instance, if someone's being held at gunpoint while their house is getting robbed, it's been widely accounted that in many cases, all of a sudden the idea that they forgot to turn the iron off will pop into their head. It's actually, quite common. You know what I'm talking about? ………Sure you do. Like, you know, when…umm…er… What the hell was I talking about again? Oh shit, I can't even remember. Maybe I'm not as sober as I thought. I stare down at the bottle in my hand. It's blue colored and…Oh! Ok, it's"Scope." New and improved, minty fresh, toilet duck colored "Scope," with antibacterial agents to help prevent gingivitis and tooth decay. Well, at least I know that I can still read. The blue colored, mossy liquid is almost gone. Nearly a whole bottle of this blue stuff is gone. Why am I holding a bottle of "Scope" again? My stomach lurches. Oh yeah. That's why. I carefully set the almost-empty bottle down on top of the counter and stare into the mirror. Well, at least I look better than before. At least I feel better now that I've got nothing in my stomach. Now that I've been able to splash water on my face and drink a whole bottle of…. Ugh, this shit is disgusting. Frowning, I touch the slight concussion on my head. It's covered with dried blood now, smaller looking than before, and well over several hours old. I suck in a nervous breath. I can remember the way the rocks lurched out at me and ground into my skin when the cut first bled. When I tripped and fell into a miniature ditch of rocks. Unfortunately, I don't really remember much after that. I think I was out for at least 5 hours though, if not more. I guess that's what I get for taking a walk while I'm angry and smashed out of my mind. I touch my forehead again to smooth a lock of hair over the slight concussion. OW! Damn it! That still hurts! Man, if Scully saw this, she'd jump out her skin for sure. She's shake her head and look at me with that "Mulder, what have you done now" look and then… Oh SHIT!! Scully… That's what I'm supposed to do now. I have to go and apologize to Scully. Oh crap. I'd forgotten that for a moment. I stare again into the mirror. Ok, I still look like shit, but now at least I'm slightly more composed shit than I was before. That's something, isn't it? Sigh. I don't know if she'll buy my apology, but I hope she does. I know that if I don't do this now that I won't do it all. I know that if I want to make this better then I need to say "I'm sorry," and somehow make it up to her, but I also know that simply saying "I'm sorry" isn't going to make everything better with her. Scully's a smart woman, a woman who knows me better than I know myself, and I know that she'll see through whatever it is that I say. I know that she won't let me just say "Scully, I'm sorry" and leave it at that, because "I'm sorry" just isn't going to cut it this time. We need to talk---and badly. If I go in there, then that's what's going to happen. We'll finally "talk," and it will most likely make or break us That knowledge terrifies me. I mean, I can't just go in there and say, "Gee, I'm so sorry I'm such an ass Scully. But see, sometimes I get defensive because I don't know any other way to handle myself, and oh, by the way, I also think I'm slightly in love with you---that's not wrong is it?" Oh yeah. THAT won't send her running in the other direction or anything. I also can't just go in there and say, "See this cut Scully? I got drunk because I was angry at myself for making you so upset, and then I got mad, ran out, tripped like a dumbass into a ditch full of rocks and knocked myself unconscious. THEN, I went back and tried to defend your honor to a bunch of hick cops, only to end up in a corner, crying against a chair. Does that turn you on at all?" Christ. And it's not as if, should all else fail, I can just hit her with, "Please forgive me Scully. I shot down one two many bourbons because I was so disgusted with myself, I couldn't breathe. And then, while trying to keep my anger in check and not punch this idiot cop who insisted that you were "some makeshift doctor who was probably better in the sack," I walked out and tripped and landed on my face. I ticked off Diana, and I made a mockery of the reputation of the FBI, but I did it for you Scully. I did it all for you…" She'd probably punch me in the head. God, what an ass I am… Turning my head slowly, I can hear noise wafting in from the adjoining room. The TV in there is being turned way up, loud and obnoxious, and it sounds like the irritating theme music for "Hawaii 5-0." Ok, I get the message Scully… Now, I know her. I know her well, and this is her way of saying "Yes Mulder, I'm awake and I've been waiting up for you again, so where the fuck have you been?" but to be honest, I have no clue why she'd be watching "Hawaii 5-0." I always thought that she hated that show. I sigh. Something is going to have to give here. I risk another glance into the mirror and then look back to the door. The mirror, and then the door. The mirror, and then the door. Ok, I can't put this off any longer. I bite my lip. The mirror notifies me that my hair is mussed beyond repair, and the cut on my forehead is still very obvious. With a distainful look, I reach up to brush a lock of brown hair over the offending cut and dried blood. Ok, there. That's better. Now it's barely visible. I breathe into my hand. Oh well, at least my breath is "minty fresh," right? Sigh. Ok, here I go. I'm going to explain this to Scully. I'm going to be honest with her. I'm going to… I'm going to die. Oh god, she's going to take one look at me, shoot first and ask questions later. Shit. Alright, breathe Mulder. Just go in there, explain, apologize, and try not to step into any potential mind fields or conversational "warheads." Oh god, I'm sorry Scully. Please don't kill me. With one last reluctant sigh, I push open the door to Scully's motel room, hearing the TV grow louder and my heart pound out a basketball game in my chest. Oh dear god, if my mother was right and you ARE up there, then for once in my life, please let me say the right thing….Please… I carefully poke my head in. The sight that greets me is one that I have NEVER, not in all our cases, ever seen in any of Scully's motel rooms. There are papers---files and paperwork that I had left her before I departed with Diana, all over the motel room floor, and a few, lingering on the bed. Her suitcase is open and slightly messy, as if she had been rifling through it for something, and I can almost detect a faint odor of… what is that? Cigarettes? What the hell? Scully doesn't smoke. I think an alien's come in my partner's room and taken over her body. And considering the way my life's been going lately---it's not like the possibility isn't there. I can see that the sheets have not been mussed, meaning that she has not yet slept a wink, and I feel insanely guilty for that. That is completely my fault. Scully has been awake nearly 48 straight hours and it is my fault. God, I'm an ass. I see her glance up to regard me from the TV (that I KNOW she's not watching anyhow) with a raised eyebrow. Nevermind. That's her alright. That's my Scully, no doubt about it. Oh god, she's angry. VERY angry. I can see it. I know it. I feel it. Her delicate features are collected as always, to the common person seeming to give nothing away, but I know her better than that, and the look in her eyes could probably peel wallpaper and frighten small children. Her face is impassive, calm, but her eyes… I know Scully, I know every part of her by heart, and those eyes are spitting venom. She is not calm at all, but she's desperately trying to be. Her voice comes out dead, flat and matter of factly. "You're drunk, aren't you Mulder?" Oh god. I shuffle my feet nervously. Shit. Say something! "I um… yeah. Yeah Scully, I guess I am---or at least I was. I'm not really---not anymore, I uh, I don't think." Another unconvinced eyebrow. Oh yeah, that was REAL swift Einstein. She turns back to the TV. "Whatever you say," she mutters under her breath. Silence. Terrific. Say something else stupid! Say something before she orders you to leave and never talks to you again. Do it! "Scully, I ah… I'm---" She looks up again, this time interrupting me with impatient agitation. "What, Mulder?" she demands, searching my eyes for an explaination. "What? You're what? What excuse do you have this time?" I sigh. I KNEW this wasn't going to be easy but I need to keep going. She stares at me and I stare back. Her eyes widen as if to say "well?" and I gracelesly blurt out, "I'm sorry." She blinks impassively and regards me dully. "Um, Scully? Did you ah, did you hear what I said?" She blinks. "Scully?" A sigh from her, and then nothing for a moment. "Yes, and I'm very happy for you." With that, she turns back to the TV again, still fuming, but quietly leaving the ball in my court. It's actually, very typical "Scully." ---It's not exactly an expulsion, but it's not an invitation to stay either. I choose to step slowly and carefully into the room, deciding to take my chances with her wrath. This time she speaks without even looking up. "If you're here wondering about the autopsies Mulder, then I can assure you, you're only wasting your time." "Scully, I'm not---" She looks up and takes a moment to eye me critically, her face now unreadable. "Jesus, you look like shit Mulder." I close my mouth for a second and shrug slightly. "Yeah, I know." She closes her eyes for a moment and sighs. "Well in that case, you should probably just go and sleep off whatever it is that you've consumed ---And don't tell me because I'm not interested. And please, for the love of god Mulder, go clean yourself up." I frown. Ok, if I don't say something soon, then I know she's going to kick me out. Think…Come on, think… "So, um, what's this now about the autopsies?" I manage, and nearly kick myself as a result, realizing that it's not what I had wanted to say at all. Damn it. She lets out what sounds like a low snort. "I'm sure that my boring, detached, scientific findings wouldn't be of any present interest to your already obvious enlightenment." Her voice is monotonous and drained of emotion. Shit. "Look, Scully, just---" She sighs and continues as if she doesn't hear me. "The examination turned up no traces of vampires, aliens, or monsters of any kind, sorry to say Mulder, and the tox screen came back negative. From what I could gather, the heads were removed by axe---the same one all 16 times, and the puncture wounds appear indicative that the blood was drained through an IV of sorts. I'd have to say sadism at least, a psychopath, but nothing extra terrestrial or fantastic. The coroner here is a moron. Beyond that, I have nothing to say to you on the matter." "Scully---" "Go sleep it off Mulder." She shoots me a slightly murderous glance. Jesus, this is going to be ten times harder than I thought… May god have mercy on my soul… ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ Title: The Way I Saw It, Part 4c: Nervous Conversation Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Category: S, R, H (and a teensy bit of "A" I guess) Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Spoilers: Well, obviously the first 3 parts. (duh) and Season 5 in general. Rated: Um, "R" only because of a bunch of swear words Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder, Scully, or Diana. I wish I did. I'd be rich then. Summary: Mulder confronts Scully, and an angry Diana sees something she wishes she hadn't. Authors Note : Well, this is the third part of the end (which is really just one conclusion chopped up in a few parts.) I hope you like it, and I'm glad you made it this far. Let's see if you can make it all the way to the end. *grin *. This one pretty much takes place without any flashbacks, so it's a straight through deal. Thank you so very much to EVERYONE who has sent me feedback for this, and also to everyone who has sent well wishes for when I was ill. Your support was, and still is, no short of incredible. For: The one who brought me brownies just because. She always makes me laugh when I'm sad, and always manages to "save me from myself." She knows who she is. It goes without saying. :o) Words can't say and I can't do enough to prove that it's all for you.-------- Sister Hazel. The Way I Saw It, Part 4c: Nervous Conversation By Jaime Lyn ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~^~^~ Around 2:43 am, Early August 14th, Dana Scully's Motel room, SCULLY CONTINUES THE STORY: ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~ You know what? I hate the taste of cigarettes. They're disgusting and repulsive, with absolutely no redeeming value of any kind, and yet for some insane reason, I have this ridiculous compulsion to always bring them with me when I go on assignment. Chalk it up to insanity I guess, but it's just something I always do; my pathetic little "safety net," I suppose you could say. And it's always the same pack too---the same pack I bought in some backwater town while on a case, nearly 4 years ago. I bought them because Mulder drove me nuts. Because I thought I was entitled to it. Because a nice long drag on a cigarrette—just one, after a day of hunting monsters with him, was something I desperately needed to curb my anger and not kill my partner the next time I saw him. Needless to say, I only ended up smoking the one. Just one, and it made me sick----green and doubling over in coughing fits when I was done with it, and I haven't ever smoked one since. My body just wasn't used to it, not prepared I'm assuming, because I hadn't smoked one since I was a rebellious and stupid 14 year old. But now I always bring it with me---that same stupid pack from 4 years ago----as a warning I guess; a warning and a diversion. A warning that smoking it will only make me sick, and a diversion, just in case I actually want to get sick and keep myself from shooting Mulder. This time though, I had left it way down in the bottom of my suitcase. Under some clothes and toiletries and other miscellaneous items, and I had to really dig to get to it----a single pack of 4 year old cigarettes. God, just how pathetic is that? And I made a real mess too, yanking out the damn pack and then searching the outer pockets for a lighter. The whole process took about 10 minutes. But in the end, it turned out to be all for not. Because once I had the stupid thing out and lit, I realized that I didn't really want to smoke it after all. I just lit it and stared at it as if it were a magic 8 ball, and watched it burn down, almost dangerously, to the tips of my fingers. I just snubbed it out in the ash tray, and then sank down onto the bed, shoving all the papers out of my way, and listening to Mulder run the water next door. Now Mulder is here. He's standing, staring at me in apprehension, and now I just him to leave me alone. For one thing, he's been drinking, a LOT I'm assuming, just because he's been gone for so long and he looks so miserable. He's been out nearly all day and well into the night----enough to drink himself into a stupor I'm sure, but then in all fairness, I really have no way of knowing how much of that time he actually spent drinking. He's also a complete mess, not to mention exhausted I'm sure---I know that even Mulder must sleep SOME time, and so I think that he should leave. Right now. He should go, I think he knows that, but of course, he has other ideas, and so he advances into the room some more. I really think that he needs to leave. "Scully---" "Go sleep it off Mulder." I really don't want to say anything else on the matter. I was wrong to want to confront him this late. I'm angry, as I'm sure he is as well. Trying to reason with each other is obviously going to get us nowhere. I stare at the TV and turn up the volume. Get the hint partner? He sighs. "Scully, you hate that show." Now, Mulder's not much of a conversationalist, and so I know what he means when he says this. You really have to be well-versed in "Mulder-speak" and also be able to convert it into English to understand him sometimes. Here's what he REALLY means by that: "You're not watching TV Scully, you're just using it to avoid this conversation even though you waited up to talk to me." Oh yeah? Well, maybe I am avoiding it. Maybe I am a crazy woman. Maybe, or maybe you're the crazy one here Mulder. I can't tell sometimes... Oh god. Now I'm responding to imaginary questions. This is sad. I eye him. "Yeah, so what?" Oh, REAL mature response Dana… He moves closer. "Soooo…. Why are you watching it?" I sigh. Great. This is not going to work. Mulder is the most obstinately stubborn man I've ever met, and when he doesn't want to back down… "Mulder----" "Let's talk Scully." Simple statement. Volumes of undercurrents. Against my better judgement, I lower the volume and drop the remote to the bed. My arms fold about my chest and I stare at him hard, trying to impart my anger onto him. "What is there to talk about Mulder?" He looks slightly apprehensive, as he should be, and ventures to sit on the edge of the bed. He stares around awkwardly, as if he has no clue how he should act, and finally, he rests his hands on the corner of the mattress. "Plenty," he answers me and catches my eye. God Mulder, why do you have to look at me that way? He looks as if I've just killed his only puppy. "Fine then," I say, making a grand sweeping motion with my right arm. "Go ahead. Talk. Say something." He sighs. "Am I going to be talking to myself?" I narrow my eyes at him. Just say whatever it is that you need to say and leave me alone Mulder. My arms are still folded in a defensive posture. "If you want to talk to yourself Mulder, then I suggest you go back to your room." He purses his lips with a deep breath. "No," he breathes, and I glare at him. "Fine then," I mutter. "Stay. Talk. I don't care." He glares back. "Fine." I answer him shortly, "Fine." Silence. He shuffles his feet. "Damn it! Dana, would you just listen to me?!" I raise my chin defiantly. Dana. He called me Dana. Why does he have to do that when he thinks he needs to capture my attention? He always does it, not that he does it frequently, but when he does, it's to purposely try and make me less angry, to make me hear him, maybe even because he thinks I like it when he says my first name. I hate it when he does that to me. Because the sad thing is, I DO like it when he says my first name. But I like it when it's genuine, coming from him, and not from some contrived area of his brain that tells him it's the only way to get through to me. He looks at me expectantly. "Well?" he asks, "Are you at least going to listen, or am I wasting my time?" No, I didn't want to go to sleep tonight anyhow. No, of course not. I sigh. "I said talk Mulder." Mulder is silent. Oh jesus christ, for the love of god. Breaking the silence, I relent. "Alright Mulder, I'm listening ok? You've got my attention. Go. Talk. Say something." Another silent moment before he speaks. "Look Scully, I just wanted to tell you that----" He stares at me as if to gauge my reaction and I stare back. He finishes, "I'm sorry." I close my eyes. "You said that already," I point out, and he nods. "Yeah, but I want you to know that I meant it," he offers, and bites his lip. "Sorry for what?" I ask and nearly bite on my own lip. So much has happened, I don't even know where to begin. Mulder shuffles again, closing his eyes, as if he doesn't want to even look at me, and it's a bit obnoxious. Mulder hates to apologize, and so of course, he rarely ever does it. Sometimes I think it's because admitting wrongness doesn't agree with him. Maybe it makes him sick. Maybe it gives him a headache. I don't know. At any rate, it doesn't surprise me at all that he can't even look at me, during one of the few times that I've ever heard him say "sorry." He takes in a deep breath and begins. "I'm sorry for waking you up and dragging you here, I'm sorry for ditching you, I'm sorry I made your day miserable…" He pauses and looks at me. Go on. Keep going Mulder. "But mostly," he sighs, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier Scully. About the things we argued about before. About the…You know the…the…" he waves his hands in a circular motion as if to make his point. "The what?" I ask, knowing I am torturing him by asking, but not caring. "You know," he insists. I want to make him squirm. "No," I reply shortly. "No I don't. Why don't you enlighten me Mulder?" He takes a deep breath and starts to fidgit, as if I have just dropped the burden of the world upon his shoulders. He frowns and then tries to explain himself. "It was…" he pauses and then begins again. "What I…What I said before…you know, about you being… I mean, about you hiding….the whole… the whole thing about…Emily and…" He stops again and stares at me. "I'm just… I'm just sorry Scully. Ok? I'm just sorry. I didn't mean it." Silence again. You don't get it… don't get it…Why don't you get it Mulder? "Yes you did," I reply evenly, and he stares at me as if shocked. Don't look so surprised Mulder. I know you, that's all. I'm not stupid and I know that you meant every word of what you said. It's ok. I know you meant it. I meant everything that I said too. He opens his mouth, confused. "Scully?---" "Maybe you didn't mean to say it to me," I interrupt, trying to explain myself. Nervously, I fold and unfold my fingers into the cotton of my shirt. "But regardless, you meant everything you said." I look down into my lap. Mulder closes his mouth and frowns. This is very uncomfortable. He and I are not good at the talking thing at all. We don't do it often, and so when we do… Well, it usually just blows up in our faces. Completely. He looks up at me painfully. "You think I meant those things?" he asks pitifully. I cock my head to the side and stare at him. "You did." "I didn't." Oh christ. Not another fight. Not now. I'm not an idiot Mulder, and besides, I know you. You don't say things you don't mean as a habit. Your eyes don't lie. And I saw your eyes Mulder. You meant it. You meant every word. But you know something? As much as it angers me to admit it… you were right. Everything you said… I do hide behind my science sometimes. I do try to block out reality sometimes. But then, why shouldn't I Mulder? Don't I have the right? Have you looked at my reality lately? Mulder looks hurt, and I know it is my turn to apologize. I wonder, what if I told him he was right? Would the world end? Would the earth stop turning? Not likely. Sometimes I just think that the sky will fall if I tell him that I'm wrong. I don't like to admit it either, but I guess that we're both stubborn mules in that respect. He gestures slightly with his arm. "Scully, please don't think I----" "You were right." Oh god, was that me? Even Mulder looks shocked. "What?" I sigh. No use in hiding it anymore. "I said…" I pause. Ok, just spit it out now. I can do it. Deep breath… "I said you were right Mulder." Mulder looks at me flustered, as if the idea that he could be right is preposterous. How ironic is that? "I…I was?" he manages. I nod. "Yeah. You were." He moves closer and opens his mouth, closing it just as quickly, and then opens it again. "Well, uh… so were you, you know," he offers, and smiles a guilty little smile. Oh, damn Mulder for ebbing my anger like that. Here I was, all prepared to yell at him, and he has to go and smile that little smile of his. "Ok then," I breathe, nearly whispering, and the nervous timbre of my voice is almost embarrassing. "Ok then," he agrees, and we are silent. So that's it? That's the talk? Jesus, this is pathetic. You'd think that a typical couple would want to discuss their problems and…. WOAH! Hold the mayo! Did I just refer to Mulder and myself as a couple? Christ. I am SERIOUSLY delusional here. We are NOT a couple. NOT together. NOT involved. Not at all. We have never been and we will never be. Just the idea that such a thought would even spring to my mind as slightlypossible is irritating. And just how cliched would that be anyhow? Good old Ice Queen slipping into bed with Spooky Mulder. The two of us conforming to the oldest steroetype in the book. Me being in love with my partner… it's all so ridiculous…Isn't it? God. I should've just shot Mulder like I had wanted to in the first place. "Um, Scully?" Huh? I look up. "You here with me?" I close my eyes for a second. "Yeah." He bites his lip. "So can I ask you something then?" Oh, this can't be good. "Yeah…" He stares into my eyes and I stare back. He's so nervous I can almost feel it. Oh god… "About um… you know, about what happened before Scully…" I stare back at him, wringing my fingers, silently wondering just how I might be able to evade this situation. "Before when?" I ask. "Before our…our disagreement," he replies, and starts nervously playing with the comforter. I let out a slow breath. "Yeah, what about it?" He follows in turn. "Scully…Why did…" He stops as if he has no clue how to word what he is about to say. In the end, he just blurts it out. "Why did you kiss me?" On no….nononononono… We are NOT talking about this right now. I refuse to talk about this. I won't. I can't. I can't deal with it. He needs to leave. Now. "Mulder, I'm really tired…" Oh yeah, that wasn't lame or anything… "Scully---" "I am, really I am Mulder. Please just go and let me get some sleep..." He doesn't budge. Damn you Mulder. God damn you. What fucking time is it anyhow? Will you not be happy until I turn into a goddamn fucking vampire myself because I'm awake all hours of the night? "Please Mulder…" "No." Oh fuck this. I can't even be fucking nice to him. "Mulder, damn it, can you just leave so that I can get some sleep?!" He moves closer. "No." "Why?" "Because." Oh great. We're back to the elementary school banter again. Just fucking great. I'm starting to think that I really should have smoked that cigarette. Why I play along, I really don't know. I think I must have some sick sense of self-punishment or something. I sigh. "Because why Mulder?" God, that sounded dumb. "Because I need to know." "But why?" He looks at me as if that's possibly the dumbest thing I ever could have asked, and maybe it is. Alright, well come on. It's like, what? 3 am? I can't possibly be sane right now. I can't possibly be held responsible for the things I'm saying. Ok, bad excuse. What am I SUPPOSED to say to him? He moves even closer, and now he's only sitting about a foot away. Christ, what the hell am I supposed to say? What does he think he's going to hear? The only thing I know how to say is… "I don't know, ok?" He stares at me dully. "You don't know." It's a statement more than it's a question, and it sounds desolate. God Mulder, I'm sorry. What was it you were expecting? A declaration of love? A tale of undying devotion? Well the truth is, I don't know why I did it ok? I don't know why I kissed you. I don't. I just don't. I'm sorry, ok? I just don't know. Mulder leans down on an arm and then looks up again, hair falling into his right eye. He brushes it away with a distracted arm and shifts his position. What the…? What is that over his right eye? It's misshapen and looks bloody and…oh my god. Mulder! Jesus Christ! What the hell did you do to yourself? "Scully, I---" "Jesus Mulder!" He glances at me, confused. "Huh?" I lean in towards him and touch gentle fingers to his upper forehead---over his right eye, my way of telling him why I've just changed the conversation. He sucks in a painful breath and lowers his head for me to look at it. He is silent, but I can tell that this cut is something that he did NOT want me to know about. The doctor in me comes to life, and I brush his hair out of the way to examine it further, making sure that it's not too deep or something that requires stitches. It's not—thank god, and I rise from the bed quickly, frantically searching for the antiseptic and gauze that I always bring in my makeshift "doctor bag." With Mulder, it never hurts to have first aid---or even a personal 911 operator and ambulance for that matter. You know, I think that the both of us should have personalized hospital wards named in our honor. He frowns. "It's not that big a deal Scully," he insists. Yeah right. He always says that, always playing down something that he knows I'm just going to fuss over anyhow, and I don't know why he bothers anymore. "Yes it is," I counter, my head buried in my luggage. "Mulder, you know that open wounds can get infected or worse if not taken care of. And what if its much more serious than it looks? God, why didn't you just say something when you walked in?" I hear the bed shift behind me. "When Scully?" I hear him ask. "Before or after you decided that you didn't even want me in the same hemisphere as you?" I take a deep breath. Ok Mulder, I'll give you that one. I sigh in slight frustration. "You're right. I'm sorry," I offer from the floor, and my hands burrow beneath a shirt. "I should've paid more attention to your…" I pause and fight for the right words. Damn, this is ridiculous. "Your…ah, your condition. I should've acted more professionally, and not have been so angry that I failed to do my job, being oblivious to an injury that I would have otherwise noticed right away." I hear him crack what sounds like his knuckles. "Ok Mulder?" Silence for a moment. "You know, you don't have to patronize me like that," he complains. I turn my head to look at him, my hand closing around a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a box of gauze. "I'm not Mulder, now shut up and let me fix that." He brushes another lock of hair away from his cut. "Fine then, whatever," he answers sourly, albeit a bit sarcastically, and I choose to ignore it. Rising off my knees, I begin my trek back to the bed. "So what the hell happened to you?" I ask. He sighs. "Not important." Oh for gods sakes! "Mulder…" My voice is warning. "It's nothing Scully." I eye him critically. "Oh please Mulder." He looks down as if ashamed, and I make it over to the bed, sitting, feeling the mattress dip under my weight. Papers crunch beneath my feet and I hope that they're not TOO important. I stare at him pointedly and open the bottle. "It's dumb," he mumbles. "What's dumb? A fight?" I prod, and he shakes his head. "I'm telling you Scully, it's dumb." I roll my eyes as I apply some alcohol to a cotton ball. How many times have I seen you do something dumb, Mulder? Tell me. A hundred? A thousand? And what about going out tonight and getting plastered? Tell me, was that brilliant? "As dumb as spending 12 hours in a bar getting drunk, or as dumb as ditching your partner, leaving her all the paperwork, and then letting her come at you with a large bottle of antiseptic?" He forces a slight smile and my weak comment, and furrows his brows. "Come on Scully, I said I was sorry for---OWWWW!" I press the cotton ball to his forehead and rub hard, swift, long circular motions---almost taking pleasure at his outburst if pain. Ha! Good Mulder. Does that hurt? Does it?? HMMMM??! We're even now. He stares at me witheringly, painfully. "Jesus, Scully---are you trying to kill me?" God, what a baby. I shrug. He raises his eyebrow. "Nevermind," he mutters. "Don't answer that." Tossing the soiled cotton into the garbage next to me, I yank out another from the tiny box of cotton balls and gauze. Pressing it to the top of the opening, I turn the bottle upside down to saturate the tiny while ball. He stares at me like a frightened 5 year old. "Again?" he asks horrified. I purse my lips. He looks at me as if I'm holding a knife instead of a cotton ball. You know, for grown man and trained FBI agent, he can be such a baby at times. "I have to clean it Mulder," I try to reason, but he looks at me dubiously. I press the cotton to his temple again, and he sucks in another pained breath. "Scorned woman doctor trying to kill me," he mutters lightly under his breath, and I throw the second cotton ball away, shaking my head and reaching for the gauze. "Now who's avoiding the subject?" I ask suspiciously, and he looks away, silent. Yanking out a strip of gleaming white cotton, I sneak a look over at him. He's still silent, and still wearing that expression that looks like someone's just killed his goldfish. His goldfish… Who is feeding Mulder's goldfish right now anyhow? I forgot to remind him to tell his neighbor---that old fat lady, what's her face--- to look after his apartment. Five bucks says that he forgot and now the poor things are going to die and… Where the heck did THAT come from? Why am I worried about Mulder's goldfish? I shake the thought away. "Mulder?" I prod, and he slumps his shoulders. "Well?? What is it? What happened?" He scrunches his face, and I begin to apply bandages to his forehead, staring at him expectantly the entire time. "Alright, fine," he breathes frustrated, and stares back at me. "Fine. You really want to know what happened?" I am silent. I don't need to repeat myself. He knows I want to hear this. "I left Diana at our interrogation even though I probably shouldn't have. I walked for god only knows how long until I got to a pub and then I proceeded to drink. A lot. Too many, but I think you know that. I don't know how many I had before I overheard some cops talking and---" SHE didn't go with him??? She didn't go??? But I thought…. "Agent Fowley didn't go with you?" He regards my outburst as if confused that I would ask such a thing. I don't blame him. I don't know why it's so important to me. It just is. He furrows his brow. "No," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. I nod slowly, trying to hide my relief, going back to my task of wrapping his forehead. His eyes are still on me. Damn it Mulder, quit staring at me. "Why?" he asks. I glance up at him through my ministrations. "Why what Mulder?" He blinks. "Why do you want to know?" I shake my head. Oh no Mulder, no we are NOT getting into this right now. You're going to finish your story, like it or not. You're not getting out of this. We're silent for a moment until I urge him to continue. "Ok, so you overheard some cops and??" He stares at me bewildered for a moment, as if still trying to figure out why I'd be so worried about where Diana was, and then he continues. My hand begins to adjust the bandages at his forehead to my liking. He clears his throat. "I heard them…I mean I overheard…" I watch him expectantly. He sighs for the umpteenth time. "What is it Mulder?" Jesus, just spit it out already. "They were…they said something…some pretty derogatory things about…well about…" Oh---I get it. It's something I've encountered one too many times in my career. It's a shame, but it just comes with the territory of being a female doctor and federal agent. I've grown used to the predjudice, come to expect it at times, and sad as that may sound, I've come to ignore it; work and do my job around it. I've become accustomed to such narrow minded, neanderthal idiocy. But I guess, as it would appear, Mulder has not. "About me?" I ask, and he nods slowly. "So did you---" "Lose it?" he asks, then laughs hollowly, as if it's funny, but not in a "ha ha" sort of way. I remove my hands from his forehead and study my handiwork—it's not bad—if I do say so myself. "Not exactly," he says sheepishly, and tries to smile. "Well?" I ask expectantly. He shrugs. "Well what?? What exactly?" He shrugs again. I am going to kill him. "Damn it Mulder, just tell me already!" I nearly explode, trying to keep my irritation in check. Say it already!! Jesus Christ!! Just say it already!! This is going nowhere! "Mulder!---" "I hit my head, alright??!" His explosion of anger takes me by surprise and I am silent. He continues. "I stormed out and ran into a clearing to try and clear my thoughts, I didn't look, and I tripped and fell on my fucking head ok? I tripped and fell and passed out, and when I came to, it was middle of the night. Ok Scully? Satisified?" I stare at him stunned. His outburst is almost amusing in its childish nature, and there is a smile growing on my face. I'm almost to the point of internal laughter, ashamed at myself for having been so mad at him, and yet trying desperately not to laugh at what was, to him, obviously something very embarrassing to admit. Well, I'm still mad, kind of, but I just have this feeling that he's had a much worse evening than I have. God, he fell on his head and passed out? "Gee Scully, I'm so glad you find this so amusing," he mutters, and I look up at him confused. Oh gosh, was I laughing out loud? "I'm sorry," I breathe out with a smile, and I reach to touch his shoulder reassuringly. "I didn't mean to laugh at you. Really, I didn't. It was just---" "Yeah you did," he spits out lowly, and stares down at his hands. "Yeah you did, Scully." I smile. "Ok, so maybe I did," I offer, and he looks up again. "But then, can you blame me?" He stares at me sheepishly and nods, not wanting to admit that I'm right, but yet still knowing that he's wrong; that what he did was wrong. This is his way of admitting defeat; true "Mulder" style. It's the infamous "sulk." But you know what? I forgive him. Why? Because I always forgive him. Why? Because he's Mulder. Because he's my Mulder. Because I need him. That's why. "Well I kinda made a scene when I went back," he says as if embarrassed, and I offer a soft smile. "I can only imagine," I reply. He grins another sheepish half grin. "You don't want to," he groans. My hand drops back down to my side and he shifts on the bed. I'm still smiling. I don't know why. He looks down and turns slightly red, as if seeing me smile makes him blush for some reason. Maybe it's because I hardly ever smile. Or maybe its because my smile has the same effect on him, that his does on me. He continues. "I um, I didn't want you to have to come and get me----" I smile softly. I want him to know that I still care about him, no matter how much of an ass he makes out of himself. "I would have though," I tell him quietly. "You know I would have." He smiles back. "Yeah, I know." Silence for a moment and then he speaks again. "But I knew I was going to have to call someone and since I didn't want to ahh…well, disturb you or wake you or…" What did he say?? He didn't want to DISTURB me? Since when?? My eyes widen almost incredulously. "So you woke Agent Fowley up instead?" I ask, and he shrugs his shoulders. "Diana was pissed off anyhow," he tells me with another shrug. "And I figured that if she was going to kill me, I might as well give her an opportunity before you could get your hands on me." Now I can't help the tiny smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. You know, in his really sweet "Mulder" moments, those rare moments that I cherish, he knows exactly what I need to hear---just the thing to say to make me smile. I don't know why what he just said makes me feel warm inside, but it does. It just does. He's always had that ability; to make me cry; to make me want to touch his hand; to get me to look into his eyes… Sometimes I think I can see forever in there, as corny and as stupid as that may sound. I open my eyes and nod at him, smiling. God, how could I have misjudged him like that? Misjudged US, so completely? I don't think that there is anyone else in this entire universe who could know him as well as I do, who could feel him so wholly, or read him so completely, and you know what? It's just something that nobody else can touch. Something nobody else can breach. There is noone else, noone that fills the space in his heart that I do, and now I can see it in the way he looks at me. The way he looks at me… We may not be a couple, but I wonder how many wives have the honor of being looked at, as if they are the center of someone else's universe, the way I'm the center of his? The way he's the center of mine. My eyes take him in again, and I realize that he's still a mess. "God Mulder," I chide tenderly, running a finger along the side of his arm. "Look at you." He doesn't seem to hear me, although he's looking at me as if suddenly enlightened. "Come on now, I want you to lie down," My voice is gentle, soft, and I try to convey just how sorry I am for acting like such a spoiled child before. I touch his arm. "Hey," I whisper quietly, wrapping my fingers lightly around his bicep. "Just lie down here, ok? I'll go get a wash cloth or something to clean you up." He doesn't budge, and I wait for his returning comment on the rules against agents consorting and giving each other kinky sponge baths. I wait for about 10 seconds before I realize that one is not forthcoming. I look at him concerned and touch a hand to his knee. "Mulder?" I ask. "Did you hear me?" He leans a hand in to touch the side of my cheek, a soft caress that feels gentle and warm. "I don't look at you nearly enough," he murmurs, and I stare at him questioningly. What is he talking about? "I see you, but I don't really look," he whispers. I take in a breath. "I should," he finishes, leaning closer. "Mulder?" He smiles. "You know, I don't care why you kissed me." Huh? You don't? I don't get it. My mouth opens slightly. My heart is pounding. My ears are ringing. What is he doing? "Why?" I breathe, my eyes slowly taking in his forward motion. OH GOD… Ohgod ohgod ohgod… His nose touches my cheek as he leans in even closer. My lungs take in ragged shudders of oxygen. His breath falls upon my open mouth, and I recognize the faint aroma of…Scope? Yes. Scope. Mint Scope. "Why Mulder?" I manage again, softly, not even understanding how it is that I'm still capable of speech. His eyes begin to close. His lips part slightly. Oh god. He whispers into my mouth with quiet reverence. "Sometimes I just don't know who I am unless you're with me." My breathing catches. My heart stops. My eyes close. And then there are no more words. His head dips, mine tilts, his hands cup my neck, my cheeks, tangle in my hair and… OH MY GOD… His…his lips….his lips on mine…his mouth….his skin….he feels so good, so good, ahhh….Blinding light, pulsing, my heart….my heart is pounding… my pulse…It's…racing….speeding….oh god, Mulder….more, again, again….mmmm…oh…god…Mulder…Mine….my Mulder…mine…so slowly…so softly…I need….need…that…yes that…oh god… He pulls away and my heart is beating a zillion miles a minute. My lips are thick and dark red now, and my pulse is loud and thundering in my ears. He looks at me and I look at him. There are no words spoken, and we stare at each other, reeling. His eyes search mine for a reaction. My thoughts are like soup and my skin feels too tight for my body. That has to be the most amazing sensation I've ever experienced. Ever. He looks down at his lap and I gaze off at the wall. My cheeks are red, as are his, and an uncomfortable silence hangs between us. Oh god, what's going on here? The walls are going to close in. The room in going to shut in on me. I'm going to jump out of my skin in about 30 seconds. Oh good lord, I let it happen again… I let it happen and I liked it. Oh jesus, did I like it… I bite my lip. I can't let him stay here. I can't… If he stays… Oh, I don't even want to think it… We look at each other again. Ok, that's it. I need to say something. I need to say something now. I clear my throat gently and sigh. "Mulder---" "Let's get out of here Scully." I stare at him confused. What on earth is he talking about? "Excuse me?" He grins. "Come on, let's go and do something…something that doesn't have to do with aliens or cases or interrogations or…" He pauses and I sit, staring. Where is he going with this? "Mulder?" I question. "Are you ah, you feeling alright?" He ignores the inquiry and snaps an enthusiastic finger into the air. "I know!" My brow furrows, and I raise an eyebrow. "You know what?" The grin is still there. "Dance with me Scully." My eyes widen in confusion. Huh? "Huh?" Mulder smiles mischeivously at my confusion. "Dance with me," he repeats, and I look around as if I think that surely, he must be talking to someone else. "Yes you," he says, reading me just like he always does. It's still incredibly spooky. I look around again. Dance? What is he talking about? Is he nuts? The TV is still turned on, the volume low, but there is no music channel, and there is no clock radio or stereo anywhere in this room. God, he IS nuts. He wants to dance? Mulder want to dance? How? And for gods sakes, Why? He's still smiling, and I'm still staring around confused. Suddenly, he rises, grinning suspiciously and reaching for my hand like a ridiculous gentleman. Apprehensive, I put my hand into his with a raised eyebrow. "Try not to look so horrified," he chides, and pulls me towards the door. Where in the hell are going? "Mulder, it's the middle of the night," I point out. He nods and stares at me as if I've just said the most obvious thing in the world, which, I guess, I just have. "So?" I furrow my brows and allow him to lead me out. I don't know why, but I do. I just seem to have this perpetual weak spot for him that never fails to get me into the oddest of situations. "So where do you plan on taking me at 3 am?" He smiles enigmatically. Oh god. "You'll see," he answers, and opens the door. ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ Only a little more: keep going… Title: The Way I Saw It, Part 4d: One Last Dance Author: Jaime Lyn Email: Leiaj@bellsouth.net Category: S, R, H (and a teensy bit of "A" I guess) Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Spoilers: Well, obviously the first 3 parts. (duh) and Season 5 in general. Rated: Um, "R" only because of a bunch of swear words Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder, Scully, or Diana. I wish I did. I'd be rich then. Summary: Mulder confronts Scully, and an angry Diana sees something she wishes she hadn't. Authors Note : Well, this is the last part of the end (which is really just one conclusion chopped up in a few parts.) I hope you like it, and I'm glad you made it this far. Let's see if you can make it all the way to the end. *grin *. This one pretty much takes place without any flashbacks, so it's a straight through deal. Thank you so very much to EVERYONE who has sent me feedback for this, and also to everyone who has sent well wishes for when I was ill. Your support was, and still is, no short of incredible. For: The one who brought me brownies just because. She always makes me laugh when I'm sad, and always manages to "save me from myself." She knows who she is. It goes without saying. :o) Words can't say and I can't do enough to prove that it's all for you.-------- Sister Hazel. The Way I Saw It, Part 4d: One Last Dance By Jaime Lyn ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~ Around 3 am, Early August 14th, Diana Fowley's Motel room, DIANA FINISHES THE STORY: ~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^~^~^~^~ "Hawaii 5-0" really sucks. It really, really does. I kick the remote off the bed indifferently. God, how I wish there were something else on TV. Something---anything to keep my mind occupied. It's just way too easy to get lost in thought when there's nothing else to do. Like for instance, I've been going over this one thing in my brain for about 10 minutes now. I don't know why. I mean, it's dumb, ok, but I just can't help it. It's just… Well, I'm not tired, there's no cable, the world hasn't exploded yet… This is just NOT my lucky day. Sigh. I remember this one time that Fox and I were on assignment together. It was way back when, sometime in the late 80's or early 90's, back when big hair was still "in" and cell phones were hideous monstrosities that few people carried around. It was in North Dakota I think, the both of us stuck on some anonymous case that was a cross between a drug bust and a terror spree. Not incredibly exciting, no, but it was work, and it was OUR work, and so it kept us busy. It was back before the X Files, RIGHT before the X Files actually, back when things were still somewhat amicable between us---not great, not magic and fireworks but amicable still, and it was back when I was the only person he called "partner." God, how long ago was that? 10 years? Jesus, I feel old. I feel older than I should. Anyhow, we were surveying a crime scene----me lagging slightly behind him as always, him talking a mile a minute, as always, and his brain working so fast that I mused the brisk pace of his strides was only due to the brisk pace of his thoughts. It was October I think, late October maybe, and the leaves had fallen to crunch beneath my black heels. It was one of those times that you wished you could take a picture of the world and freeze frame it, just so that maybe you could believe, even if for only a moment, that there were no such things as drug busts and murders. I wish I had a picture of what he looked like trapped in thought. He's just too damn good at what he does, too damn involved in it, and I think it's what drew me to him. It drew me to him then, his intelligence, his wit and his willingness to believe like a beacon, and I somehow got in over my head. It was of no surprise to the both of us when I took that terrorism job out of the country. Neither one of us were good at the "relationship" thing, and so by the end, it just seemed too ridiculous and pointless to continue with. He had his work as I had mine; that was always blantantly obvious. It still is. The players may have changed but the game still remains the same: He and I just don't mix. Maybe we never did. Maybe we weren't supposed to. The thought is depressing as hell. It's just that… well… Fox is the closest anyone's ever come to understanding me- --And I guess that's sad in itself, because I've never understood him at all. At any rate, he and I were sloshing through the leaves when my foot caught on something---a branch I think, but it was so long ago that I can barely remember. And before I even had a chance to gasp or scream or even cry out, I felt myself falling---sideways and awkwardly, and then landing with a loud ungraceful "Crunch-thunk" into the leaves. It hurt like hell, let me tell you---especially considering that my ankle broke the fall, and for a moment I was stunned stupid. But then the pain hit, and that's when I gasped out "shit," and squeezed my eyes shut. I was so sure that it was broken, so nearly positive, that I didn't even want to move. But that's when I looked up. I looked up and saw Fox, still walking towards the house and still talking, acting as if he hadn't even heard me fall. In essence, I guess he hadn't. He was still going on and on, spouting something that I was too distracted to pay attention to, and it struck me suddenly that he never even realized that I had fallen. He never stopped to look back, never paused to get my input, and so he never heard the crash that my body made against the leaves. How in the world he managed to block THAT sound out, is still beyond me. I think he actually made it about 5 feet without me, before he finally turned around to realize that I wasn't with him. I know because I watched his head turn back and forth as if confused, surveying the area, and then he finally rested upon my pained gaze, my hunched over form in the piles of leaves. By then, two other agents had already spotted me and rushed over, kneeling down to check my already swollen ankle, while Fox crept forward slowly. "You ok?" he asked cautiously, and I tried to grit my teeth. "Yeah," I had replied. "I think I only sprained it, though I'm not…not sure…" Our eyes connected but I couldn't read him. He just stood there, nodding but not moving any closer, as if he were afraid of me, and one of the other agents began to help me up. "Come on," whatever-his- name- was said. "It's only a sprain. We'll just go wrap it and you'll be fine." I nodded and Fox just stood there. "You coming Agent Mulder?" whatever-his-name-was asked, and Fox shook his head. "You'll be ok right?" he questioned, and I just nodded numbly, in pain and stunned that he would ditch me while I was injured. "Ok, then I'm just gonna…" He looked down and I still couldn't read him. "I'm gonna just go…I have the crime scene and all…" He began to turn away and I felt like crying. He didn't care. Well no, maybe he did care, but it wasn't important enough for him to drop whatever he was doing to help me. I wasn't important enough. The idea sickened me. I think that's when I knew it was over. "I'll be in touch then," he called back, barely turning around before jogging off to the crime scene, patting his ridiculously large cell phone as if to prove his point. Agent whatever helped me limp away, but the pain of my ankle suddenly seemed dull. That I would let this happen; that I would let myself get that attached really bothered me. So I asked for reassignment the next day, and two months later---right after the X Files, it was granted. I didn't look back. I don't think that he did either. It wasn't until a few years later that we met again, me back for what looked like a typical terrorist attack case, and him insisting that the case was actually an X file. It was strange---me seeing him again, but I don't think I would've felt so strongly about it, had I not met HER. Had I not seen the way they acted together; as if their brains somehow communicated telepathically and worked in tangent. To say that it made me mad would be an understatement. To say that it made me jealous would not be fitting. It just went so much deeper than that; So much further. Maybe it's true what they say. Maybe it really is human nature to hate what you don't understand; to want what you can't have. And I saw it on that first case---they way they acted, the way she looked at me- --as if I were a supreme threat to her; to them. And maybe in her mind I was, I still am, but in Fox's eyes, it was different. He saw me, thought about me I'm sure, remembered, maybe even fondly, but it was obvious to me that there was no room left in his eyes or his heart for me. There was no space left that she didn't fill. No spot for me to call mine. She had every part; she knew every heartbeat. I still hate her for it. And it was on a case a few weeks ago, walking in the late summer sun, that I realized how the times had changed; how she wasn't just going to disappear, no matter how hard I wished it or hoped. I tried though, lord knows I tried every chance that I could get. I still do. For as long as I am near him, near our old stomping grounds, I don't think I'll ever stop trying. Anyhow, we were walking, him speeding ahead again, much like that first time, but only now there were 3 of us. SHE was walking next me. Silent and obscenely cooperative, always rigidly stiff, and of course, not smiling, never smiling, she treaded next to me. She looked pained, slightly green to say the least, but she never spoke a word, letting Fox do all the talking while she grimaced in pain every 2 minutes or so. I saw her out of the corner of my eye but she was quiet, and she covered well. Finally, when we came into the clearing, she winced again. I'm assuming the pain must have gotten worse, because she sucked in a small breath; a tiny almost silent noise that I only heard because I was walking right next to her. I only eyed her though, not speaking and not asking, and she kept her mouth shut. But that's when Fox stopped walking. When he turned around, his eyes connected with hers and they were both silent. I watched them watch each other, and it suddenly occurred to me that he must have heard her suck in a breath. Somehow, he must have felt her pain. It occurred to me, with an angry seething vengeance, and my brain suddenly flashed back to that pretty October day; the one where I had twisted my ankle, and he had not noticed. To this day, I still don't understand how, from 3 feet ahead, he was somehow able to hear her grimace in pain. I mean, It was a noise so small that it could just as easily have been a pin dropping or a leaf falling. How was it that I could land flat on my face without him even flinching, and yet all she had to do was breathe? It made me crazy. "Scully?" he asked softly, as if he were trying to convey powerful emotion in the sound of her name, and she sighed. "I'm fine," she had replied, and then they just stared at each other, as if speaking telepathically. He stepped closer then, moving in quick, long strides, grass crunching beneath his feet, and tipped a finger under her chin to connect their eyes. "You're sure?" he had asked, sounding a bit nervous, and she nodded, the two of them acting as if I wasn't even there. "You're sure it's not... I mean, if it's- ---" "No Mulder," she had insisted reassuringly, clearing her throat, before backing away. "It's not what you're thinking. It's not THAT. Trust me." Now, I have no clue what she was talking about, nor did I care, but the way they looked at each other… It was like they shared these secrets that no one else in the world could ever know. It made me so mad, so annoyed, but I kept my mouth shut. He nodded then, walked ahead, and didn't look back. I think that's a habit of Mulder's; not looking back. Neither one of them brought the situation up again, nor did they share more than 2 sentences the rest of the afternoon, but I never forgot it. And I don't think that I ever will, either. Stupid things like that stay with me, I don't know why. Sigh. Another episode of "Hawaii 5-0" is beginning and I think I'm going to throw up. I wonder if they keep a bar stocked full of liquor anywhere around here… Hey…hold up….what is that? I hear something outside…music…I think… oldies it sounds like… A car radio maybe? Who the hell is outside playing their radio at 3 in the morning? With a sigh and against my better judgement, I get up to approach the door and pull it open. It creaks slightly, the wood not being especially new and the hinges not very well oiled, and I step outside slowly. It's not especially bright out here, and so it's hard to see. I venture further out and squint my eyes. I can see two figures, their backs to me, bathed in the soft glow of our Taurus rental. But there is little light out here, besides the headlights of the car, a tree and a row of parking spaces between myself and them, and so its hard to make much out. I slide around to the side of what appears to be a large oak tree, and then further, behind another tree, and I am now only a few feet away from them. I squint again. Oh… God… Why did I come out here again? It's the two of them, something I had pretty much suspected, especially considering that the car they're using is our rental, but I didn't really want to believe what I was witnessing until I could confirm it as definite. And it's definite alright. His left arm is wrapped around her waist, his right hand cupped in hers, and their intertwined fingers are pressed between them; her head leaning up to capture the look on his face. They are smiling. The both of them. They are grinning like two fucking idiots and swaying back and forth to what sounds like Elvis' "Fools Rush In," and why does that not surprise me at this point? I had a feeling that there must have been an "all elvis, all the time," radio station in this 5 channel, 3 radio station little hick town. They look just so absolutely, wonderfully fucking adorable, not to mention blissfully happy, for what is probably the first time in both their lives, and I don't know why I'm even standing here watching them. Maybe it's because I'm still pissed off that they didn't end up killing each other, the way I had thought they would, and I'm hoping that the parking brake will release and run them over. God, even some rain would make me feel better. Like I said before, I just don't understand. I don't understand at all. A closer look shows me that he has a monstrous bandage covering the cut on his forehead, something I'm sure that she applied, and when she untangles their hands long enough to touch it, he closes his eyes for a moment. "Mulder," she says, "I really think that you should lie down--- just in case." He shakes his head slightly, and his hand covers hers. "Not yet," he replies softly, and brushes a lock of her hair out of her eyes. She dyes it. Five bucks says that she dyes it. Her fingers fall away and rest on his shoulders. "Besides," he sighs, "I feel fine. Better actually. Really, I do." I roll my eyes at that. Ha! Not even 30 minutes ago, you were expelling the contents of your stomach all over the road. You were moaning in pain and dying for asprin and now you're fine?? You're fine?? My, my, I'm just SOO thrilled that you save the best for me. Whatever. She bites her lip. "I just…I worry about you…" He smiles. "I know." They are silent as the music plays. Her arms wrap around his neck comfortably, and he kisses the top of her head as she sways lightly in his embrace, her posture showing signs of exhaustion. I really hate Dana Scully. "Tired," she breathes into his chest, and I see him tighten his grip. I have to nearly strain to hear them, but I am close enough to make out what he says. The music isn't all that loud, I realize, and the walls of the motel must be really thin for me to have even heard it in the first place. He whispers what sounds like, "So then close your eyes," and I can see that he is practically holding her up now. "I think I might just pass out instead," she nearly mumbles, and a low chuckle rises in Fox's throat. "So just don't let go ok?" she warns, and her voice sounds weak and tired. It's a light attempt at joking I think. His head leans down, his cheek touches hers, and I am almost positive that they are breaking about a dozen bureau rules about "consorting partners" right now. Oh, how the OPR board would love to have a field day with this… "You know I'd never let you fall Scully," he whispers, and their noses graze gently past each other, slowly. I notice that they are somehow still swaying to the music. God, this is making me sick. It's as if they're in their own little universe, their own little bubble, and I wonder how long they've been out here dancing like this. Could I really have been so lost in thought to have not noticed the music playing out here? I mean, the TV was practically on mute and… Sigh. It doesn't matter. With a deep breath, I turn to the sidewalk and begin my trek back to the motel room, my feet feeling as if they weigh a million pounds with each step I take. I don't need to watch them to know that he's kissing her right now; slowly and deeply probably; as if it were their last kiss ever and they wanted to savor it. Please. Spare me. And I don't need to see them dance or watch them kiss, to know that he's in love with her. It's chronically written all over his face; every second of every day. I also don't need to be a psychic friend or a magic 8 ball to know that she loves him just as deeply. It's so obvious because she stays with him; throughout anything and everything; and throughout hell and back. I, after all, never could. Maybe that alone speaks volumes. "Wanna go back inside?" I hear him speak, his voice the trembling, breathless tone of someone recently kissed. Her voice floats back to him over the music; gentle and loving. "One last dance," she says softly; tenderly, and I close my eyes in defeat. Walking back to the motel room alone, my body numbs with cold despite the hundred degree heat. My feet scrape the pavement and my eyes stare straight ahead. I still feel older than my years and now it shows. I still hate Dana Scully, still resent her for being his, but the truth is that I have to face the facts. This is her dance now. I gave up mine a long, long time ago… THE END. :o) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Ok, well, that's it. That's the whole thing. That's the end of the story. So what happens after that, you ask? Do they go back to her room, do they stay outside, do they wander into agent Fowley's room and drop an anvil on her head?? Well, I'm not saying. So Nahhhhh! *grin * Use your imagination. And if you so choose, send me feedback! (Please, please send me feedback. I love feedback. I need feedback. I will cuddle it and hold it close to me for all eternity.) Well, thanx for reading guys, and congratulations! You made it to the end. WHEW!