Scenarios by Maureen B. Ocks (Maureen_B_Ocks@yahoo.com) Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and all other familiar X Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and FOX. No copyright infringement intended. Archive -- Sure, as long as my name stays with it. Spoilers: Through the movie with a U.S. Season 6 rumor. Keywords: Mulder musings/stream of consciousness === Scenarios Maureen B. Ocks === October 18, 1998 8:00am I had all these scenarios about how it would happen. That's not my fault. Scully provided me with the first one. She'd come into my room -- scared, drunk, horny, whatever -- in a robe and nothing else, throwing herself in my arms and into my bed. Forget that it just isn't her. Forget that if she did, I'd probably actually have a moment of gentleman zen and ask her why she was doing it. Forget that right after this happened, Satan would be handing out Polartec Mittens because hell had officially frozen over. It was a nice fantasy, complete with visual aides from our first case together that made it work. Oh, did it work. Showers on the road, nights on the couch, once in my old room visiting Mom. After we were split up, and she saved my ass in Puerto Rico, the scenarios changed. Some heaving groping on "our" bench in the park by the Jefferson Memorial followed by a hot car ride to my apartment and then we'd christen my couch. Now I know this would never happen -- Scully's self worth and probable thoughts as a Navy brat on public displays of affection would never allow this to happen. Me, I rationalized it would have been a great cover for our covert meetings. Let those who I thought were watching think we were getting all hot and bothered together rather than working together. Admittedly, that's weak, but I wasn't getting to see her that much and I had way too much time to myself. We called each other a lot during all of this. If Scully ever knew what I was doing those nights, she'd never speak with me on the phone again. Then she was gone. My scenarios changed. Big time. Medical rape, human guinea pig, the total debasement and dehumanization of the finest person I've ever known. If it is the last thing I do, I will find those bastards and take them to hell with me, but those are a separate set of scenarios. She came back. Back to her family, back to work, back to me. And the bad scenarios changed. I was a better man in new scenarios. Drinks, dinner and back to a nice hotel room for some private time. In real life, the department's budget never got us in to better hotels, but we ate better. No more meals from a drive thru window, we had dinners in restaurants. One image that stayed with me for a long time was eating at ribs at Clay's BBQ. I have my sleeves rolled up to my armpits, I'm holding these serious business ribs like they are radioactive so I don't make a mess of myself in front of her. Scully sits there in an off white suit and only manages to get a little sauce on her mouth. Her mouth. I had to clean it. I have a hard enough time looking at her mouth, wondering about her mouth, dreaming about that mouth. I don't need sauce to point it out to me. Scully was startled by my move. And embarrassed -- she turned a little red. It was great. I could have thrown her up on the table right there and showed her other ways I could embarrass her while I made a mess of myself. I didn't, but boy did I want to. Things went from great to "oh my God" when one of those meat eating morons called Scully my wife. Oh was that a fun night alone with me and little Fox -- sauce on my wife Scully -- I think I got to sleep around 4am. After that, we moved into what I like to think of as my hospital period. One year, four near death experiences. I nearly died on the ice in the Arctic, but woke to find Scully at my bedside. I nearly died on the second worse North Atlantic cruise ever, but Scully was beside me when I woke up. I nearly died in the desert in New Mexico, but found Scully in my apartment. I nearly died after a car wreck with Alex Krycek and there she was once again by my bedside. Two things this medical tour taught me: One: I like waking up or coming home and finding Dana Scully. Two: When you wake up in a hospital bed next to Dana Scully and you beg just right, she'll remove your catheter. I knew I wanted the waking up with Scully for a while, but the catheter thing was just icing on the cake. Oh, the scenarios I had during that. Mercy Nursie Scully would look mighty fine in a starched white uniform giving me a sponge bath. Doctor Scully helping me provide a sample. But things got very bad after that. As my hospital tour ended, her's began. Now that she's in remission, I take real solace in the fact that she told me first, that she trusted me through the "Mulder is dead" hearing, that she listened to me about the chip. I, however, don't do the bedside thing well. Sitting and waiting was never my strong suit. Add to that my over-active imagination, which serves me so well when Scully is the object of my affection, is devastating when Scully is the object of my obsession. I came up with all sorts of horrible scenarios that included life without her, watching her die a slow and miserable death, her family knowing it was all my fault. After her recovery, I got to live out one scenario -- I danced with her. I was shocked I asked. She was shocked I asked. I was shocked she said yes. She was shocked she said yes. We had fun. We never had that much fun in my make believe scenarios. I had fun for a short time, but they ended and I was alone. I went home that night with my clothes smelling of Scully, my head full of images of her smiling up at me. Suddenly in my scenarios, I was Fred and she was Ginger. And that was perfect for us. What was the old line about Ginger? She had it easy, she just had to do everything Fred did, but backwards and in heels. That is Scully. Lately, I've had a lot of time to come up with new scenarios with Scully. Since the X Files are temporarily in the tender mercies of Jeffrey Spender and Diana Fowley, Scully and I are getting a lot of road time chasing down "domestic terrorists", or as I like to call them, farmers. We have looked at every large fertilizer purchase in six Midwestern states. Frankly, it isn't quite as stimulating as fighting conspiracies and alien creatures. Scully is sighing a lot, looking out the window, telling me occasionally that she doesn't know how people live on farms. Me, I could live on a farm with Scully. It would be "Green Acres". I could farm in my suit and she could pine for city life. I'd let Jeffrey Spender keep the X Files an extra six months if Scully would just say "Darling I love you but give me Park Avenue". She could even do the accent. My Scully scenarios since domestic terrorism and our return from the cold have all included "Darling I love you" or variations of that. I know she won't say it. Hell, I couldn't say it. "I need you" is about as close as I'd ever get. That and the little scene in the hall before the bee. You could imagine my surprise when a hall scenario came true yesterday. A year ago Friday, Scully put the chip back in her neck. Since Mom's birthday is in two weeks, I was at the florist sending a "tasteful arrangement". Signing the Amex chit, I noticed the date. It knocked me on my ass. I got Scully for a year because of that chip. I sent her a small fall basket of things like corn, little pumpkins, all that stuff you see as centerpieces on people's dining room tables. Flowers wouldn't last since we are off to Nebraska on Tuesday to talk to a fertilizer company about their record keeping. Anyway, coming back from the weekly Saturday morning supermarket run for corn flakes, minestrone and bottled water, who do I find sitting in my hall but Dana Scully. After she assured me everything was alright, she told me she came by to thank me for the centerpiece and invite me to a late birthday dinner. She even promised we'd be done before the Yankees World Series game started. I agreed, promising to pick her up at her place around 5. Well, I didn't pick her up. Scully had dinner ready -- she confessed most of it was from a local gourmet deli -- and we watched the Yankees win on her TV. We had fun. She was rooting for the Padres, having lived in San Diego and near Baltimore for long parts of her life made rooting for my Yankees impossible. She was very tolerant of my impromptu victory dance when Tino hit it out, though. When the game was over, she wanted to talk. I wanted to die. I figured this was it -- Mulder, it's been fun but I'm going back to Quantico, going back to my life, getting as far away from you as humanly possible. Of all the various scenarios I've had in my head with Scully, this is the one I always knew was going to come. It was the reason I knew how to fight it in my hallway last summer -- I heard the argument from myself a thousand times. She held the florist card I scribbled in her hand. I said something along the lines of "Thanks for having faith in me" or something equally Hallmarky. She told me she always had faith in me, always believed in us and always would. Dana Scully never kissed me in my scenarios like she kissed me on her couch. Forget that failed kiss in the hallway. Whatever I thought that would have been like, this was better. In fact, if I'd known it would have been like this, we'd have done this much earlier . . . say in my office the day she stuck her hand out and introduced herself. Real Life Scully had Scenario Scully beat in just about every way. Well, except one...I always figured that Scully knew secret doctor things that would make me crazy. She does. Scully and I have been bound to each other for years. Call it a mix of a strong professional partnership, long term personal relationship, shared loss, mutual respect, deep and profound love -- all that and more. I would have never come up with this scenario. Like the first one, only Scully could provide me with it. It is 8am Sunday morning, Scully just padded back into her bedroom wearing a tee-shirt and a smile. I'm naked in bed and she just asked if I'm up for breakfast. Oh, I'm up for a lot more than breakfast Scully. ----- Feedback is always nice. Maureen_B_Ocks@yahoo.com