From Ginef@aol.com Sun Nov 03 22:39:32 1996
First off, I must say that I awaited this episode with trepidation. And all
for naught! I found TFWID to be one of the best episodes in a long time. It
opened all kinds of doors and closed none. Kudos to Morgan and Wong. Welcome
home, guys.

Summary: Scully reflects on her relationship with Mulder and how the events
of the episode TFWID will change things. This is not a pretty story, nor does
it have a happy ending (but it does leave the potential for one). 

Warnings: TFWID spoilers. Scullyangst alert in effect. Enter at your own
risk. It's been a rough week between worrying about this episode, the whole
Fox/website fiasco (Free Speech Is Out There!), that pesky little thing
called real life and the stunning realization that I will not be able to
raise the additional $34,999 I need to buy my very own life-sized X-wing
fighter from the Neiman Marcus catalogue. This is a first for me-- an entire
story without one feeble attempt at humor! I must be growing. But seriously,
this is a real departure for me and I'd love to know what you think.

The legal stuff.... I have borrowed the characters and situations of the
television program "The X-Files" and will be returning them no worse for the
wear. They are the creation and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting
and 1013 Productions. I have used them without permission. No copyright
infringement is intended. 

Thanks to the usual list of suspects, the sainted Darin Morgan, and Gil for
all he's done to promote fanfic and the X-Files. 


"The Field Where I Lied"

by ginef@aol.com

"Dana... if over the four years we've been working together, an event
occurred or somebody told you that we'd been friends together, in other
times, always... would it have changed some of the ways we looked at one
another?" His voice had been hollow and haunted, as he asked me the one
question I didn't want to answer. Not even to myself. So I lied. I lied to
him for the first time in our partnership, just as I know I will lie everyday
for the rest of my life. 

But now, tonight, is for the almighty truth. I am sitting here in my darkened
apartment drinking Irish whiskey to steel my resolve. To purge a man who will
never be mine from my heart. I down shot after shot. Straight. Ahab would be
so proud. "...would it have changed some of the ways we looked at one
another?" The words ripple like a stone tossed in a lake, spreading in
perfect symmetry, reaching out forever with no resolution. I close my eyes to
hold back the tears. If only I could change everything. I laugh, bitter and
short. Regrets have become my bosom buddies, my constant companions. They
dance unbidden like the headlights of passing cars on my walls. They come.
They go. They are ever present. 

My phone is ringing again. I know it's him. I don't answer. 

I look for the whiskey and think of Melissa. Not Mulder's so-called soul
mate, the one he's destined to love in place of me. No, I think of my sister.
I wish she was here instead of cold and rotting in the ground. My ultimate
regret. As much as I tell Mulder and myself that he and I aren't to blame for
her death I know in my heart of hearts that we are. I am. He is. The bastard.
Some days her absence is like a huge, gaping maw sucking me into the abyss
with such force that I can barely pull myself from my bed. Some days I don't
think about her at all. I don't know which is worse. When I was a kid I
wanted to be Melissa so badly. Wearing make up and a bra. Fighting with mom
and Ahab. Missing curfew. I couldn't wait. Now I want nothing more than to be
ten years old again and able to crawl into bed between my parents, safe and
warm and loved. I am none of those things now. 

The phone rings again. I ignore it.

They must have known that eventually we'd destroy each other. It just took a
little longer than expected. I will not leave him. I will not leave the
X-Files because, Goddamn him, the truth is addictive and I'm as hooked as any
junkie. But, so help me God, he won't have my heart, my soul. They're mine
again. Mine alone. He can lament about his lost soulmate. He can go to hell.
I don't want to hear it. 

There goes the phone again for the third time in five minutes. I don't
answer. I have nothing to say to him. I need to freshen my drink. There's
something to be said for this drinking. Makes everything so much clearer.
Every mistake, every regret, is a tin can lined up on a fence waiting to be
shot down. Joining the Bureau. Bang. Agreeing to be assigned to the X-Files.
Bang. Not transferring the hell out of there as soon as possible. Bang.
Falling in love with my totally self-absorbed partner. Need a shot gun for
that one. BANG. Oh well, the bottle was almost empty and I need to paint that
wall anyway.

My door flies open, kicked in again. My landlord will be thrilled. Mulder is
standing there, gun in hand, ready to protect my virtue, my honor, my life. I
laugh. He must have been calling from downstairs. I drop to my knees shaking
with hysterics. He's so damn handsome even with his unwashed hair and
tattered jeans. I roll onto my back. Now I am a turtle. I can't get up. 

"Scully, you're drunk," he observes, helping me to my feet. I shake him off
and wrap my arms around myself, a cheap and worthless protection against the
power of his touch. As effective as a Band-Aid on an evisceration.

"Crack investigator, that Fox Mulder," I sneer as I stumble over a corner of
the rug on my way to the couch. He catches me. I cannot have him touching me,
weakening my defences. I steel myself and shove him away. "Get your hands off
me," I hiss.

He releases me and takes a seat on my couch. "What's going on, Scully?" 

I take the chair. "Dana, my name is Dana."

He sighs, passing his hand over his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept since
we returned to Washington two days ago. I try not to care. I fail and I hate
myself a little more. "What's going on, Dana?"

"Nothing." I get to my feet and stumble towards the kitchen. "You want a
drink?"

"No."

"Then get the hell out." 

"No."

"No?" I challenge, stopping in front of him, pinning him to the couch by the
shoulders. 

"No," he replies evenly. I can see from the look in his eyes that he's not
going anywhere. "You look like you need a friend right now."

"Is that what you are, Mulder?" I ask leaning in closer, my lips nearly
touching his. "Just a friend?"

He swallows hard and won't meet my eyes. "Of course," he whispers.

I slap him across the face with all my might. Unfortunately, I'm drunk and
the impact isn't what I hoped. But I have succeeded in making him angry. I
watch the muscles in his jaw tighten. I resolve to make that pouty lip
fatter. I make a fist and take aim, but he easily catches my hand, deflecting
the blow. I struggle to escape his grasp and end up on my back on the couch.
He is on top of me, pinning me down. I struggle with all the vehemence of a
badger caught in a trap. His breath is warm on my face. I realize that he's
been drinking too. Funny how he of the Russian Jewish background turns to
vodka even as I find my way to the whiskey. "Scully, Dana, what the hell is
going on here?" he whispers.

I stop struggling. Can he really be that obtuse? A man who can sniff out a
conspiracy, a secret from ten miles away really not notice what's been right
in front of him for the last four years?  I grab him by the hair and brutally
pull his mouth to mine. At first he resists.I feel his soul touching mine. I am
swept away in the moment and just as suddenly in a wave of pure anger. I
shove him away and roll to my feet, staring down at him in contempt. "You
really are a w****," I whisper.

He sits up, dragging an arm across his mouth as if it can wipe away the
evidence of our kiss and feelings long buried and now exposed. He will not
meet my eyes. I feel my defences weakening, his pain is a card pulled from
the bottom of my house. It must be stopped before the delicate structure of
my psyche collapses. Before I become an unrecoverable wreck.

"Your soulmate," I spit out the words, "isn't even in the ground yet and you
kiss me like that?"

He stands slowly, like someone who has walked this earth too long. "I'm going
to leave now," he manages evenly, but his body betrays him. He is shaking. He
stumbles to the door and uses the knob to steady himself. "I came here to
tell you... that in this life my soul must have chosen you." 

I do not say a word.  I do not tell him that I love him. Another lie. A lie
of omission. The door closes behind him. I am alone. I am safe.

The End