Disclaimer: All the X-Files characters and references
are property of C. Carter, 10-13
Productions and FOX.
Infringe? 'Moi?'
I could never wield such power.
Spoilers: En Ami
~~~~~~~~~~~
"This place secure?"
"Is this place
*secure*?"
"Don't get testy,
G-man."
---Lone
Gunmen, Skinner - "En Ami"
~~~~~~~~~~~
That's the fourth time; the
fourth straight time
I've tried to make eye contact,
but he's having
none of it. Here I sit on this stained couch, on
tenterhooks; the knot in my
stomach won't unravel
until the contents of that disc
vindicates me and
my seemingly rash, egocentric
actions.
Wouldn't he have done the same
given the
circumstances and setting? Hasn't he done so in
the past; on whatever pretext
for his finding out
his truth? I squelch the impulse to snort
when the answer to the obvious
fairly smacks my
already smarting face. I had to play it C.G.B.'s
way. Didn't I? What would dear
Spooky have done,
over there hanging onto that
door jamb like he's
some kind of hangman? Never thought the tables
would be reversed like this, one
day. Well, maybe
in some small way he realizes
how I've felt
throughout these touchy years of
now you see me,
now you don't. So I semi 'pulled-a-Mulder' and he
gets all bent out of shape.
What I had decided to do was in
no way an
attempt to cause him any more
pain than he has
already endured. I did what I did was for me, my
predicament; and for the good of
many; millions,
billions. Didn't I?
What I fully did not count on,
is his anger.
Yes, it's undeniably there; pure
and
unadulterated in its
consistency. I blink,
and the use of that word in this
syntax nudges
my sensibilities. Unadulterated, and alone with
the enemy; willfully trusting,
my curiosity
calling the shots. Nobody else was along for the
ride; had to be that way, I make
no apologies.
At the time, it was the only
logical route; what
he told me, gospel, according to
the change-of-heart
benefactor. I believed him; I trusted, I went...by
myself. I had a choice--mine.
If, and even now, I'm not
hundred percent sure
if he did, undress me, what are
the implications?
(Drugged? I don't see how. I never took so much
as that LifeSaver he
offered. Too exhausted to
know what I was doing, or
allowing to be done?)
I'm not sure I want to examine
any of the loaded
stuff in any depth for the time
being.
He expected me to wear that
dress, and I did. I
told him it was beautiful, but I
know that was
what he wanted to hear, and I'm
more than certain
he knew I couldn't wear the
wire, in that skimpy
frock, if he had undressed me
and saw it. When
he said he looked forward to
dinner that evening,
I had shuddered, disturbed by
the glint undeniably
there in his eyes. I knew what I'd seen; it had
been there.
What was I thinking, though? When we toasted,
what was I toasting to? Being won over to a
so-called lonely man's shadowy
side, a legacy, or
his bed? Without question, he puts the 'power' in
powerful men, but surely even he
has a master?
How do I like being thought of
as a power-nympho?
What were you thinking,
Dana? Were you thinking?
I can feel the emotion raw and
naked in my partner's
brooding, yet compelling eyes,
writhing within them.
Though grappling with, and
reflecting the conflict
raging within, they are ever
beautiful, but
purposefully blind to mine,
which seek his
recognition. Atonement is not what I'm after; I've
nothing to atone for; I'm not a
child, although
Mulder might beg to differ in
this instance, running
off like that on some myopic
whim.
Justification? That's a little warmer, perhaps.
Maybe it just might be I don't
really know myself.
Who knows the reason why we do
what we do all the
time? I've never said I was incapable of putting
trust in the highly
untrustworthy. I wanted to help
others. Did he use that as bait? What I acted upon
was more than careless hunch,
far more.
I glance over at Mulder
again. Nothing's changed.
His eyes are boring holes in the
back of each
Gunmen's head. I'm usually the one who's the
expert when it comes to erecting
walls between us.
Usually. With set jaw, and the grinding of his
teeth, he's making it painfully
clear that what I
did is beyond his realm of
comprehension. Clearly,
he's in no mood for letting me
back in, anytime
soon. I betrayed nothing.
When you see the contents of the
CD, Mulder,
you'll know why...
"There's nothing on
this," Frohike declares, a
good deal of deadpan
mystification tugging at the
corners of his voice.
"It's empty," Langly
broadcasts. I hear the echo
of dismay mixed with disbelief
in his dry tone.
You usually are the next to take
your place in
my corner, Scarecrow; right
behind Frohike.
"Completely," Byers
vocally tamps down with a
shake of his head, and a slack
jaw.
I'm up off the couch like I'm a
shot fired out
of a cannon. "No!
It can't be--that's impossible!"
Wedged between Frohike and
Langly, who, for some
unknown reason, is wearing
gloves without any
fingers, and still plunking away
on the keyboard,
I exhale again, "It can't
be." Summoning up the
tenacity of a bulldog, I will data
to show itself.
"It's got to be on
there."
"Empty," Frohike
confirms again, reading the
confounding 'volume empty'
message aloud.
I feel myself sag between the
shoulders of my
now silent friends, and feel
Frohike pat my
hand; he whispers something comforting
close
to my flushed face. I force an anemic smile
which lasts seconds. Again I chastise myself,
and somehow the courage to face
around leaves
me. But I fight the quandary off, feeling my
anger spark, to face Mulder,
still suspended on
the door jamb like some wiry,
death defying
trapeze artist. I look askance, and am haunted
by the sensory imagery of the
trusting, having-
been-duped Scully, coupled with
the imaginary,
yet oppressive image of
Spender. The pair are
over in the opposite corner dragging
off the
same malodorous cigarette.
Is it my imagination? Or, can I actually smell
the cancer stick's stench? Their mockery rips
unsightly gashes in my
armor. All my positiveness
and cocksureness come crashing
down around my
ears.
"He lied to you,"
Mulder says hollowly. He's
looking me straight in the eyes
at last, but
what I see in them courses a
chill through me
clear to the bone. I lied to you, Mulder. He's
not mocking; in fact, I'd trade
that, for his
tragic, pitying look. Involuntarily, I shudder,
but dictate that I tender his
gaze true. I may
have been tricked, but I wasn't
undone; not by a
long shot. "He used you..."
"Hold up, lemme try
something, else," Langly
interjects. Bless you again, Scarecrow. I'm
back sandwiched between the guys,
and I squeeze
his shoulder, wanting him to
know that so much
is riding on this. I dare to hope that his
techno mastery and focused
aplomb will turn the
tide to save the day, and my
face. "Even if
it's been licked clean as a
whistle, there's a
way we have of
tellin'..." His free-flowing
fingers fly as his voice trails
off several
moments later. Somberly, what seems all too
quickly, he mutters in that
one-of-a-kind,
laconic turn of phrase he has,
"Sorry, Scully.
There's bupkis here; zippo,
zilch, 'nada.'"
The Gunmen and I commiserate in
silence, with
Byers saying then in a hushed,
low-key voice,
"It's virtually a brand new
disc."
I mutter some choice curses, and
the trio nod.
"Sorry, girlfriend,"
Langly reiterates. "Wish
it could have been what you
wanted..."
"Yeah, me too," I
mutter, in kind, sounding as
defeated as he.
Frohike tags C.G.B. what I'd
just called him
blistering moments ago, with
several of his
choicer maledictions. The four of us hang
our heads what feels like an
eternity.
"Hey, guys, mind packing it
in sort of like
right now?" Mulder
intrudes, breaking up our
mutual bemoaning society. "I'd like to speak
with my partner in private. Are ya down?"
"No prob, Mulder,
man," Byers and Frohike
fire back in compliance. Langly already has
the laptop's screen closed down.
The Gunmen make quick work of
dismantling their
technology on the run
hardware. As I watch them
scurry about, unplugging this,
and disconnecting
that, I realize that they never
fail to amaze
me more and more of late. Guess our three stooges
really have grown on me over the
years. I'd hate
to think where Mulder and I
would be if availing
ourselves of their expertise was
no longer an
option.
"Thanks for trying,
guys," I say as gratefully
as I can muster, considering my
current
disposition of mind and heart.
"Anytime," Frohike
assures.
"We've always got your
back, Scully," Byers
supports, touching my shoulder.
"Don't take any wooden CDs,
next time," Langly
cracks, in what I sense, is high
good nature,
trying to make the best of a
galling situation.
"Don't remind me," I
return in a lowered voice,
giving his blond-haired,
bleach-white arm a
light swat. After he leans down, following my
indication that I want him to, I
whisper in his
ear, taking acute care that
Mulder does not hear,
"There won't be a next
time. Do me a favor in
future?"
"What?" he replies
softly, in kind.
"Keep a casual eye on my
e-mail? I know I'm not
asking the impossible..."
"No sweat," he
assures. "We'll do the nosy
without
being obnoxious about it."
Before they're out the door, and
despite my subdued
mood, I can't resist. "Uh, Langly, what's with
the fingerless
gloves?" He starts wriggling his
digits. "And Byers, who's doing your 'do these
days? That's quite a look; you look punk in a
gentlemanly-retro sort of
way." He gives me a
self-aware grin.
I wasn't away *that* long that I
can't let them see,
along with Mulder, that CSM may
have 'played me,' or
is the correcter term, 'played
with me'--maybe--but,
he cannot--and never
will--hoodwink me out of my
sense of humor. And still having the ability to
take in the bigger picture, if
indeed there is one.
No, sir!
Frohike gives me a generous nod
along with a sly
wink. "Owing to our near-apprehension by certain
highly questionable authorities,
which necessitated
re-inventing ourselves, and,
being the masters of
dis--"
"It's a long story which
I've already heard," Mulder
nips in, giving them prodding
looks of let's
get-the-lead-out, guys, I need
to speak with her
*now*, now beat it. "Next time we drop by I'll
remind them to tell you all
about it."
"'Bye, Scully," Byers
and Langly chime. The latter
gives me a farewell salute, as
though the firing
squad is my next stop.
"Don't let this big galoot
bully you, Scully, or
he'll answer to me," Frohike
promises. "Unlike
Mulder, I know you wouldn't have
run off without
having a hard-line reason. Oh, and it's not like
I don't think you can't take
care of yourself like
Mul--"
"FRO-hike," Mulder
grouses, and the communications
expert desists, taking a step
back from Mulder who
advanced on him.
"Thanks, Frohike, I'll keep
it in mind," I tell
him with a chestnut of a lilt to
my voice. I
think back to, and harp on, my
being a sitting
duck in that outboard
motorboat. I had thought
about jumping overboard, but
didn't; can't explain
why I didn't. I wasn't frozen by fear. Frozen
never entered in. Somehow I just knew that if I
got that motor started, I'd be
all right.
Thankfully, the shooter missed
his or her mark in
my case, and I rocketed out of
there as though I
was manning a hydrofoil.
I also have no explanation for
this either:
suddenly, I don't feel as
downcast as I did moments
ago, when the knowledge that the
disc was a fraud,
and being royally had, a real
possibility, was
sticking its tar and nicotinic-coated
tongue out
at me.
"See you guys soon," I
say to their retreating
backs.
"Yeah, Frohike,"
Mulder muscles in. Seconds
before semi-slamming the door,
he flings, "catch
ya later..."
We stand toe to toe, regarding
each other for
several up in the air
minutes. I'm tired, and
not spoiling for a row over this
right now; not
ever. Truth be told, I did what I did, period;
over. I survived the close encounter of the C.G.B.
kind, so let's just drop
it. Okay?
I don't need my head handed to
me, Mulder; least
of all from you. Why is it when, in this instance,
I did one of yours, you're ready
to rake me over
the hot and toasty ones, but
when you strike out
on your own for parts unknown,
it's the maverick
maneuverability factor you get
the luxury of
falling back on? Well, I'm a maverick at heart,
too, as a matter of fact, in
case you never noticed,
and I'm too old for being turned
over your knee
like I'm some flighty, bad
little gir--
"Scully..."
"Mulder..."
"Well, now that there's no
doubts in our minds
what our names are--"
"Mulder, if you're going to
tell me how--"
"Just hear me out,
okay?"
I huff, but go back into the
living room;
without further word, Mulder
follows. I flop
down on the couch again. "This feels deeply
weird, to coin a Langlyesk
phrase. Why do I get
the feeling we'd both be more
comfortable if you
were on the other side of this
lecture I sense
you're preparing to give
me?" I look up at him,
standing over me, not in a
menacing way; rather,
a contemplative way. The instant his expression
changes, I feel it for the first
time today.
How it must have felt having no
notion where
I was, and what was happening to
me. I know
that feeling, I've lived it too
many times. It's
never a good one.
"No lecture, Scully, just a
word of advice."
He flops down practically smack
dab on me.
When I try to pry myself out of
the depression
he's just made, his hand snakes
around my waist,
and as it cinches me tighter, I
know this isn't
what I was expecting at
all.
"'A word of advice?' A single, solitary word of
advice, Mulder? Oh, this promises to be a first."
"Promise you'll trust me
enough to never--"
"Mul-derrrrr."
"Okay, okay. No promises, and I'll try to avoid
the use of the word,
'never.' An understanding
then."
"An understanding...but,
Mulder, we've always
had that, haven't we? Don't we?" Why do I
sound as if I'm about to
apologize? If that's
what he thinks he's going to
get, I can be
just as stubborn as he can be
when he's pulled
a boner. Boner?
Is that what I really think
I did?
Bringing me closer, suckering me
in, he says
into my ear before nuzzling it,
and the thought
of how not fair he's playing
this dawns on me,
"Humor, me, Scully, humor
me. If you gave ol'
Smokey the benefit of the doubt,
why not me?"
His lips start their inexorable
trek across
the plains of my burning
cheek. Incredibly,
I wonder if his lips will get
scorched.
"Mul-derrrrr," I drawl
somewhere between a
whine and a plea, succumbing to
his masculine
wiles, not wholly against my
will.
"Mulder what?"
"Mulder, what do you think
you're doing?
Mulder, you don't play
fair? Mulder what
are you trying to prove? Mulder..."
"Mulder, I love you?"
he inveigles.
"*That* you already
know," I insist,
knowing that much for a
certainty myself, and,
for once, not annoyed that he
knows. At least
at this late date, he
should. He's got to.
"I do; yes, I do. The only thing I need to
know now is, are we in this
together?"
"In what together?" I
murmur, as his lips
dance across my nose.
"Everything."
"Be specific," I barely
manage to churn out,
as his lips sear mine. My mind skips back
a few intervals to that question
I asked
myself as the Gunmen pored over
their
hardware trying to dredge up my
justification.
What was I thinking? I might not have known
at the time, but there's more
than a fractional
chance I believe I know
now. I break the
embrace, ever so gently. "Mulder,"
"I am, Scully. Specifically, everything means
everything; I'm not working you
over with
semantics."
No, not semantics, just your
electrically-
charged lips, partner, and
there's no stopping
them. Just when I think I've got you figured
out, Mulder, you have the nerve
to get mushy
on me. And I thought it was either going to
be the cold, silent treatment,
or just the
opposite; the towering inferno.
Well, come to think of it, I am
feeling pretty
steamy myself, right now.
"Honestly, I can honestly
say I know what
I've put you through all those
times I ditched
you, and I'm working very hard
not to do it
anymore. Won't you do the same for me, if
something like this ever rears
its ugly head
again? Could you find it in that loveable,
trusting, and that's trusting in
a good way,
heart of yours to bring me
in? Not leave me
out? It hurts deep being left out in the
cold. It hurts more than I could ever imagine
it could."
After we kiss another bodily
heat-increasing
time, I stammer, "Deal,
then. You drive a hard
bargain, but I
accept." Ummm...a very hard
bargain, and I'm blushing.
"Sorry I got so mad. You know me when I feel
powerless..."
Powerless, I consider; then
reconsider C.G.B.'s
observation regarding my taste
in men. "Mulder,
I wasn't as up-front with you as
you would have
liked. I acknowledge that. I'm
not always as
open-minded when it comes to you
as I should
be. Frankly, if you asked me what got into me,
going off with Spender, who, by
the way, divulged
he's dying of a brain
abnormality, drawn like
a moth to a flame, as I seemed
to behave, I
wouldn't take offense. I--"
"But, I'm not asking, so
we'll leave it at
that. I trust your judgment; always have,
always will. Just please don't shut me out.
Deal?" I just stare at him, feeling my eyes
mist; no carcinogenic irritant
involved. He's
so beautiful, being so
Mulder. "Oh, and as far
as ol' Smokey's days being
numbered, I'll believe
that when the air stays
smoke-free in our airspace
for a good long while."
"Deal; a second
time." I chuckle a little
into his collar, liking the way
this has
turned out after all; amazed
actually.
"Mulder?"
"Yeah?" His arms are my stronghold now; a
cuddling, protective
fortress. Why would
I seek another?
"Tell me the part about
your knowing you
love me."
"Ah, Scully, that's a
genuine piece a cake.
See, words aren't necessary for
something
as fundamental; primal, as
that," he breathes,
and avows, "only
this..." Then tenderly,
consummately, as though he's
preparing to
transport me to his special,
secret place,
the rest of the huddled masses
know nothing
about, he shows me why words are
superfluous.
~~~~~
The next afternoon, while
standing in that
unbelievably empty office, in
that pervious
building, what was hazy
clears. When I peer
into Mulder's sincere face,
following his
voiced thoughts, gradually I
allow an
inconspicuous smile to test the
waters. I've
always trusted my partner;
despite Spender's
presumptuous allegation, and my
own misgivings,
at times, to the contrary. Why would I stop
now?
End
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