Could You? By Red Disclaimer: Yes, I know, zzzzz, but it has to be done if I want to save my skin, my money, my website and my stories! I don't own Mulder, Scully or anything related to The X-Files (I wish I did), they are the precious property of Chris I Am God Carter, 1013, Twentieth Century Fox and probably a bunch of other people. I'm making no money from this, it's here just to enlighten people of the goings-on in my strange little brain. Don't sue me, I'm too busy with exams! And anyway, all you'd get is a few coppers and a suicide note. I left everything to David. Rating: Um... PG-13, I guess. Classification:Scully Angst, MSR (dur!) Summary:How long can you deny something to yourself? Noromos and Naxis - get out or regret it forever. Don't bother to flame me - you shouldn't *be* here! Could You? By Red xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Could you? The question is in my head, buzzing away, driving me mad. I've spent the past God knows how many days trying to ignore it, pretend no-one said it, just forget about it, Dana! It's not like she meant anything by it, we were just having a conversation, she didn't even *know*, for Christ's sake! But the fact of the matter is that I can't just let it drop. It's tearing me up inside; forcing me to face up to facts I spend so much of my time denying, to myself, my family, my friends... I shake my head and try to get back to work. The report must still be written: at the end of the day, there's always work to be done. Feelings, or whatever they are in this elusive world we eXist in, must wait. I turn my attention resolutely to the half-finished document. Detailing another case, another killer, caught by brilliance and intelligence many would envy, yet others would despise. A killer impossible to handcuff, caution and lock up, or even to look into the eyes of and wonder *why* the world is as it is. I sigh; it's late, I'm getting far too philosophical, and that voice is still in my head, asking the never-ending question: Could you let go of the person you loved? Angrily I slam the notebook computer shut. Shove the report - Skinner can go to hell and sleep with the devil for all I care. I shake my head and rise slowly, my eyes adjusting to the room after hours of the liquid crystal display and black and white teXt. My head begins to pound - just a headache, but I want to kill the little person talking in my head! I drag myself to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. It doesn't work much - I still feel fuzzy, only now I'm cold as well. Reluctantly I make my way to the bedroom - Mulder's insomnia is having a bizarre effect on me, I reflect in wry amusement. I'm already dressed for bed, I discover, having changed into my silk pyjamas without even remembering doing so. I think I'm going crazy. I clamber into bed, and finally -finally- allow myself to think about it. It must have been four or five days ago, now. My mother called at my apartment one evening without warning. I was pleasantly surprised by her visit. She doesn't often come over - I think she feels like an intruder. She isn't, of course, but she, like I, is a very stubborn woman and wouldn't take kindly to being told she had an open invitation to visit. She looked tired, and I told her so: she denied it and told me that *I* was the one who needed a break. Then she produced the biggest bar of chocolate I've even seen in my life, pushed me down onto the couch and ordered me not to get up for the whole evening. Well, what could I do? I had no real plans for the night - I was going to make a salad, read my email, call Mulder, and then go to bed and tinker with my laptop for a few hours. I never used to have problems sleeping, but years of spending evenings with Mulder and watching him at midnight as he's practically bouncing off the walls have given me insomnia almost as bad as his. It's actually quite comical, when I think about it - that my partner has given me a psychological illness. But then, many things about Mulder and I are far from normal. I finally allowed my mother to talk me into five hours of bad sitcoms and soaps, and after a while I decided maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Mulder would find it strange that I didn't call him, since I always do when we've just wrapped up a case, but I tried to forget about him and concentrated on the plights of the television characters instead. Two and a half hours later, I was so far gone into the chocolate haze that I could barely tell one show from another. My mother, apparantly an avid fan of every single one, was busily telling me the backstories for every character for the past five years as I tried to work out who was marrying who and why such-and-such had killed so-and-so. I, basically, had no idea on God's earth what was going on, but there was no way I could let her know since she'd just recited nearly every single line since the first episode, so I just kept quiet, muttering, "Mm-hm"s and, "Oh,"s every now and then. And then it happened. A blonde woman named Cindy (or was it Sidney?) was arguing with a guy named Brett about how he never let her know if he was going out or staying in for dinner. From what I could make out of my mother's descriptions, they were living together as housemates - not, as I had assumed, as husband and wife. I was rolling my eyes at the appalling acting, the appalling acting was getting worse, and mom was getting rather carried away with the show, yelling atrocities and cheering alternately as the fight escalated. I shook my head in disgust as the blonde woman began to wail for no apparant reason, and Brett shouted, "I love you! And if you really want me to go, I'll do it! I'm leaving, Cindy! If all you care about is dinnertimes, then that's fine! I love you, please remember that in years to come!" With that he stormed from the scene, leaving Cindy (Oh, *Cindy*) to make a big show of crying and calling out, "Brett! No, don't go! Please! I love you too, Brett! Please!" I looked at my mother in mild confusion - after all, I thought they were just housemates - and saw that she was in tears too. I shook my head for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening, wondering what's so wrong with this nation that we cry at bad soap operas, and was about to suggest that maybe the characters should decide *why* they're living together before arguing about mealtimes. But I never got to say my piece, because my mom, evidentally rather more caught up in the plot of the show that I, sobbed, "But you couldn't do that! You couldn't be so close to someone for so long, and be in love with them, but never tell them! You couldn't go on like that forever! Because if you didn't, one day you would evidentally be pulled apart as they've just been, and then you'd lose all your dreams! You *couldn't* do that!" My mother was so wrapped up in the show that she never saw me looking at her in shock. She never noticed the terror and guilt and whatever else was on my face, because she wasn't looking. I just stared at her like that, totally consumed by her words, for God only knows how long, it seemed like forever, but finally I had to try to put it out of my mind because I don't think about things like that, it's not something that I ever consider. I tried to watch the rest of the shows, really I did, but all I recall after that moment is saying goodnight to my mom and climbing into bed. The thought was in my head then, and it's in my head now as I wonder *why*, and then, searching in my mind, trying to come up with a reasonable eXplanation, eXcuse, for myself, I give up. I admit it. I love Fox Mulder. And as soon as I think it to myself, it's not enough, and I say it out loud, and still it's not enough, and soon I'm shouting, loudly, please hear me, I love you Mulder, I love you... I'm crying... why am I crying? Is it because I'm again realising how close I was to death a few years ago? Is it because I'm overcome with stress and tiredness and need to let it all out somehow? Is it because I'm a woman and Goddammnit I'll cry if I want to? Is it because of all the other hundreds of good eXcuses I've told myself over the years to satisfy my mind and close out the unthinkable thoughts? No. It's because I love Fox Mulder. It's because I love him and I've never told him so, and it could already be too late, it might have been too late years ago, but I didn't want to admit to myself that I have one weakness in the world, because I'm so damn stubborn, because I was convinced the time would come for the unthinkable to surface or be forever drowned, never thought. And the tears are still falling, they'll never stop falling, because I've probably let go my one and only chance I ever had of happiness... The only man I've ever loved. The only man I will ever love, ever, ever... My hands are shaking so hard and I long to hold him in my arms. My fingertips ache to run throuch his dark, silky hair, my lips ache to kiss him, I ache all over for him, but mostly for his soul. I clamour to finally bridge the last gap between our spirits and make us one: to create the ultimate spell for eternal life and courage and release from fear with him; to mix and melt and bring together that potion of pureness. But unless I act soon, it shall never be... No, I reply to the voice, no, I couldn't be so close to someone for so long and never let them know I love them, and no, I could never let him go, ever, to let Mulder go would be to attempt life without air: impossible, inconceivable, a death blow. I swipe at the bedside table for the phone, praying that he answers... praying that, whatever nonsense or babble escapes my tortured lips and mind, that he will understand. That he will rescue me. He picks up the phone on the first ring, and I half-wonder in my clouded mind if perhaps he was waiting for me to call. "Mulder." His voice sounds clearer than usual, cuts through some of the fog in my head to shock me a little. Such a familiar voice, so distinct that I could pick it out in a noise-filled room with ear defenders on. "Mulder...I..." What am I to say? 'I've had a revalation - I've finally admitted it to myself'? I could just come straight out with it, but Mulder and I are far too complicated for something like that, and anyway, I don't have the brain power to say what I was crying out only moments before. "Please..." "Scully?" He sounds alarmed. Normally it is I doing the answering, he the pleading. The tables have turned, honesty wins always. No lies, Dana. "I need you." There, enough is said. I read his lines, he reads mine, the charade is reversed. He shall be the one to give, I to receive. "I'm on my way... it's okay, Scully." He sounds so much more comfortable in my role than I in his - I never was any good at acting. And then, I realise I've been acting for siX years, simply reading the lines in a play, the greatest romance ever to be denied. He arrives soon - rather too soon, but then I've lost all sense of time tonight, I don't know where I am or what I'm doing, only the one truth I've uncovered tonight. He lets himself in during the day, but tonight, for whatever reason, he knocks politely on the door and I have to stumble through my darkened apartment to open it. When I finally manage to pull it from its mooring he is standing there looking half-confused, a little sleepy. I can't help myself. I stare at the sight I've been craving for far too long before throwing myself towards him (or do I collapse?) and allowing more tears to flow. "Scully? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" And for the first time I know straight away, and can answer him, tell him why I'm crying, without creating any lies in my mind, without building barriers and blocking out thoughts, without any of that, without the headache in my head ever again to trouble me and disturb me, I can say it. "Because I know that I love you." xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Copyrighted Red 1999, so there. Do NOT archive! Ask first. Can't think why you *would* though... ROTFL. Feedback - I live for it! Criticism accepted if you're not too horrid, compliments treasured forever! ds4fm@hotmail.com "Mooooooooooooo!" - The Holy Cow from Rain King. "So. Lunch?" - Mulder, Die Hands Die Verletzt.