Original posting date:Fri, 06 Feb 1998 17:41:07 GMT
Rating - G
Category - V
Spoilers - None (Some reference to CC's comments last Sunday)
Summary - It's Mulder's turn to reflect...
Post wherever you'd like, just let me know.
OK, this is Mulder's take on things. Funny, I thought I'd associate more with Scully, but Mulder's thoughts just took off on me and kept going.
I'd like to mention that I've been swept away by the quality of some of the fanfic I've been reading. Being a neo-'phile I've been playing catch-up on some fantastic stories (much to the detriment of my studies). Thanks for those who've been writing such great stuff and providing the inspiration to me to try it myself.
Oh yeah, the disclaimer... Don't own 'em, kinda glad, too much responsibility. All the characters belong to Chris Carter and 1013 and all that. Not making any moolah on this, now or ever.
Hope you like it.
Special agent Fox Mulder shifted, trying to find a comfortable position to rest his head. He couldn't move his arm. Shifting again, he opened one eye to discover his partner pinning his left arm to the couch. Letting himself wake up slowly, he looked around the normally neat room. Papers everywhere, half-full tea mugs resting on the table, and the eerie light of the pre-dawn just touching the top of his partner's red hair. Squinting at the clock on the VCR, he read 4:22 am.
Well, this was no different than an early morning at his place. Sleeping on the couch was no new thing for Mulder, he did it all the time. At home, however, his companion was usually the remote control, not his partner-by-day, Dana Scully. They'd started going through paperwork later than usual last night, determined to get a head start on an X-File lead on Monday morning, and hadn't bothered to quit when they were tired.
Sometime during the night he'd shifted to settle further into the corner of the couch, his long legs outstretched diagonally ,half on and half off the cushions. Scully had been reading pathology reports last night, her head resting lightly on his arm. Now those reports lay loosely in her slack hands, her head nestled between his shoulder and chest, Scully apparently having followed his change of position into a more comfortable one of her own.
Mulder studied his partner, taking advantage of this rare moment when he could just look without encountering one of her famous raised-eyebrow 'what-are-youlooking-at-Mulder?' looks. Scully... Dana Scully...his partner...his best friend...and...Mulder thought for a second, the other half of his soul.
Mulder didn't know when he started thinking of Scully as an extension of himself. It wasn't one of those epiphany's where the light shines, a chorus sings and the angels weep...no, that wasn't like him–or her. He just knew that they gradually went from regular, see-you-in-the-morning partners to calling-in-the-middle-of-the-night friends.
He remembered their first year together. His despair when they'd been reassigned, the X-Files shut down. He hadn't even acknowledged her presence in the hallway at the Bureau one day and in true Scully-form she'd arranged a meeting. She'd encouraged him as he sat crouched against the wall with his head bowed, believing, even when he didn't, in his vision–the strengths of his beliefs, if not in the beliefs themselves. Before leaving, she had laid her small hand on his head, gently ruffling his dark hair. Just a brief touch, but enough to remind him of his humanity, his own value as Fox Mulder, and not his value based upon a mission or a quest. That's what she was for him, his base in reality - his humanity. He'd lost count in the last few years how many times she'd stood between him and whatever it was that was determined to 'get' them. Bureaucratic gamesmen, psychic manipulators, shady figures, even the demons in his own mind. She was always there, ready to give more of herself.
He watched the faint beginnings of daylight begin to creep along her hair, setting her usually vibrant locks aglow with a gentle flame. When she was awake, that flame burned stronger and was reflected in her eyes and her presence, making her seem much larger than her actual physical size. Watching her sleep Mulder could actually believe she really was only 5'2" tall - barely enough to reach his chin.
Except for the paperwork strewn about the room he and Scully could have been any normal couple that had fallen asleep, say, at the end of a late night movie. "Normal" Mulder snorted softly. There was nothing normal about him or Scully. As much she talked about having a 'normal life', Mulder suspected she was just as happy with things as he was. At least he hoped so.
Wherever their partnership together took them, he was happy. He had a partner; someone to share, argue and laugh with him, to poke holes in his theories and to fill the gaps in his logic, to lean on and to provide support for. A call-you-inthe-middle-of-the-night-and-I'll-come partner.
Listening to the birds begin to come awake outside, Mulder dropped his right hand to the floor and retrieved the small quilt lying there. Slowly pulling it up, he draped it to cover both of them, tucking the edge up near Scully's chin. Settling more comfortably into the arm of the couch he pulled his left hand down to settle on his partner's shoulder, pulling her up a bit further so her head rested against his left shoulder, her right cheek resting against his heart. Scully stirred and pulled her left hand up to rest under her chin. Mulder drifted off to sleep, his right hand resting on the back of Scully's head, loosely tangled in her soft hair.