Pacing

by Helen Wills

DISCLAIMER: "The X Files" and all the characters etc. associated with it are the property of 20th Century Fox and 1013 Productions. I am not making any profit from this story, and no infringement is intended.

NOTES: I'm not sure where this one came from, or even exactly what it's about, but it was written in a single evening when, to my annoyance, I was unable to write an "Unruhe" story (despite feeling very inspired after my first viewing of the episode). I had no particular idea what direction I intended it to go in - it just sort of happened. So the interpretation I leave up to the reader. Comments would be welcome, though.

PACING
By Helen Wills
Helen.Wills@torbay.gov.uk

Part 1/1

She's asleep.

*Really* asleep this time; not in a coma. I don't think they gave her anything - the doctors, I mean, not Them. I think she was just genuinely tired after all the excitement of waking up. Her mother and sister have gone home for a while.

She doesn't know I'm here, but I'm not letting her out of my sight again ... at least for a while, anyway.

I had to leave earlier, though. It was all too much; first she was gone, then she was back so unexpectedly out of nowhere, but in a coma, and then she was dying, and they were switching the machine off and she was *really* dying, and then she was back and alive and awake .... It was a bit too much. I'm only human, after all.

Don't let *that* one get around the VCS. Could wreck my reputation ... such as it is.

I don't cry much. That's why I had to get out. I could feel it starting, and it's a reflex response for me to back away from any situation that threatens a wobbly-lip response. Thinking about it, I can't remember the last time I cried in front of others. It's not a macho guy-thing, or anything pointless like that; it's self-preservation. With my reputation, I can't afford to be seen as someone who collapses into a soggy heap in an emotional situation - not with my dubious psychiatric history.

Besides, I wasn't going to break into tears in front of Melissa Scully. It's a point of honour - she would have liked it too much.

No way.

I had to behave like my usual self for Scully, anyway, because I think she was expecting it, needing it even. That was the whole point of the video - "Superstars of the Superbowl". Something normal for her to come back to.

Normal. Me.

That's a joke. What a warped world we live in, when 'normal' for Scully is Spooky Mulder's sense of humour. Or even just Spooky himself.

Oh, listen to me! I'm even calling myself Spooky now.

Although .... Phoebe asked me once what I called myself inside my head. Most people have a name for themselves. More often than not it's their given name, but some people use familiar nicknames, and some have private names for themselves. Since I never used my given name, she wanted to know if I actually called myself Mulder, like I made everyone else.

You want to know what I said? Nothing! There was nothing to say, because I realised at that point that I didn't have an inner name for myself. Make of that what you will. I know what *I* make of it.

Scully calls me Mulder to my face - I made her. Don't know why ....

Well, yes I do, actually.

Let's be honest, *Spooky*. That's what this is all about, after all, isn't it? All the grief and heartburning and the rage when she was taken away from me. It all goes back to me and her in a car on an unofficial stakeout, and things that were said and not said.

*Fox - *

*Mulder - just - Mulder. I even made my parents call me that.*

It was true, too. But why would I want to relegate Scully to the same place my parents occupied inside me? Simple answer, much as I despise it now: I held my parents in a certain regard, but I didn't love them - didn't *dare* love them, because I couldn't face the inevitable rejection.

It wasn't quite that with Scully, back then. It was more a fear of what she might be offering which made me push her away, because at that point I really believed I couldn't afford the distraction.

*Distraction*. Oh God, that's pitiful. What an insult to the heart and mind that make her Scully, the wonderful, warm, complete human being I ....

Say it, *Spooky*, you pathetic creep.

No, not yet.

But getting back to the point (there *is* a point to this - I think), I wonder what Scully calls me inside her head. Does she call me Fox? It sounded different when she said it. I think I could almost be reconciled to the damn thing, if I thought Scully liked it.

We're getting into treacherous waters here, and there's no getting away from it; the truth will come out. Well, I've always claimed to want the truth, although this wasn't what I originally had in mind.

And that's so typical of Scully, to insist on bringing up *all* the truth, no matter how unpalatable I find it. Even now, lying in that bed asleep after a three month traumatic ordeal, she makes me see the truth.

I love her for it.

Ahem! Excuse me, but if I'm going to get profound and meaningful, I need to move around. I cogitate better when I'm pacing.

*Don't look at me like that, dammit!* The nurses in here think I'm nuts, and admittedly my behaviour hasn't helped much. The one on duty when I arrived tonight gave me a real fishy look, but that's better than being treated like an expectant father, which is how the girl on the duty station behaved this morning. I half expected to be taken to the nursery when I arrived, she was so damn soothing and cheerful when I asked about Scully's condition.

They all think I'm Scully's boyfriend anyway. Would that it were true. Imagine the kind of person Scully's boyfriend would be, if she had one! Imagine if it were possible for me to be that person.

It isn't possible, of course. Spooky Mulder doesn't match up, and I'm the first person to admit that. Scully deserves better - someone less obsessed, less driven, less selfish. Someone who has something better to offer her than a stack of old files and a three month abduction experience.

But I'll deck the bastard if I ever meet him.

So when I pushed her away before, it was from a selfish desire not to be distracted. But if the situation replayed itself again tomorrow - although God knows I don't want to relive the Tooms experience all over again - I'd still push her away. More gently, more tactfully, I hope, but I'd do it. For her own sake, to give her the opportunity to meet Mr. Unselfishness.

But I can still dream, Scully, and believe me, I do. I dream of what would have happened if we'd met under different circumstances; if my sister had never been taken away, and my family were normal, and this desperate crusade had never been set in motion. I dream of what it would be like to have the opportunity to ask you out on a date, a real date, one where I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder in case Skinner found out. I dream of what it would be like to get married and have kids.

Yes, I'm *that* normal at least.

It's just a dream, though, especially the last part. I could never have kids, not with my history and the enemies I've made. I would *never* willfully bring potential hostages into the situation - bad enough that They knew how much you meant to me, and acted on it. No, I'm on my own in that respect.

But it hurts, Scully. It hurts so much. I wish I could explain that to you - I wish you knew how much I want to be normal. It isn't going to happen. I'm looking through the glass in the door at you now - you're just beginning to wake up. And when you do, we'll maybe talk, but it'll be business as usual. It has to be, for both our sakes.

But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Finis

Note from author: You'll note that I didn't even attempt to claim this one as MSR .... I haven't given up on writing true romance between them yet, but I'm still working the kinks out Feedback would be appreciated.

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