TITLE: Shadow Dancing
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached.
CATEGORY: V
KEYWORDS: Post-ep, Mulder/Scully UST
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: all things
SUMMARY: Post-ep for "all things." A different perspective on
the teaser and beyond.
DISCLAIMER: Characters aren't mine. Borrowed. Didn't pay for
them. Won't.
THANKS one more time (never enough) to Suzanne, whose taste I
appreciate more than I can say, and for bearing with me for yet
another round of "how about this title?" :)
I wrote this before "Requiem" aired, but I think it's still plausible.
________
Shadow Dancing
by Susanne Barringer
I awaken to the soft plodding of footsteps in my living room. My
heart lurches momentarily in that way that comes from being
awakened by a sound one knows shouldn't be there. Then I
remember. It's Scully. She fell asleep on my sofa last night,
although I am surprised she slept for as long as she did.
After I tucked the blanket around her, I thought about moving her,
either to my bed or at least into a more comfortable position, but
decided it wasn't worth the risk. She needed to sleep after what
she'd been through. I left a pillow for her in case she woke up and
wanted to stretch out.
Unable to sleep, I checked on her again an hour later. She must
have woken up long enough to take off her jacket and lie down.
Her head rested on the pillow and she was curled into a ball,
looking entirely at ease and sound asleep. Assured that she would
be comfortable now and wouldn't wake with a multitude of aches
and pains, I was finally able to fall asleep myself.
She must have been exhausted, as was I. A seven-hour flight to
England and back in two days will do that to a person, not to
mention camping out all night in a field waiting for crop circles.
The trip hadn't been what I hoped, but not because the circles never
materialized. Not until the long flight home did I admit to myself
that crop circles were only half the reason I'd proposed the cross-
ocean jaunt. I had been looking forward to time with Scully away
from work, away from the insanity of our recent cases.
I can't say I was surprised, however, when she turned down my
invitation. I don't think she realized it wasn't the paranormal I was
seeking. Scully and I are great partners, but constantly at cross-
purposes when it comes to the personal. We talk in crop circles
when we mean so much more.
I see Scully's shadow fall across the doorway and quickly shut my
eyes before she enters. I don't know why, but it seems the right
thing to do. I don't want her to feel like she has to talk to me if she
doesn't want to. She said a lot last night, more than she ever has
before. It might take some time before she feels comfortable about
that. It shouldn't, but I certainly don't want to make her feel
uneasy. If she thinks I'm asleep, at least she's not forced to
confront what's changed between us.
I feel something light hit the bed, then sense her move into the
bathroom. She tries to shut the bathroom door but it squeaks
loudly. I've been meaning to WD-40 the hinges forever. She sighs
heavily, and I suspect she's weighing her options--which is more
likely to wake me, the door or her washing up? She must give the
door another experimental push, for there's a short squeal, then
nothing.
A few moments later, the sink faucet turns on, so I guess she's
decided to give up on closing the door. I'm glad. Perhaps it's
voyeuristic, but I find it comforting to listen to Scully's morning
preparations, as if she belongs right here every morning.
Through my eyelids I see the bathroom light come on. I keep my
eyes closed in case she peeks out to see if the light has wakened
me, as I suspect she does. My heart is racing, though I don't know
why. The intimacy of this scenario is something for which I'm not
prepared. Hell, the intimacy of last night was something for which I
wasn't even close to being prepared.
How incredible it was to hear her tell me about what she had seen.
The most astonishing part was that she did it of her own volition. I
didn't have to question the information out of her like I usually do,
and even her standard disclaimer of "At least I thought that's what I
saw" was noticeably absent. She spilled it all with so little
hesitation, and my awe at her trust in me, at the way she confessed
to things that a few years ago she would have found too
embarrassingly unscientific, remains even in the cold light of
morning. Something has changed--with her or with us. I'm amazed
that we've come so far that she can trust what she sees, and then
trust me enough to share it.
Even more impressive than her confessions of what she saw,
however, was her telling me about her past with Daniel and the
conflict she had been through in the last couple of days. Despite
the small surges of jealousy I felt, not of him now but of who he
had been to her in the past, I was still movably touched by her
sharing that part of her life with me. I could sense the struggle she
had been through, both with him and with herself.
The water continues to run in the sink and I figure the situation is
safe now. I open my eyes slowly. Her jacket is sitting on the bed
at my feet, and the light shines brightly through the open bathroom
door. I wish, with a little stab of guilt, that I had a better view. I
can see the movement of her blurred shadow against the wall
outside the bathroom, a dance of gray limbs and dark echoes. I
cannot see her at all, although occasionally her movement causes an
elbow or hand to protrude into my view.
I watch her shadow, the way it bends and straightens, enlarges and
shrinks against the wall. There's no way to know what she's doing.
The water turns off and I hear the cabinet below the sink open.
She's probably looking for a clean towel. Unfortunately, I'm pretty
sure there aren't any. The cabinet shuts. I suppose she decides to
use one of the towels hanging on the rack, one of mine. God, will I
ever recover from this?
Just when I think maybe I've let this voyeurism go on too long, I
hear the thunk of the toilet seat being lowered. Damn. This is
above and beyond intrusive, so I close my eyes again and force
myself not to listen. I think about the way she looked last night
asleep, how soft her skin seemed when I touched her, how her hair
fell across her face in such a way that made her look like a child.
When I tucked that blanket around her, my thought was of how
small she seemed, how vulnerable. Sharing her story had given her
release. She fell asleep, her face turned toward me as if needing me
in her sleep. What I wouldn't give for her to need me every night
like that.
I studied her, but not long, afraid my intense observation would
wake her but too tempted by the opportunity to pass it up. Even
my touch didn't rouse her, so comfortable she was, asleep in my
apartment, next to me, under my care.
Now those thoughts make my groin tighten and I can't help but feel
a bit of remorse that the evening ended as it did. I would never
begrudge Scully any decision she made about us, but there was a
moment when it seemed like our conversation was going
somewhere important. I'm sure I sounded like an idiot with my
babbling, but I had suddenly become nervous for a reason I can
only now appreciate. Perhaps it's best that she fell asleep before the
moment was forced to become something else. It's not the right
time.
The flush of the toilet signals me that I can go back to listening and
watching. Shortly after, the water in the sink runs again briefly,
then quits. There are long moments of silence and I try not to
allow my imagination to run away with me. What is she doing? I'm
just about to shift my position to see if I can get a better view when
the shadow on the wall looms large and then the light turns off.
I quickly shut my eyes and lie still. There's a swish of fabric as she
puts on her jacket. I feel a twinge of disappointment when she
walks out of the room with barely a hesitation, not even to stop and
look. My heart started pounding in anticipation as soon as she
flicked off the bathroom light. What did I expect? Did I really
think that she would stop to wake me to talk about last night, or
maybe even crawl into bed next to me and take me in her arms?
We've changed, but not that much.
I hear her walking around the living room, making her way across
the room, around the coffee table. It's amazing how attuned my
senses are to her, how easily I can sense her movement through the
room. She is looking for her keys, I bet. When she came in last
night she set them on the bookshelf. She must've forgotten.
They're on the bookshelf. I try to send her the message psychically
and almost laugh at the thought. Of course, given what she told me
last night, she just might pay attention to a psychic message these
days.
The floorboards creak under her feet as she makes another circle
around the room, still looking. I'm just beginning to think I should
get up to tell her where they are when I hear a pause, then the clink
of keys in her hands. She found them.
I'm surprised when the footsteps suddenly turn and come toward
the bedroom. She's coming back. I can't imagine for what. I hear
her hesitate inside the door, and I struggle not to open my eyes to
look at her. My heart pounds faster. She comes nearer to the bed,
her close proximity something I feel rather than see. She stands
beside me for several moments. I imagine clenching my teeth to
avoid movement. She can't know I'm awake.
She's watching me. I'm torn between wanting to allow it, fair
turnabout since I studied her last night, and wanting to move to
break the incredible heat of her stare. I can feel her gaze running
over my body, which is prudently covered for the most part. The
mattress shifts slightly as she leans onto it to stoop beside the bed.
One hand comes up to touch the top of my head, her thumb
stroking over my forehead.
"Mulder?" she says softly. "I'm sorry to wake you."
I open my eyes to turn and look at her. I can't see her face. The
room is dark but the light comes in from the window behind her,
small sparkles glistening off the hair around her head. Her face is in
shadow but I can still see her eyes.
"I just wanted to tell you I was leaving. Thanks for letting me stay
here last night."
I don't say anything, just look across at her. Her hand continues to
stroke across my forehead. There's a long moment when neither of
us speak. I can hear my breathing whispering in my head; hers
seems equally shallow and fast.
"I'll see you at the office later," she murmurs. Her voice is soft, yet
there's something lingering underneath it, like cobwebs.
She stands up then, both her hands pressing down onto the edge of
the mattress which bends under her weight; gravity draws my body
toward hers. Just as she steps away, I reach out and manage to
grab hold of her wrist, my fingers encircling her. She turns back
and looks at me, then laces her fingers gently through mine. I'm not
sure why I did it. I'm not even sure what it is that I want to say.
She squints down at me in the darkness.
It turns out I have nothing to say, just some need to watch her a
little while longer, to keep the contact between us a few more
moments.
She doesn't allow me much time before she speaks again. "I'll see
you later, okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have woken you."
She gives my hand a squeeze and steps away. When she reaches
the doorway, however, she turns around to look back at me, one
hand resting on the door frame, her body angled back inside the
room. Despite the dimness of the setting, I can picture the look on
her face, the expression of hesitation. Does she want to come
back?
I think for a moment if I had to choose a way to remember Scully,
it would be like this. There's a certain vulnerability about her, still a
little disheveled despite the freshening up, not sure if she's coming
or going, not sure if she should stay or leave. She is torn between
me and herself.
I turn on my side to face her, wondering if I can will her to stay the
same way I willed her to find her keys, but also knowing if she
chose to stay now the timing would be wrong.
After all the hours she spent with Daniel, worrying about him, being
faced head-on with her life decisions, wondering if she had made
the right choices, it's only natural that she would need some time
for reflection. This is not the moment for us. She needs time to
settle into the realization that she isn't who she used to be, and I
need time to remind her that I'm not Daniel.
Ultimately, I take comfort in the fact that once again she has chosen
me, although she didn't say so in so many words. But Scully has a
way of making it clear what she needs. From the way she talked to
me last night, the way she confided in me, the way she relaxed and
let me in, I understand.
She will face the decision of this moment again, whether it's
tomorrow or next week or next month. Her choice won't always be
the same one she makes today.
The stillness of early dawn creeps into the room, along with the
burgeoning light. Her shadow falls angled and broken across the
bed. She doesn't move for the longest time. Finally, she turns and
walks away without looking back. I hear some shuffling as she
gathers up her things, then her shoes thudding on the floor. The
front door opens and closes and I am left alone, breathless yet
contented.
The choice, the one that matters, has already been made.
___________
END
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