Miraculous Manifestation (1/3)
by mountainphile
She peers through a dream-like haze of recollection one month old.
It looked broken, she remembers. Awakened by the huff and rattle of the wind, it was the first thing she saw through the shimmering blue-green of Mulder's fish tank. A thin, esophageal filter tube cutting the surface of the water, a shotgun blast of bubbles wreathing its bisected length. It looked broken, but Scully knew it was nothing more than visual warp. The clear plastic would be joined and whole if she were to sit up and look at it from another angle, instead of from beneath the surface, on her side, seeing only the distortion.
Her cheek felt bumpy from leaning against his couch pillow. She must have roused at some point during the stormy night to hunch over on her side, head on pillow, blanket pulled over her tucked form. The water was her nightlight. Just like it is for Mulder, she thought, as the bubbles danced and rippled. Suddenly, she missed him.
She remembers when she rose from the couch, moving through his dark rooms in an undersea slow motion. Time hung suspended as she waded through these moments like water. On the way to the bathroom, she passed the heavy scent and low snore of Mulder from the bed. Moonlight eddied and lapped across the sheets, kissing his face and the exposed skin of his leg. If history played differently, she would have eased her body into the warmth beside him, to mouth his naked shoulder, to coax him toward wakefulness. Hindsight tells her she first needs a taste of resolution.
It's been a moon's cycle since Daniel Waterston reappeared into her life.
Feeling like she's come up for air, bobbing above and below the waterline, Scully takes a sharp, cleansing breath. She still feels regret. It's the same emotion she experienced after her return from CGB Spender, empty-handed and chagrined. That time, she managed to salvage a small measure of self-respect and closure in the face of her rashness. But not true absolution or forgiveness... especially from herself.
Life is a journey, Scully believes. Her understanding of its twists and turns, its signposts and crossroads, had altered within a few days' time. All things happen for a reason, but all things are not expedient. There are gems to be found along the way, if one pays attention, and miracles to behold. There is wisdom in the careful picking and choosing of keepsakes along the path through life. Her pockets, she discovers regretfully, bulge from the weight of too many imperfect choices.
She has seen Daniel twice since his brush with death. Her intention is to break all ties. However, there is also forgiveness and unanticipated acceptance from Maggie, so the road to final closure is now open-ended.
As a result, tensions surface between her and Mulder.
They struggle with skewed perspectives, mild refractions in their understanding and trust of one another. A hitherto unknown side of her life was disclosed to Mulder, she realizes, but he adjusted with amazing rapidity to the new dimensions Scully brought to herself and their relationship. Not off-balance for long, he's prepared himself for their next step together. She, however, looks back into the horizon, is still hindered by the debris of the past...
In the weeks following his return from England, Mulder has not been shy about expressing his expectations. To Scully, his change of tack is both persuasive and intimidating. Twice he's boldly tested the sensual waters to gauge her receptivity. In what he feels should be the logical next step in their partnership, he seems determined in his own brusque way to bridge the uneasy gap that has opened between them.
He chose the most inopportune and unlikely of times to begin.
Late for a meeting several weeks ago, their car pulled with haste into the acrid depths of the Hoover's parking garage. They stepped from the car, when Mulder's cell phone suddenly rang out. She remembers him reaching over to lean on her, feeling that comfortable, heavy weight on her shoulder as he grabbed for the beeping cell phone with his other hand. It was his signal that he wanted her to wait for him. A small wink of his eye alerted her that yes, he knew they were late, and yes, he'd be quick in answering the call.
It didn't occur to Scully that he had an agenda.
Rather than talk and walk, he opted to rest against the car. She stood beside him and did little to mask her impatience. Shifting her foot, arms wrapped at her waist, she listened to his drone and sighed with annoyance.
Her head was downcast when, on her shoulder, something unmistakable began to take place. His long, deliberate fingers slowly splayed, the tips light and teasing in their movement. They stroked along her shoulder and collarbone, making her lips part as she contemplated the significance of what was happening.
She remembers lifting her head as his fingers slid over to investigate the soft curves of her jaw and earlobe, with tiny searching caresses that brought warmth rushing to her face. Mulder finished the phone call and their gaze met and locked.
It occurs to her now that, on the day previous, she paid a lengthy visit to Maggie Waterston.
"Ready?" His eyes were dark with insinuation, but the question was posed in a casual tone.
"Ready for what, Mulder?" Aware of the double meaning, she felt compelled to make the distinction as long as his hand still touched her face. She licked her lips, startled that he would be so overtly possessive of her, and feeling chills at the slide of his finger behind her ear.
"I'd say that's your call... "
Withdrawing his hand, he left her suspended between relief and consternation. She knew the ball was in her court. What she didn't anticipate was how or when to return this enigmatic serve, this testing of her responses. As they moved toward the elevator, she felt his light touch on her back again, a tangible manifestation of his presence and intent. He'd done it since they first became partners and seemed determined to carry the gesture into present time.
The game is changing; there are new rules to learn, a different way to play. Scully realizes, with a start, that she needs to pay closer attention.
********************
These are the things Scully remembers and ponders a week later, as she approaches their office after hours. Her last business of the day and the halls are dim, the building is quiet. Often now, she observes events, people, and her surroundings in the objectivity of aftermath. She is faced with the straightening up, the tying of loose ends her earlier decisions have left undone. In medicine, others make the closing sutures, others clean up the messes she leaves. She is not proud that this has become a habit, an attitude, spilling over into her personal life.
Changes are due.
She doesn't expect to find Mulder here now. He's working on a secretive, new case and plowing through various avenues of research that strike his fancy. The room is dark and she snaps on the desk lamp, noticing his familiar clutter in the sudden wash of light; sunflower seeds and hulls, pieces of paper bearing his slanted scrawl, computer printouts, and his glasses. Braced as they are on his desk blotter, she can look through the lenses and see how the magnification breaks and staggers objects behind them. Images distorted and broken. Mirroring the tube in the fish tank.
She wonders what it would be like, accompanying Mulder to that next level of sexual familiarity. Between them are years of shared trust and respect, loyalty and affection. She's given her body to others for far less noble reasons, when the simple mix of chemistry was right or when she craved physical release. It is disarming to realize that emotional vulnerability is, for her, the greater intimacy.
Mulder is not one to dwell on the superficial; he forges ahead and digs far deeper than her skin. His passion drives him to possess and discover. Looking down on his desk at his personal belongings, at the glasses he sometimes wears, she's not convinced she's ready to subject every secret door to his implacable scrutiny.
His departure from the office appears hasty. Several videotapes are tumbled across his desk, and picking one, she reads the title. All the titles, in fact, are similar; nature videos about geysers, hot springs, and thermal activity. Intrigued by the topic of his current research, but preoccupied with her own affairs, she walks to the rear desk and grabs a small stack of papers that sit next to her microscope. She has work of her own to finish.
The shrill ring of her cell phone breaks the silence and prickles her scalp. Fishing it from her coat pocket, she knows the caller and wonders what he wants now. "Scully."
"Where are you?"
It's Mulder, of course, and she muses on his question. Her location shouldn't matter. His tone is curious, boyish, and she can picture his expression on the other end of the line. Windblown dark hair, greenish-brown eyes with a faraway look and slight crinkle at the corners, a hint of impatient smile, teeth and tongue worrying a bit of leftover seed within pouting lips...
Her mind swirls with a surge of emotion and she lifts her brows, amazed at her visceral reaction. Mulder has an uncanny way of touching her body with his voice, teasing her nerve endings, stroking her sensibilities with seductive fingers.
She swallows. "I'm at the office," she says, knowing her hesitation will be misinterpreted. "I, um, needed some paperwork for the report I'm working on over the next few days."
Her stammer is ignored, which she finds suspicious.
"Hey, Scully... what does the term *miraculous manifestation* do for you?" His voice competes against background noise; he must be driving.
"I assume by miraculous manifestation you're referring to a visual or physical representation that defies or contravenes the laws of nature as we know them. Most often they're religious or spiritual, such as relics that heal, or glowing crosses, or ecstatic visions... "
"Bingo."
"So, Mulder... dare I ask *why* miraculous manifestations?"
"I can tell you that... on the way."
A red warning flag springs up, waving in her mind; his words clearly signal a *deja vu* in the making. "Mulder, this is a Friday night. On the way to where?"
"Lifestyles of the rich and famous, Scully. We're going to visit a country estate where we should find an X-File with miraculous implications."
She glances at her watch, frowning at the ill timing. Simultaneously, her stomach contracts with a growl, as if in answer to his proposition. If crop circles don't materialize, then Mulder will make certain that something else will.
"You've spent several days jealously guarding this new investigation of yours. I noticed some of your videotapes and the content, but you haven't bothered to share any of it. And now, suddenly, it's *we* and I'm expected to drop everything, in spite of my own workload, and the fact that my weekend has officially begun. All of which is pissing me off, I might add... "
"I didn't think you were that busy - "
"Well, you can think again."
She fumes under her breath, surprised at how much she resents this new imposition. It's only lately that she gives voice to her objections with such ease and vigor. The last time she objected, weeks ago, Mulder was under the assumption that she should fly with him to England on a lark, to investigate computer-generated crop circles... and all for no substantive purpose. But now she is disturbed by the possibility that he might have simply desired her company, her companionship, and nothing more.
She stands between her table with its microscope and Mulder's desk, cognizant of two divergent paths that bisect her life. Her annoyance toward him is diluted by a fresh wave of self-recrimination. It's humbling, this sour taste of guilt on her tongue.
"I've been occupied with the Sullivan autopsy results. It's almost seven, Mulder, and I haven't eaten since eleven- thirty," she amends, her voice losing its edge. "My shoulders are sore and I was really looking forward to going home and climbing into a hot bath."
"Hang in here with me just a little longer, Scully, and I promise you'll get your wish... Do you have a suitcase with you?"
This gets better and better, she grouses to herself. "The answer is yes, but please tell me you're pulling my leg."
"Have I ever...? "
"Still sounds like a hustle to *me*, Mulder."
She hears his low, familiar huff in the receiver and knows he's humored by this exchange. Her acquiescence is therefore assumed. In a seesaw of emotion, she bows to the inevitable and looks down, phone still pressed to her ear. As goading as it may be to take the fallback position, the prospect of new adventure excites her. It still remains her secret pleasure to accompany Mulder, to watch as he delves into a new case. His eyes gleam with fervency and discovery, with the sheer joy of pursuing each new revelation... and she shares in the thrill when she reaches out to grasp the hand extended to her in partnership.
However, she remembers she's made other possible, tentative plans for the weekend and feels torn between the two paths in her life. Bobbing above and below the waterline, perceptions refracting and unclear...
Hedging, she throws out another obligatory objection.
"You're capable of checking out this *miraculous manifestation* on your own. And you seem to have enough enthusiasm for both of us, from the sound of it," she points out. "Besides... if it isn't a legitimate casefile, I don't know if it's necessary for me to make a trip like this on such short notice."
The line falls silent for a few moments, and when Mulder speaks his voice is smooth, surly with a tension only she can detect. She knows immediately by the murmur and monotone that he's offended by her words.
"I was under the impression that unexpected night rides and personal interest investigations were your forte, Scully. A new sideline... but maybe my assumption is incorrect."
He's pausing, letting his words sink in. Damn him...
"In any case, we have an agreement to follow up on leads like this together. No ditching, no exclusion. We work as a team. And for all the wide range of experience we've had in the paranormal, exposure to this phenomenon in particular will be beneficial to both of us... "
She closes her eyes in chagrin. There's no denying the truth in his words. However she rues it, she still bears the stigma and takes the backlash for her impulsive mission to save the world, risking her neck for a fruitless cause. For playing into the enemy's hands.
It's apparent Mulder hasn't recovered from the emotional hell he endured at her last disappearance. Fretting over her well-being and safety, wondering if she'd come back alive. He pulls rank now, making it clear that their previous discussion on solidarity stands firm and fully encompasses tonight's unfolding events.
His point is valid, she admits to herself. After berating him repeatedly over the years for the same fault, she doesn't have the luxury of begging off. Especially since she's reneged the last time and stumbled, consequentially, across a man whose existence she's kept buried for ten years...
"Fine, then. You've got me."
"Parking garage, in ten."
And she's left with the purr of a dial tone.
End Part 1/3