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Candlelight 3/4 It's been pretty easy to put my plan in to action today. We've both been confined to the office, catching up on the paperwork that we missed during our enforced absence in New York. The obligatory 'welcome back' meeting with Skinner, for once, passed uneventfully. We sat and listened to him gush effusively in a most un-Skinner-like way regarding the work we had done over the previous couple of weeks. Skinner doesn't usually gush. His version of the proverbial gold star is to sit through a meeting with us without actually raising his voice to us. Our relationship has shifted over the past few months. He doesn't tend to yell at me as often although I still get the impression that he doesn't like me very much. That I'll always be a thorn in his side. But that's okay. I'm used to it. But, like I say, today was different. The fact that two of his agents had managed to track down a man who had been eluding the fine law enforcement professionals of New York for the better part of two years meant that he was sporting a feather in his cap the size of the East River. At one point in the rather one-sided conversation, I was pretty sure he was going to rise up out of his chair and start flying around his office. Very un-Skinner and almost an X-File in itself. Scully was quiet throughout the meeting. Contributing little but nodding a lot as I laid down the final stages that led us to Mosely. I skipped the part about her freaking out when faced with the sight of the candles in the bathroom though. Not something Skinner needed to know. Not something I particularly wanted to enlighten him on. If he noticed her reluctance to contribute, he didn't mention it. He was too busy trying to find a way to tell us that, despite our good work, despite the fact that we had worked solidly and thoroughly for the last 14 days, there would be little respite for us. A case file was passed to me for perusal. Sent up by the Albany field office, it made reference to several unexplained disappearances of self-proclaimed alien abductees. They had drawn the proverbial blank and were now looking to the talents of Team Spooky to come and get the job done. I caught Scully's look before Skinner did. I understood immediately. I mean *Albany* for God's sake. It was hardly worth us flying back. I'm starting to know how a yo-yo feels. Foolishly, I was hoping I'd get to spend a few days in my own apartment, in my own bed, getting reacquainted with my neglected fish who were no doubt starting to think that I'd warped in to a small, bespectacled dwarf who goes by the name of Melvin. Or *Uncle* Melvin in this case. He'd insisted on it. I'd been laughing too hard at the time even bother attempting to argue. Not that I'm knocking him. 'Uncle' Melvin takes his babysitting duties seriously. I can leave my tank safe in the knowledge that he'll come by once a day to ensure the occupants aren't starving or eating each other. Even so, it would be nice just for once to be there when one of them gives up on the concept of life and winds up floating at the top of the tank. I should be the one who watches them swirl away down the abyss that is my toilet bowl, not him. But sadly it's not to be. We fly out on Sunday morning. No day of rest for us. The only compensation being that Skinner gave us carte blanche to escape the office just as soon as we were done with the paperwork. It gives us a whole precious day to re-group and recover from the last few weeks. A whole precious Saturday to try and cram in as much as we can. Not much but better than nothing at all. Of course it meant that I had to put my preparations in to overdrive. I was hoping for a couple of days to plan, but I should know by now that planning and my life don't exactly always pan out. I just have to work with what I've got. It's just past midday now. I am watching Scully across the small space our cramped office affords us. Her head is bent over her work, but I sense she's not really as absorbed as she pretends to be. Sometimes I can read her better than she thinks I should be able to. She hasn't spoken to me for about the last hour or so. But she doesn't need to. The silence between us is as thick as treacle. She's not talking because she knows I know. She knows that I am thinking about the way she looked in that crummy apartment. She knows I have been thinking about it constantly since it happened. And she doesn't want to take the risk that I will jump right in with my size tens and make her acknowledge it. So she stays silent. It's easier I guess. But, it hasn't stopped me from slipping out of the office with my cell phone to have whispered conversations with my fellow conspirators. It hasn't stopped me from planning. At least when my mind's made up it's hard to deviate me, although I'm never sure if that's a good or bad thing. Everything is in place now. Everything except Scully that is. Another quick glance to check that she isn't looking in my direction and I get softly to my feet, carefully trying to avoid letting the chair scrape against the tiled floor. She's so out of it at the moment that she doesn't notice my presence until I am right next to her and she starts slightly as I rest the palm of my hand on the nape of her neck. The skin beneath my fingers is warm and soft, flawless aside from the tiny bump of scar tissue that has marred her in ways far more complicated than the merely cosmetic. The scars on the surface fade eventually. They become almost invisible to the naked eye. It's the ones beneath the surface that come back to haunt us. I should know. In response to my touch she lifts her head and turns those blue eyes on me, partly hidden right now behind her gold-rimmed glasses. I love Scully in glasses. They lend her an almost childlike naivete that twists my heart and makes me wonder just where the time has gone since the first time I saw her walk in to my office. So young back then. We both were. But the years have changed her. Taken away an innocence that, after everything she's witnessed, she can never hope to regain. And then she looks at me like this and I am transported back in time. I sometimes think I loved her even back then. I was just too blind to see it. My hand remains in position as she subconsciously leans back towards me, allowing me to caress her softly beneath her hair. I am aware of the tension that lies just beneath the creamy, white skin. It's the one thing she can't hide. A physical manifestation of how she's feeling. I only really began to notice recently. But then before, I didn't have this implicit permission to touch her the way I have now. "Let's get out of here." She shakes her head, the action causing strands of her hair to tickle the back of my hand. "You go. I'm not hungry right now." "I don't mean lunch, Scully. I mean let's get out of here as in not bother coming back..." She picks up the file she has been transcribing and holds it in front of my face. "What about thi........" With my spare hand, I deftly grab the file from her and with a dramatic flourish, let it fall to the floor. It hits the tile with a satisfying thunk and I almost laugh out loud as Scully arches one perfect eyebrow in my direction. "I hate to tell you this, Mulder, but that hasn't made it disappear." "Yeah well, we've done enough. It's not that important. It'll still be here when we get back." If we get back that is. I often wonder whether each time we exit this office, one or both or us will never return. It's not a good thought and one which I try not to think too often. Our job is dangerous. Unpredictable. So far we have survived on blind luck. Somehow we have managed to keep each other safe. But I'm not stupid and neither is Scully. We both know that the chances of us gumming our way through our Golden years in some Florida retirement complex are slim at best. Which is why I sometimes want to grab whatever time we have together with both hands. I want to hold on to it and never let it go. She knows I'm right. I can feel her wavering slightly at the prospect of taking off early. She's tired and, no matter how hard she tries to hide it, she's pissed off. Sitting in this stuffy excuse for an office isn't helping. Plus we aren't *really* breaking any rules. After all didn't Skinner tell us we could leave when we were done? Well, we're done. In more ways than one. I hold my breath as Scully weighs up the pros and cons, releasing it finally as she rises to her feet. "Okay, Mulder. You win. So what do you propose?" Grinning like an idiot, I guide her towards the stand that holds our coats, knowing that one part of my plan at least is coming good. "I'm thinking my place tonight. Movie, bottle of chilled Chardonnay.....I'll even cook." She snorts. I can't say I'm surprised. Up until now my idea of wining and dining Scully has been to offer her a slice of day old pizza and a bottle of warm beer. I'm not really up there with the culinary masters. "Okay, okay," I concede. "Maybe I'll let Geranio cook and I'll warm the plates. How would that be?" That's done it. The mere mention of Alexandria's premier Italian eatery, which also just happens to do home deliveries, is enough to drive away whatever doubts may have been lingering at the back of my partner's mind. Ever since I have known her, Scully, like many other women, has been on a perpetual diet. She looks after herself, especially since the cancer went in to remission. She works out a lot, keeping herself in the kind of shape this job of ours demands. Not that I've ever had cause to complain about Scully's shape. To me she's always been perfect. But one thing I've learned about her is that, although she won't actually take it upon herself to *buy* the kind of rich food she loves, she'll never turn it down if it's placed in front of her. After all, lettuce leaves can become awfully wearing after a while. She stands on tip toes and reaches around me to grab her coat, smiling up at me gratefully. "Geranio's, Mulder? I'm impressed. What time?" "My place at around..." I do some rapid calculations. "..um...seven?" "I'll be there." With that, she throws on her coat with one fluid movement and sweeps past me towards the door. "Hey, Scully!" Pausing then, she turns back to me. I'm not sure why I called her back. Maybe I just wanted to get another look at her. I can look at this woman all day. I never tire of it. Never tire of *her*. But now I have no idea what to say, because the words I would love to have her hear always stick in my throat. Declarations of undying devotion aren't really our style and truthfully I'm not sure how she'd react if I ever told her just how deep my feelings for her run. Maybe if we were normal people, living normal lives the words would come easier. But we aren't and we don't. I accepted those facts a long time ago. So instead I just throw her a goofy smile. "Don't forget to bring breadsticks." |
