Secrets 5
Ally112038@aol.com 

Georgetown Washington DC

The apartment is shaded with that peculiar half-light that signifies the beginning of night. Not dark exactly, because even though there are no lights lit, I have no trouble in making out Mulder's form, stretched out on the chair opposite me. Nevertheless, the shadows are enough to make me squint my eyes to better focus on him.

His arms hang over the sides of the chair and relaxed as he is in sleep, he appears even more handsome to me than he usually does. Mulder is a good-looking man - not in the traditional sense maybe - but I have always enjoyed looking at him.

I used to think that if I were to dissect his features piece by piece, I would find plenty of faults. His nose is a little too big, his lips slightly too full to belong to a man, he has a high forehead, geeky ears. But put back all together they lend a certain quality to Mulder that cannot be found in most others.

And right now, unlike during his waking hours, his face is not marred by lines and tension. He reminds me of when we first met. Before we embarked on a journey that has in ways I cannot fully comprehend, shattered our lives. Way back before all this, when he could bestow on me the gift of a smile that seemed to radiate from his very soul.

It's a memory of a Mulder I have almost forgotten existed.

A Mulder I miss with all my heart.

My leg has cramped during my extended nap and I know that I am going to have to shift position sooner rather than later in order to ease it.

But not yet. Because I know that as soon as I do, Mulder's senses will alert him to the sound and he will awaken.

I don't want that.

Just for a minute, I want to do what I am unable to do when I am with him.

I want to look at him.

I want to drink in the goodness of him.

Because when he wakes up I am going to do some straight talking for once. *We* are going to do some straight talking.

But, for now, I just watch the lengthening shadows of dusk creep up to darken his face. Enjoying, despite the difficulties that are sure to come as soon as he opens his eyes, this unguarded view of him.

The pain is beginning to worsen. Escalating rapidly from an ache to all out agony and I know that if I don't seek to ease it soon, I will pay for my reluctance later.

Gingerly, I brace myself on my elbow and shuffle awkwardly up the couch until I am at an angle where I am able to ease my injured leg to rest on the floor. I try to achieve the manoeuvre as quietly as I possibly can, but my movements are hampered by stiffness and that, coupled with the fact that I am biting my lip from the pain, takes away much of my habitual grace.

I quickly flick my eyes to rest on Mulder, holding my breath as I do so. Hoping against hope that my small movement hasn't woken him.

But I should know better by now.

Watching him awaken is always a painful experience because, while normal people drift gently out of the arms of sleep in degrees, allowing themselves the luxury of a minute of delicious slumber before opening their eyes to face the day ahead, Mulder literally throws himself awake.

I wonder if it has always been this way for him and certainly, I have soothed him through enough nightmares to know that sleep doesn't come easily for this man. But I hold on to the hope that one day in the future, he will be allowed to enjoy the kind of restful, healing slumber others take for granted.

As always, there is a momentary flash of fear on his face before he quickly evaluates his situation, assuring himself that everything is *indeed* normal. That whatever monsters that plague him during dreams have not followed him back through his subconscious and in to the real world.

*Monsters*.

It's funny in a strange way because I never used to believe in monsters. Even as I child I was never unduly troubled by the Boogymen who, Bill assured me, resided beneath my bed.

Now though I know from bitter experience that monsters come in many forms.

And the most frightening are the ones we don't see.

But, as always, his fear passes quickly and I am heartened by the tentative smile that tugs at the corners of Mulder's beautiful mouth, transforming his features and slicing ten years off him in one simple stroke.

"I let myself in." He ventures. Stating the obvious, since, to my knowledge, for all his talents Mulder has not yet mastered the art of walking through walls.

"I knocked twice and when you didn't answer I got worried. You were sleeping."

He sounds vaguely apologetic, as though he has done me a terrible wrong by being concerned. That I would have preferred it if he'd simply turned on his heel and walked away without a second thought.

But he wouldn't have been Mulder if he'd done that.

The Mulder I know would have ripped that door apart with his bare hands if he had felt I needed him.

He's done it before.

It's one of the reasons I eventually got around to giving him a key.

"It's ok." I hear myself saying the words, but my voice sounds far away. Even to me.

"I'm glad you're here. I...."

I stumble then, unsure of how to proceed because he is gazing at me with such understanding, such *yearning* that it takes my breath away. I need to say the *right* things to him tonight. Because I know that if I fail, I might never get another chance.

He misunderstands though, because he is on his feet in a second.

"You're in pain."

I nod dumbly. Refusing to contradict him on this particular point. And in all honesty, I'm grateful for the time to gather my thoughts as Mulder heads for the kitchen to bring me water. He's back within seconds, having discovered the analgesics that my Mom thoughtfully placed on the kitchen table before she left. Placing two of the pills in my palm, Mulder hands me the glass before he sits back down. He scrutinizes me carefully as I put them in my mouth, ensuring that I actually take them. Mulder hates to see me in pain.

Finally, after setting the glass down, I am able to carry on.

"I've been calling you. I wondered where you were. I've missed you Mulder."

There.

I've said it.

*I missed you*.

It's not something I've ever really considered before now. Whenever we've been separated, I have buried any feelings I might have had beneath the layers of self-deception that cloak my emotions. To admit to myself or to him that when we are apart I feel as though half of me is missing, would be to admit my true feelings.

Feelings I have tried so damn hard to keep hidden from him.

He shifts slightly in the chair and just by seeing the shadowed expression that crosses his face I know he is surprised by my words.

Surprised by my need.

But I have spent hours and hours this past week trying to get things straight in my head. Thinking harder than I have ever conceived possible.

I accepted a long time ago that our relationship could never be categorized in the traditional sense, that what binds us together cannot be explained in simple terms.

He is not merely my partner. Much more than that he is also my friend. My protector. My *lover*.

These words do not come close to describing what we share. Our relationship is none of these things, but at the same time it is *all* of them.

Because Fox Mulder has become my lover in every sense of the word.

We might not share a physical relationship as such, but despite this, our hearts and minds have become intertwined in a way that transcends mere sexual intimacy.

We became lovers a long time ago.

I shiver slightly, suddenly aware of the chill in the room and I wonder if Mulder feels it too.

As if he can read my mind, he rises slowly from his position opposite me and pads across the carpeted floor until he is standing above me.

For just a second, I find his proximity slightly unnerving because he seems so much taller than usual. Blocking out what little light is left in the room. But then he crouches before me, resting one hand lightly on my exposed arm while the other hand reaches up to gently caress my cheek. I close my eyes, enjoying the light pressure as his thumb traces a line across my face and down my neck before finally coming to rest on my shoulder which he squeezes gently.

"Cold?"

I shrug slightly, careful not to dislodge his hand which is warming me through the thin cotton sweater I am wearing.

"A little." I admit quietly.

In response to my words he reaches for the discarded blanket with his free hand and uses the pressure on my shoulder to gently draw me forwards, bringing the blanket around my back as I do so. He pulls it's edges together so that it now cocoons me.

He is only inches away from me now and our faces are so close I can actually feel the warm puffs of air on my skin as he breathes. For some reason, this close proximity makes my heart flutter painfully against my chest. Which is ridiculous really, since we have been as close as this on countless occasions. But maybe it has more to do with the way he is looking at me.

Sorrow, respect, concern. And something else.

Something that for all my understanding of this complex man, I can't seem to put my finger on.

He looks tired, used up. And not for the first time I wonder just where he's been for the past eight days.

And although something tells me that he wasn't simply on leave as Skinner suggested, I'm almost afraid to question further. Because my every instinct screams out to me that I am better off not knowing. So, instead I just stare back at him, drinking in his goodness, inhaling his scent as he hovers before me.

"Why didn't you tell me Scully?"

There is such defeat in his tone and hearing him this way causes my heart to almost crack in two.

*Why didn't I tell him?*

How can I put in to words something I barely understand myself?

How do I make him see that I chose to tell him for all the right reasons? Reasons I have since discovered were so *wrong*.

And how can I hope to make him understand that this *isn't* his fault?

Mulder has spent his adult life carrying the collective guilt of the world on his shoulders. It is mostly unfounded and I have watched it almost consume him during the seven years I have known him. Guilt over his Sister. His Father's death. Melissa's death. My cancer.

*My life*.

A life he sees himself as being solely responsible for destroying.

But he isn't responsible.

We make our own choices and I made mine long ago. My choice was to stay with him because dying alongside him was always preferable to living in a world without him.

He is waiting for an answer from me. Waiting patiently as I attempt to gather my thoughts together enough to put in to words all the things I feel in my heart.

I *will* succeed. I'll do it for *him*.

I can't look at him though. So I drop my eyes from his before taking a deep breath and when I finally speak, my voice is so low it is almost inaudible.

"I didn't tell you because I'm not strong enough to watch you destroy yourself for a second time. Because I'm tired, so *tired* of seeing you hurting and not being able to make it go away."

His fingers tighten painfully on my shoulder for a second as my admission sinks in, but I ignore it.

"I'm just so tired of it all Mulder. Of the pain and the betrayal and the *hurt*. But I'm so sorry I didn't come to you. Sorry because I was wrong.....and I know now that I've never...."

I feel the familiar tightness in my throat as it closes up, my eyes burning as a week of unshed tears threaten to steal my words from me. But despite this, I swallow and force myself to carry on. Raising my head to look at him. Giving myself the courage I need to finish what I have started.

"I've never been so wrong about anything in my life. I thought I was protecting you, when all the time I was just trying to protect myself. And I hate myself for it...."

I stop then. Unable to carry on as my chest hitches painfully as, suddenly I am crying.

*Shit*

I promised myself I wouldn't do this.

So much for promises.

I don't want him to see me cry. Not like this. I wanted so much to be strong for him and I realize I have failed once again. Squeezing my eyes shut as I turn away from him.

Just as I've turned away from him so many times before.

This time it's different though. Because this time he refuses to allow me to hide and before I have time to comprehend what is happening, Mulder is on the sofa beside me, intercepting my movement and pulling me roughly towards him. Holding me so tightly I can feel his heart beating through the layers of clothing that separate us.

He buries his face in my hair and I feel him shaking as he finally breaks down. Crushing me against him as though he is afraid that at any moment I will fly away. That by holding on to me he will somehow keep me safe.

This knowledge shatters me even more because I know with absolute certainty that this time it won't matter how hard he fights or how much he loves me.

This time there can be only one outcome.

So I cry for everything that has been taken from us.

For all the things we will never have.

For all our hopes and dreams that will end before they have even begun to be realized. For a chance at true happiness most others take for granted.

Because we can only ever expect pain. So much pain to be borne by two people.

But mainly I am crying because I know that my pain, compared to Mulder's, will be brief.

His will last a lifetime.

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