From: Tory Anderson
Date: Sat, 18 Mar 2000 00:37:15 -0800 (PST)
Subject: New Story: "Mine" by Tory Anderson
Source: direct
Mine
by Tory Anderson
tory_anderson@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13 for language... maybe...
Spoilers: Up to Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati
Category: VR
Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Summary: Mulder's ruminations after the events of
Sixth Extinction II.
For Sidney, Lee, Brick, and the rest of the gang at
M.C.
You guys are the best!
Also for Aleea, Roxanne, and Arnold. Swing heil!
-----
And you are mine.
The words roll about endlessly in my mind,
at times soothing in their reassurance, and at
times painfully arousing in their promise.
There is no greater honour that can be
bestowed upon a man than to be Dana Scully's...
anything.
We stood there, in my doorway, so close that
I could feel errant strands of her hair tickling
my throat. For the second time, I poured my heart
out to her in that hallway, trying to express my
gratitude to her, using my eyes and my touch when
words would not come. Trying also to tell her
something by deliberately not using words, something
too infinitely precious that mere human words
could not begin to express it.
You are my constant, my touchstone.
And you are mine.
How could I ever become something to significant
to a woman as strong and brave as Scully? I take
pride in the knowledge that I am truly one of the
few who know her as intimately as she will allow.
I know what can make her laugh, and alternately,
what can make her cry. I know she is a terrible
speller, but can string words and sentences together
like a poet. She loves old romance movies, and
will only condescend to watch a lame and cheesy
sci-fi flick with me if it is cheesy to the extreme.
She never does anything by half-measures. I know
that she loves Mediterranean food, and cannot stand
the taste of beer. She is a superb swing dancer.
She prefers milk chocolate over dark. She is
classy, cultured, but will accompany the boys and
I to a grungy, garage-band concert if we ask sweetly.
I know the things she holds dear, the hope of one
day seeing her daughter and father and sister again.
Her religion. Her faith. These are the things that
keep her going, her constants.
But I? I would never have imagined myself on
the list of things that Scully can't do without. So
perhaps I don't know her as well as I boast to,
anyhow.
And I would like to know her that well, to know
all her little secrets that she won't tell to anyone
else. I can tell that sometimes she is afraid of
letting someone close inside, afraid that she will
be laughed at, or ashamed of. But I would never
ridicule my partner, and I would always be proud of
her, of her ideals, her accomplishments, of the woman
herself.
It took me awhile to own up to it, but I love
her. Not simply as a colleague, or a friend, or a
comrade-in-arms. I love her as all those things,
but also as a woman, a beautiful, exceptional woman,
with whom I want to share my bed and my life. As
of now, nobody knows my little secret, no one except
myself and Sidney the goldfish. And I have a hunch
that Sidney won't be wagging his tongue any time soon.
Even so, if the past few chaotic weeks have
been any indication, I may simply choose to tell her
myself. I remember, lying in the hospital bed,
feeling Scully's small, cold hand clutching at mine
desperately, cold from her fear for my health, for
my safety, my sanity. I tried my best not to pry
into her mind - I had used my new-found ability
without guilt to learn of the intentions of people
I could not trust, but I trust my partner like none
other.
Her thoughts were tumultuous, so loud and
desperate and overwhelming that despite my best
efforts, I could not help but catch snatches of
disconnected thoughts:
{{my god mulder what have they done to you
chained like a fox in a trap i'm tired so terribly
tired it means everything i love you mulder i love
listen a sea of blood ten plagues mulder awake i've
failed you i'm sorry too late i love you i need you
to hold on i'm crying i can't cry be brave that bitch
i hate her i love you}}
She loves me.
At first, I couldn't believe it. I thought
maybe that I was hearing someone else's thoughts,
accidentally intermingling with Scully's, but after
awhile I began to notice a kind of signature that
went with the thoughts. It was something as clear
to me as the smell of Scully's skin or the colour
of her eyes, yet somehow not as definite.
She loves me.
This revelation is, to me, comparable to the
invention of the steam engine or even the discovery
of fire. It is a cataclysmic event, upheaving my
entire worldview and rearranging my life into less
neater blocks.
You see, I never thought she'd ever be mine.
I thought we'd always be friends, best friends,
and even once we grew older, even once Scully
inevitably got married, had kids, we'd stay friends.
She'd bring her family over to visit at Uncle
Mulder's, and I'd sit there and play with her children
and watch jealously as she and her dashing husband
cuddled on the couch.
But she loves me. *Me.*
It's like finally being able to have that piece
of chocolate cake in the window, or that shiny new
bike. It's everything that I thought I could never
have, but everything that I always wanted, wrapped
up with a bow and a card that says, "For Fox."
I should say something. I should call her,
send her flowers, even a simple note, something to
tell her, I am hers, too.
We belong to each other.
In the past, I have kept away from long-term
relationships. I was afraid of the commitment, of
having to be accountable to another person, of not
having the liberty to do whatever I please, when I
pleased.
After Phoebe, I never dated anyone for longer
than couple of months. I was scared of giving my
heart to someone, of letting them have ownership
over me, of giving them the power to break me.
Even Diana, though we were involved for over a year,
held no significant emotional value to me. Not
then, and not now.
Because now, I think I can trust again. I
have been - trusting. I've shared more with Scully
over the past eight years than I have with any one
of my meaningless flings, even though Scully and I
have never kissed.
And it may be time to remedy that fact.
You can't imagine how many times I've wanted
to kiss Scully. God. I sit there at work sometimes,
not eight feet away from her, and all I can think
about is how her mouth would taste, and how many
different ways that I could kiss her in a single
day. I'm amazed she hasn't caught me daydreaming
yet, or at least, if she has, she's respected my
dislike of humiliation, and kept her mouth shut.
Her mouth.
It's perfect, her mouth, you know? Not too
thin, and not fat, just perfectly plump, perfectly
kissable. There's a dent, right above the centre of
her upper lip. Small, delicate. I have to bite
down on my tongue to keep from reaching out and
dipping my tongue into that little creamy hollow.
But sometimes I have to wonder, would she want
me to? Does she ever think about me late at night,
the way I constantly think about her? I can't
imagine that she does. I can't picture Scully
sitting on her pristine striped couch in her tidy,
homey apartment, just thinking about me. But maybe
she does. Scully is a mystery I have yet to unravel.
As for me, I can't *stop* thinking about her.
Everything I do seem to be for her. When I run in
the mornings, or swim at the pool, every lap, every
block is for her. Every case I help solve is for her.
Every night, after I say goodbye to her and
go home, the shows that I watch, the food that I
eat, the hours that I sleep, it's all for her.
It's all just passing time, just waiting until the
next day when I can see her again.
And it's so pathetic. I sound like a high
school kid with an unrequited crush. Or a psycho
stalker. I listen to my thoughts, and I wince.
But then I remember that I heard her thoughts. That
I heard her say it.
That she loves me. *Me.* Not a preppy divorcee,
not a psycho tattooed guy from Philadelphia, not
some insecure alter-ego of mine, and certainly not
a next-door stalker.
*Me.*
I'm scared to tell her that I love her, too.
To tell the truth, I'm afraid to love her. I'm
afraid of not being able to measure up to past
boyfriends and lovers, I'm afraid that I won't be
all she wants me to be. And I want to be everything
to her.
But I know I must do it. If I don't, we'll
never know. I may be afraid that it won't work
out, but how can I deny myself - and her - what we
both want and need? How can I keep us from one
of the only bright things in our otherwise rather
gruesome lives?
I have to make a decision.
I have to tell her. Today. Now.
Then I will be hers. And she will be mine.
-----
the end
Written: March 2000. Happy Anniversary, Bear!!!
I have a sort-of sequel in mind for this. It's
planned out in my brain but it may be awhile before
I write it out. Anyway, hope you had fun.
It's the one-year anniversary of the first fanfic
I ever wrote and posted! Long live Bear!!!
email me: tory_anderson@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/tory_anderson/main.html
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