In Absentia I - Missing Time by QofMush Disclaimer: Most of the characters included within belong to the Fox Network, the creative people over at 1013, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. No infringement is intended. Classification: MSR Rating: PG Time line: Mid Season Five Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name stays attached. Feedback: Wouldn't miss it for the world - QofMush@aol.com Summary: Does absence make the heart grow fonder or smarter? Acknowledgements: As with everything I write, this wouldn't see the light of day without Sherrie and Jill. Words cannot express how much you both help me. Dedication: This one is for the Screamers, especially jeni. Thanks for all the hand-holding, support and laughs. Special mention goes to Amanda, who made In Absentia something of a crusade. ********************** I miss it. I miss them. I miss him. I don't remember much of my life before I joined the FBI; distant memories of childhood birthday parties, my college sweetheart and all-nighters in med school swarm together. Truth is, I don't know if I *had* much of a life before I joined the FBI. At least not one I really wanted - or enjoyed. I do remember teaching at Quantico, and liking it. At the time, I wasn't aware that anything else exsisted. I'd come from academia, it only seemed logical that I stay there. Teaching other curious souls to look to the evidence for the answers was a thrilling challenge. A dead body, while to many is repulsive, is a font of information. One that I never tired of exploring. Young minds, eager to learn and do-good, soaked up my lectures with interest. (Or so I convinced myself.) I vividly remember the X-Files. I can recite practically chapter and verse every case we worked on together. I never thought I'd say it, but compared to the "earthly" evil that I'm faced with these days, I could use a liver-eating mutant. Of course, I'd never admit he was a mutant - only that he had some kind of genetic disorder. I can see the frustrated head shake now. If I close my eyes, I can almost be back in that office. Disputing theories, getting our stories straight, arguing over paperwork. I miss him. Our partnership ended not with a bang, but a whimper. The new administration was looking to make budget cuts, and looked no further than the basement of the FBI Building. Oh, Skinner fought it. So did Mulder. So did I. But, we were outvoted, and the department was disbanded. It was done quietly; no one ever really paid much attention to us anyway. Skinner came through with promotions for both of us - at separate corners of the country. Mulder said it was part of the conspiracy, until he saw our new assignments and salaries. Truthfully, Mulder's passion for the X-Files had gone into remission about the same time my cancer had. I don't think he was too disappointed. Mulder got to go back to VICAP. As a supervisor. A mentor. Someone to look out for the next wunderkind if he showed up. Not to abuse them as Patterson had, but to shepherd them through the circles of hell. He got to pick and choose which cases he wanted to be personally involved with, and he oversaw the rest. The "Spooky" nickname was revived, but it didn't have the same derogatory tone it used to. People respected him and asked him for help. The solve rate over at VICAP has continued to climb in the year that he's been in charge. Skinner came through for me, too. I'm a regional ASAC. My region? The San Francisco Bay Area. They needed someone with field experience, headquarter experience and a scientific background. Luckily, I have all three. The San Francisco office is not one of the larger ones, but I get called up and down the West Coast for forensic consults. I have four agents under my direct supervision. Two male/female teams. I try not to get too nostalgic. My position now doesn't require that I have a partner. If I go out to the field, I take one of my teams. Otherwise, I'm chained to my desk, solving cases the old-fashioned way. Through science. There's that mental head shake again. I must admit, part of me likes applying science to the mundane instead of to science fiction. I miss him. Our "break up," if you could call it that, was a nonevent. Neither of us is big into emotional scenes. We packed up the office of our personal things; Skinner told Mulder he could keep the files in here, and that we had the only keys. Mulder took down his I Want To Believe Poster and rolled it with such care, I knew it would be the first thing he hung in the new office. Imagine my surprise when I received it in the mail a few weeks later accompanied by a note: "Even a Skeptic wants to believe." I'm looking at it on the wall of my office now. My co-workers give me strange looks, but I don't explain. I miss him. Because the FBI was moving me, I didn't have much to do. One day, movers showed up and packed everything for me. They loaded it onto a truck and shipped it out to San Francisco. I was left with a few suitcases and the need to say goodbye. Mom drove me to the airport. She hugged me and promised me she'd be out to visit as soon as I got settled. Mulder and I said goodbye the night before. He dropped by with a guidebook to the "Unexplained San Francisco" and an accompanying map of the city with certain spots highlighted. We both made the regular noises about keeping in touch, and hugged as friends do. Did I want to drag him into my bedroom and tell him goodbye like they do in the romance novels? You bet I did. I think part of him wanted me to as well. But he's too much of a gentleman to make the first move, and I didn't have enough courage, so we settled for a nice long hug. One of those hugs Mulder specializes in where he makes me feel like nothing is ever going to hurt me again. He gathers me in close, kisses the top of my head, and for one of the few moments in my lifetime, I revel in my petite stature. Silly, yes. But unless you've been hugged by Mulder, you just couldn't understand. We keep in touch as best we can. Phone calls, Emails and the occasional letter. We're both busy people, and we never did talk much outside the office. Careful, neutral conversations about our current cases, how I like San Francisco, how Mulder likes being a part of FBI society again are topics we exhaust without ever once mentioning how much we miss each other. Sometimes it's a painful ache in my gut. I'll see someone walking with *his* walk, and my heart will leap, only to crash when my brain takes over and tells me it couldn't possibly be him. Sometimes it's a warm feeling of remembrance - like when Sandy, one of my agents, offered me sunflower seeds from a huge jar on his desk. I'm sure he had no idea why his ASAC smiled tenderly and said "sure" as if he'd offered her the Hope Diamond. I miss him. I know he misses me. A file was just tossed on my desk. We've just been pulled in on a case that's been haunting the SFPD. There's a serial killer on the loose in San Francisco. He targets unmarried women in their 30s. They don't know how he selects his victims, but he's very clever. He leaves no forensic evidence at the scene, and there's no obvious pattern. The women come from all races, occupations and walks of life. There's no connection. Just as Sandy is telling me that this case has received top priority from DC and that VICAP is sending out a profiler, my phone rings. I answer, and a familiar voice butchers an old sixties folk song in my ear. "If I'm going to San Francisco, do I have to wear flowers in my hair?" ******************************** I miss it. I miss them. I miss her. My entire life has been shaped by one night. One night twenty years ago changed everything for me. I don't remember much from before that night - and almost nothing for years after. Just darkness. I wandered aimlessly through high school, college and my early days at the Bureau. I was smart, gifted, but socially and emotionally retarded. I formed few emotional bonds - those that I did never lasted long. I'm 37 years old and I can count on one hand - on a good day two - the people I call friend. Nice. This has been my choice, and mine alone. My quest, a noble and self-sacrificing one, martyred me in my own eyes. Who had time for friends, lovers, or soulmates when looking for the truth? Once I succeeded in my quest, the pieces would fall into place, and my life would be complete. I was wrong. My quest is over. Samantha is found. She and I did not have the heartwarming reunion I'd always dreamed of, but I take comfort in the fact that she's healthy and seems to have a normal family life. I'm apparently an uncle. She has yet to contact me after that one night, and that saddens me more than I'd like to admit. But, I live by her decision. I have to. I miss her. No, not Samantha. How can I miss someone I barely remember? I miss our childhood. I miss that we never had a chance to grow up together - I never got to tease her about her first date, hit on her girlfriends, or grill her about her prom date. I will never get that back. We will never have that. My ache is for another woman in my life. A woman who has become more important to me than any other, though I'll be damned if I tell her. It would ruin my image. I miss Scully. More than I thought was possible. I let my guard down, and she snuck in. Somewhere between that first argument in my office and the first autopsy, I was lost. She became my friend. Of course I didn't recognize that because I wasn't used to having a friend. A true one. One who would stick by me no matter what horrors, what tests and what sometimes downright inexcusable behavior I would subject her to. Our time together was too short. The people who run our government these days decided that the country's tax dollars might be better served solving earthly crimes. Part of me agrees with them. There is evil out there, and if Scully and I are better served protecting innocent people from that evil, then maybe we should pack up the X-Files and go our separate ways. Which is what we did. I'm happy for Scully. She's finally getting the recognition she deserves. Unfortunately, she had to move to San Francisco to get it. It's probably better for her in the long run. Wouldn't want her tarred with the "Spooky" brush too long. She'd never mention it, but she was on a great career track before she ran into the speedbump called Fox Mulder. In one fell swoop, I stopped her career path, got her abducted, killed her sister and gave her cancer. Ouch. Self-flagellation, Mulder-style. I'll never forget the night she found out her cancer had gone into remission. Without a doubt, it was the happiest moment of my sad life. Never in the months preceding had she once blamed me for her illness. I did enough of that for both of us. Just as I was the first person she told of her illness, I was the first person to learn of her recovery. She humbled me yet again. I miss her. When we packed up the X-File office, I threw out a lot of my old pictures. Although Skinner told us we could keep the files here, I still wanted to clean out some of the memories. Imagine my surprise when I received a framed picture of the fluke monster in the interoffice mail. No note. She thinks she's funny. It's hanging on my wall. I miss her. Saying goodbye to Scully that last night was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I dropped by with a silly going away gift and couldn't stay. Almost everything had been organized for the movers the next day, and I just couldn't be in there for too long. We made small talk and wished each other luck and I wanted to kiss her so badly I could taste it. Is that cliche? Too bad. My intuition told me I would hardly be satisfied with one kiss, and I didn't want to relive a single kiss for the rest of my life. Fool. I settled for a bone-crushing hug. Not a replacement for the big kiss, but it had to do. The kind where I try to communicate that a man whose never "been there" for anyone will "be there" for her. Whenever I get to hold Scully, I am dumbfounded to rediscover how soft a woman of steel feels. And, how small. She'd really hurt me if she knew I thought that. I'll keep that one to myself. I make up any excuse these days to call her. I ask her about silly forensic things that I know she knows I know, but she tolerates me. She indulges me because I think she misses me too. I ask her how the weather is out there, I fill her in on headquarter gossip, and I tease her about Frohike pining away for her. The last part isn't hard, I just change the name to protect my true identity. I miss her. I have no explanations for when or how it hits me. It just does. Sometimes I'll see her signature on a report, and I'll be momentarily lost tracing it with my fingers. What a loser. I recently reread Moby Dick. Just because I felt like it. I must admit that I enjoy being back at VICAP. The work is still incredibly taxing and difficult, but I have more leeway now. Having lived through it myself, I can tell when those agents who work for me are on the edge and I cut them some slack. I'd like to think I'm a good boss. I don't get too involved in active profiling anymore; I'm there to put the final piece in the puzzle when I'm asked. Every once in a while a case will catch my eye and I'll jump in headfirst like I used to. My assistant, Katrina, brought in a file this morning. We'd been given the word that this case was to get top priority. I read the words "serial killer"..."women"....and "San Francisco." When opportunity knocks... I picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. "Scully." End In Absentia I *********************** Authors Notes: Okay, now you know where we're going, right? Wrong. When this first began, it was merely a twinset of vignettes I used to play around with POV. An exercise in determining who spoke loudest to me. Somewhere along the way, I let others read this, and through much wheedling and convincing, they told me I was on to something and that I should expand this. So, here we go. Hang on. *********************** In Absentia II - Airports and Airplanes by QofMush Disclaimer: Most of the characters included within belong to the Fox Network, the creative people over at 1013, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. No infringement is intended. Classification: MSR Rating: PG Time line: Mid Season Five Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name stays attached. Feedback: Wouldn't miss it for the world - QofMush@aol.com Summary: Does absence make the heart grow fonder or smarter? Acknowledgements: As with everything I write, this wouldn't see the light of day without Sherrie and Jill. Words cannot express how much you both help me. Dedication: This one is for the Screamers, especially jeni. Thanks for all the hand-holding, support and laughs. Special mention goes to Amanda, who made In Absentia something of a crusade. ******************* Airports giveth and airports taketh away. I've spent more time in the airports of this country than I'd care to admit. Lucky for me, the FBI lets me keep my frequent flyer miles. Now, if I could get them to let me take some vacation time I could use them. I must have enough for Hawaii by now. Maybe two tickets. First class. There's an idea. He'd never go for it. I'd never ask. It might be worth it, though, to see the look on his face. A beautiful, wriggly, wall-eyed pike, hazel-eyes bugging out of his sockets, gasping for air. Rendering Mulder speechless. We all have our quests in life. Some are larger than others. But I digress. Random daydreaming doesn't come naturally to me. I usually have neither the time nor inclination. Sitting at San Francisco International Airport will stop anyone's watch, though. For longer than nine minutes. Yes, I'm sitting in the terminal waiting for an early morning flight from Washington DC. Being "Scully," I got here in plenty of time. - enough time for a quick cup of coffee, a glance at the Chronicle, and an investigation of the covers of the latest weekly magazines at the newsstand. Running out of things to do - I knew I should have brought my briefcase - I find myself waxing poetic about airports. It's amazing what missing someone will do to your psyche. A quick look at the Arrivals Board shows the flight is on time, due to arrive in fifteen minutes. I might as well start making my way down towards the gate. Of course, it's the very last one in the terminal. Nothing easy and convenient for him. I walk by two little girls holding a sign that says "DADDY" in block letters like the limo drivers hold. It breaks my heart. Mom's trying to clean their smudged faces from the chocolate donuts they must have indulged in while waiting. A quick stop in the ladies' room to fix my make-up and hair - it's damned difficult to look casual - and the fifteen minutes are just about up. The monitor switches from ON TIME to ARRIVED. Okay, now the butterflies are here. I shrug and square my shoulders as I step toward the gate. Mulder and I have been separated by a continent for the last three months. He's been in DC heading up the VCS; I've been an ASAC out here in San Francisco. Our professional paths have hardly crossed, but our friendship has remained as strong as ever. A case has brought us together. Lucky us. Somewhere along the way, I realized I missed Mulder. More than I should miss a friend. I have my suspicions that I'm not the only one. It's this "missing" that has me here at SFO at this ungodly hour waiting to meet his plane when I know he is perfectly capable of renting a car. He doesn't know I'm meeting him. That's what frightens me. Well, that and how I'm going to act when I see him. I have to get used to him as an actual "person" again. Not just someone on the other side of the phone or computer terminal. A person I think I may be in love with. Oh, God. The first class passengers are deplaning. If Mulder is still the same Mulder, he'll be one of the last people off the plane. He likes to sit near the back where he can be alone and look over the case. We learned the hard way that people sitting next to you don't like to look at crime-scene photos over sodas and peanuts. What will he do when he realizes I'm here? That I've gone out of my way to meet him for no logical reason? So un-Scully of me. Deep breaths. Oh, God. Here he comes. He doesn't see me because he's not looking for me. He's not expecting to be met, yet my favorite paranoiac is still using those eyes to search the terminal. "It's not paranoid if they're...." echoes in my head. He looks amazing. Because he flew in on a weekend, he eschewed FBI rules that require Agents to fly in business attire. Jeans, a mock turtleneck, and a black leather coat to ward off the San Francisco fog. He still scans the terminal as he walks. I've positioned myself to be behind most of the greeters. I needed time to take him in before being seen. To reacquaint myself with the beauty that is Mulder. A large part of his beauty is his entire unawareness of self. He doesn't notice the head turns he gets constantly. I'm sure at least one of the stewardesses asked him how long he was in town. He probably just thought she was being friendly. My Mulder is too busy trying to right the injustices of the world to worry about a flirtatious stewardess. I've been spotted. I'm trapped in that gaze. It skimmed past me in it's endless search for enemies, skidded to a halt, and returned in wonder. Then, I'm given the most beautiful gift I have ever received. Sheer happiness. As reflected in the face of Fox Mulder. I step out from behind my pillar and walk towards him as he tries not to knock over slower passengers in his rush to get to me. His eyes are warm, yet questioning, and his smile is the big one. Teeth and all. I have locked in my mental file cabinet every single time I've been given this one. I think this is the first one I've received just because. Not because we had cheated death, or were in a hospital somewhere, but just because. My smile must mirror his. I can feel the muscles in my cheeks stretch and I worry that I must look like a clown with a silly grin. We both slow our paces as we get closer. It's so easy to rebuild those fences. He shrugs and gestures comically for me to come closer. He drops his laptop off his shoulder to the ground, not caring about the potential damage. My smile gentles, and I refuse to let this go. Suddenly, I launch myself at him, burrowing into his chest. My arms have minds of their own and slip underneath his coat to grab at the strong muscles of his back. I feel his arms encircle me, and one hand sneak up to the back of my head to hold me to him. I missed him. Oh my, did I miss him. We stand like that forever until I back away. I don't want to cause too much of a scene, and we're still hugging like friends, right? Much longer and it will seem like so much more. Cross every line. I'm not sure I want to do that. Let alone in the American Airlines terminal. I pull back, but Mulder's not ready to let me go just yet. His hands come up to cup my face and he stares down at me, searching. Oh, God. Is he going to kiss me? We've yet to exchange a word. ********************* I have never minded flying. Driving bores me to tears. Sailing makes me seasick. But, flying? Flying's exhilarating. Not only does it get you where you want to go in the quickest possible time, but it also gives you the sense that you're going somewhere. Somewhere exciting. After all the planes I've been on, going to places less than exciting, you'd think I'd be a little more jaded. Truth is, I am. Being stuck in an airport in the middle of nowhere during a snow storm takes the thrill out of flying pretty quick. But, boarding this plane in DC this morning, I'm like that kid going on his first plane ride all over again. Why? Because I'm going to see Scully. I chuckle to myself as I try to get comfortable in what resembles a human sardine can. Luckily, the plane wasn't booked and I have both the aisle and window seats to myself in this row. The aisle seat allows me to stretch my legs, the window seat gives me a view. And a place to stash my laptop while I work. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Scully. Big surprise. That's where I seem to be an awful lot lately. It's really wreaking havoc with my powers of concentration. A quick glance at my watch shows that twenty minutes have gone by since the last time I checked. I'm twenty minutes closer to California. I've never had a longer flight. Usually, I can amuse myself on flights by reading, listening to music, or catching up on paperwork. I know I should be studying the case file that has me winging my way to San Francisco, but I can't. The captain announces that we are on time and scheduled to land in fifteen minutes. Thank God. I think the flight attendants were tired of my fidgeting. They were friendly at the beginning of the flight, but once I asked for my third cup of coffee, their attitudes seemed to chill. Oh, well. Do I call her as soon as I land? Do I call her from the hotel? Do I wait and see her Monday at the office? When we talked on the phone yesterday, I told her when I was flying in. I intimated that I'd like to see her for dinner or something when I arrived. Nothing too overt, but a wisecrack about craving Cioppino should have given Scully a clue that I'd like to see her. God forbid I just tell her. I'll call her from the hotel. Don't want to seem too desperate. Although if this flight lasts much longer, I may not be able to resist the Air phone on the headrest in front of me. But, she'd think I was crazy. Wait, she already thinks I'm crazy. I think Scully misses me as much as I miss her. Well, maybe not that much. But, she does miss me. I'm not usually good at that kind of thing, yet with Scully I just know. Before I have a chance to ponder that thought any longer, we land. A major drawback to having the row to myself at the rear of the plane is that everyone gets to deplane before me. Normally this doesn't bother me, but today my patience is at an all-time low. Don't these people know I have to get to Scully? Most airports are fundamentally the same. I casually look around as I walk through the gate to see if there's anything different about SFO. Not really. There's a Boudin stand for tourists to buy sourdough right before they get on the plane, a duty-free store, and a Starbucks. There aren't too many people waiting to greet the flight. Or, it could be that I'm one of the last to deplane, and the greeters have all done their greeting already. I glance around like I always do, just in case there's someone suspicious hanging around. There's a redhead, hair a similar shade as Scu-- No. No way. Way. Wayne and Garth have taken up residence in my head. I'm stunned. For a moment I stop short because I can't believe I'm really seeing her. Dana Scully, standing partially behind a column off to the side of the main walkway, dressed casually in a sweater and jeans, wearing an oversized bomber jacket that emphasizes her petite size. She's smiling. For me. I can die a happy man. I rush over to her as fast as I can get through the crowd. Funny, it didn't seem like a crowd a few minutes ago. At the last minute, I slow down and decide to play up the laughs. I make her take the final step. I *know* what I want, I'm still unsure as to how she feels. Meeting me at the airport must be a big hint. When I motion her towards me, her smile dims for a minute, and I'm afraid I've made a mistake by being a clown. But, she gives me a new smile I've never seen - a gentle one - and tackles me. I wish I could hold her forever. Too soon she backs away. I don't let her go. I loosen my hold, but I have to keep touching her. I need to touch her. I surprise us both by cradling her face and turning it up to me. She looks up at me with a questioning look in her eyes and that sexy new smile on her face. Should I kiss her? Do I dare? End In Absentia II ************************* In Absentia III - Zigged/Zagged by QofMush Disclaimer: Most of the characters included within belong to the Fox Network, the creative people over at 1013, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. No infringement is intended. Classification: MSR Rating: PG Time line: Mid Season Five Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name stays attached. Feedback: Wouldn't miss it for the world - QofMush@aol.com Summary: Does absence make the heart grow fonder or smarter? Acknowledgements: As with everything I write, this wouldn't see the light of day without Sherrie and Jill. Words cannot express how much you both help me. Dedication: This one is for the Screamers, especially jeni. Thanks for all the hand-holding, support and laughs. Special mention goes to Amanda, who made In Absentia something of a crusade. *********************** Mulder has a big nose. It's not big in the sense that it detracts in any way from the otherwise sheer beauty of his face. But, like any nose with a tendency to be larger than normal, it sometimes gets in the way. Like the first time he tried to kiss me. Oh, I say that like we're long time lovers romantically reflecting back on our first kiss. Truth is, this happened about five hours ago and it was neither very romantic nor really qualified as a kiss. We stood in that airport terminal overjoyed to see each other. I think Mulder was overcome with surprise that I was actually there. He recovered quickly. There was that moment, the two of us standing there, that will be frozen in time. We've all had them. Time seems to stand still (don't tell Mulder) and you know something momentous is about to happen. I wanted that something to happen. So did Mulder. However, in a rare, but strangely fitting statement to our partnership, we both zigged when one of us should have zagged. That's when I realized that Mulder has a large nose. It's difficult to overlook when it smashes directly into yours. Ironic isn't it? We finally believe the same thing, want the same thing, and are entirely ineffective at achieving it. Luckily, we were both moving tentatively and the bump didn't hurt that much. We both laughed nervously, then genuinely, and the moment was gone. Mulder hugged me to him, exaggeratedly spun me around while making some comment about what a nice girl like me was doing in a dump like this, and we were back in business. Except Mulder wouldn't stop touching me. At first I thought it was just the usual Gentleman Mulder, his hand taking its rightful place at the small of my back as we walked to the baggage claim. Then, after we collected his luggage and headed toward my car, he slung his arm around my shoulders. All the way around. Like a boyfriend in high school would do; those long, magic fingers gently massaging my shoulder as we walked through the parking lot. We got in the car and Mulder refrained from making his typical driving joke. He did, however, find every excuse to touch my shoulder, run his fingers down my arm, or glance his hand on my knee while I drove. The few times I looked questioningly at him, he feigned innocence and kept up his litany of questions about San Francisco. All while touching me. If I had killed us by driving off the road, he most certainly would have been to blame. Now, keep in mind, we're still chatting like Mulder and Scully always do. He's lobbing wisecracks and I'm returning serve. The touching was an added development to our dynamic. Not that I minded. Too soon, I pulled up in front of his hotel. Part of me really wanted to tell him to forget the hotel - he could stay on my couch - or, wherever. There was no point in rushing things. I left him to check in and promised him I'd pick him up for dinner in a few hours. "Okay, Scully. I'll be waiting. But don't think a fancy dinner buys you anything. I'm not that cheap," he said, waggling his eyebrows as he got out of the car. "Who said I'm buying?" ******************** I've analyzed the events of this morning (all while digging through my closet trying to find *something* to wear) and I'm still no closer to understanding what Mulder's thinking or feeling. Not that I've ever been very close. I know as well as anyone how his mind works - I couldn't even begin to guess what's in his heart. Plus, I still don't know exactly what I want. I've thought about it, analyzed it, and come to the conclusion that to start a relationship with Mulder would fly in the face of all logic. Fuck logic. I love him. That simple fact decided, I arrive at the hotel to find Mulder waiting outside for me. Oh, God. He's beautiful. In one definite respect, Mulder is a charming paradox. Meticulous is not a word one usually reserves for him - the man regularly forgets what day it is, lives like a slob, and has a filing system only he understands. But, oh my, can he dress. Tonight is no exception. My "date" - I let the word float around my head to see if it sounds okay - is dressed all in black, from his shiny oxfords, dress slacks, cashmere turtleneck and blazer. Whoo boy. I get out of the car and playfully open the door for him. From the look on his face, the hours I just spent in my closet have paid off. I too, am all in black. A simple dress, long sleeves and a boat neck, with a tight bodice and flared skirt that lands just above my knees. I've replaced my functional and boring pumps with a pair of strappy Manolo Blahniks I had to buy one day while trying to cure my homesickness by shopping. It didn't work, but I love the shoes. We get to the restaurant and Mulder's doing that touching thing again. While I give my name to the hostess, Mulder brings his hand to the nape of my neck, his thumb gently rubbing over the scar covering the implant. I should be self-conscious, but I'm not. Mulder knows. If he notices the gooseflesh his tender ministrations have caused, he gives nothing away. Seated perpendicular at a window table looking into the inky darkness of the SF Bay sipping a wonderful Chardonnay Mulder insisted we order, I can honestly say I've never felt more content, or more anxious. Something's coming. Then Mulder tries to pull away. "So, Scully. I have a preliminary theory about this case." No way, G-Man. I'm not talking about work. You aren't going to stop something you've started. Well, I helped start it. But you're still not stopping it. "Mulder, I don't want to talk about work. It's Saturday. I haven't seen you for three months. Surely, we can come up with "something" to amuse ourselves, " and I lean forward and treat him with my sauciest grin. I've almost forgotten I have one of those. It feels good to use it on him. I watch his hazel eyes widen as the implications of what I've said sink in. Gotcha, Mulder. Two can play at this game. Emboldened by the glass of wine, I continue to turn tables on my favorite flirt and read my menu outloud, musing about what on the menu could satisfy my cravings. I time the mention of my cravings to perfectly coincide with Mulder's casual sip of wine. It gives me an excuse to rub his back innocently to stop his choking. "Are you okay? Sometimes it goes down the wrong pipe." At this point, I think he's had enough, so I steer our conversation back to neutral territory. We play catch up. I don't remember what we ate, I'm just happy to be here with him. God, that sounds sappy. Too bad. Too soon, our dinner is over. We walk slowly along the wharf - dawdling at the tacky tourist shops. Mulder grabs my hand to jokingly drag me into the Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum and then conveniently forgets to release it when we resume our stroll. Not for the first time this evening do I find myself thinking at how strange, yet right, this feels. I've worked side by side with this man for years, but now, I could care less about righting the wrongs of the world. He's my best friend, and I happen to be in love with him. I'm fairly certain he feels the same way. Our fingers lace together and I watch the smile that lurks around the corners of his mouth. It's not the smart-ass smirk the rest of the world gets to see, it's a gentle, warm, smile that tells me he's happy. Funny, I never thought I'd see my Mulder happy. It's been a long, strange trip. Again, I find myself wishing for the ability to freeze time. I know he's here for a case. I know that Monday, we have to go to work as FBI Agents and try and bring a killer to justice. And, I am certain we will resume our roles as partners as seamlessly as we always have. I have no doubt in my mind that whatever may happen between the two of us personally, we'll find a way to still work together as well as we always have. Because I'm not willing to wait anymore. I've missed him. We stroll slowly to the edge of a pier to give Mulder a better view of the Golden Gate Bridge. That's what I tell him, anyway. Truth is, it also provides us with some privacy from the hordes of tourists out enjoying the unseasonably warm evening. Mulder, as usual, knows what I'm thinking. This time, when he lowers his head to mine, I know which way to zig. ********************************* I've forgotten how to kiss. So much for that riding a bike adage. Considering I've spent hours fantasizing about it, you'd think when the opportunity to kiss Dana Scully presented itself, I'd get it right. I've never been able to go to my left. I still can't believe she was there. Waiting. For me. No one - and I mean no one - has ever done that for me. She met me at the airport because she wanted to. I won't go into the implications of that. And she wanted me to kiss her. She was nervous, undecided, but willing to go with it if I went for it. By now, I'm an expert at reading when Scully's trying to decide whether or not to go with it. When I can press, and when I have to back away. Now was the time to press. Until we both leaned the same way. Laughable really, if I wasn't so disappointed. My damned nose is too big. Ah, well. I'm nothing if not persistent. A missed moment is regrettable, but I set out to prove it was more than just a moment of temporary insanity. It wasn't on my part, anyway. We fell back on our old standby - laughter. Hey, it's gotten me through every uncomfortable moment in my life - why should I stop now? I couldn't stop touching her. I still couldn't believe she was here. In front of me. Even after we got my luggage, I refused to let go. I've spent my life believing in the intangible; yet in this respect, I needed tactile proof that she was here. I picked up my garment bag and slung my free arm over her shoulder. It felt right. Frightfully right. Scully has a cool new car. Good to see she's using that raise wisely. I was dying to drive it, but I knew that wouldn't go over well. The memory of being called a "big macho man" still stings. I settled for enjoying the scenery both inside and outside the car. Maybe if I behaved, she'd let me drive it later. Scully dropped me off in front of a much nicer hotel than I'm used to staying in, telling me she'd pick me up later for dinner. I covered my disappointment with another joke. I wished we could have spent the afternoon together, but I don't dare say that. I don't want to push my luck. She's only asking for a few hours. I guess I'll live. Besides, maybe she's already tired of me. Naked male insecurity is always so attractive. Okay, so now I'm in my hotel room. I'm checked in, unpacked, and I've retrieved my E-mail and my voice mail. I don't bother checking the home answering machine. I've just seen the only person who ever leaves a message there. I miss her already. I thought I realized how much I missed her when we were separated by a continent. But seeing her so briefly again and knowing we're in the same city only exacerbates the pain. One learns to live without someone. Sadly, I know this better than most. Constant reminders aside, you cope with the transition from having someone in your daily presence to not. And you deal with it the best you can. Because you must. To survive. But seeing her again negates all that. I realize I don't want to deal with it. I don't have to cope with it. Why should I? I'm a single, available male. She's available. She's the only person on the planet who knows what a whackjob I am, and she loves me anyway. Well, I think she loves me. She definitely cares. I love her. Am I the biggest fool going if I don't take advantage of this? Don't answer that. I decide to take a swim in the fancy rooftop swimming pool to work off some of my nervous energy. Funny how your body responds when you decide your destiny. I have to physically restrain myself from running through the halls proclaiming words of love. Somehow, I don't think bailing me out of the looneybin again is what Scully had in mind for the evening. ************* Scully picks me up right on time. Oh, God. She's beautiful. Where on Earth has she been hiding that dress? And those shoes? I try to stop myself from checking her out like a hormone-driven construction worker, but I can't help it. Words. Put thoughts into words. Tell her. She's playfully holding the door for me. Mischievous is a nice look on her. A new goal pops into my head - make Scully smile more. As I get into the car, I lean down and softly kiss her cheek. "You look beautiful." Once I'm inside the car, she closes the door, but I think I hear the whispered words, "So do you." Score one for Mulder. We arrive at a romantic restaurant right on the water. Scully must have taken me at my word that I wanted cioppino. Of its own free will, my hand softly lands on the nape of her neck and my thumb encounters the scar. I can't help but caress it, hoping it doesn't make her uncomfortable. To me, that chip is her life. It reaffirms our bond. We order wine and a temporary silence descends on us. I panic. Maybe this has all been in my head. Maybe I've just concocted this whole romance out of loneliness and my true love for this woman. Maybe it's unrequited. Step back, Mulder. "So, Scully. I have a preliminary theory about this case." I've never been so happy to be wrong. My first thought is that Scully has been replaced by a pod-person. Then, I realize that this is just another facet of Scully - one she hides well underneath her professional veneer. It's sexy as hell. So is the smile I'm treated to when she tells me she doesn't want to talk about work. Mental note: Do something to get *that* smile again. Mental note #2: Never drink wine when Scully's reading the menu aloud. Luckily, my doctor is both my cause and my cure. She rubs my back and innocently talks about it going down the wrong pipe or something. A quick glance at her face tells me she knows *exactly* what happened. And she likes it. So, we talk. About nothing. At first it's strange. We've spent time talking about other parts of our lives, but usually as related to a case. Tonight we share anecdotes just because. We finish dinner, but I'm not willing to let her go just yet. She got her few hours this afternoon - I'm a selfish man. I suggest a walk down the wharf. We stop at a few souvenir shops and I offer to buy her an "I Got Crabs in SF" teeshirt. She declines. I'll come back later and buy one for Frohike. He'll love it. I can't resist a jab and try to drag her into one of those Believe it or Not Museums. Ironically, I'm sure at least one of our cases is in there somewhere. As we stroll down the street hand in hand, it's easy to pretend we're on vacation. We're just two people who've met by happenstance and fallen in love. Happens every day, right? The complications of our work and our present geographical obstacles fade into the ether when I look down at the beautiful woman beside me. She knows me. Better than I know myself. She's passed every protective shield, silly obstacle and childish deflection I've thrown up at her. I know I'm not worthy of her. This is not a self-esteem issue (well, maybe a little) but just fact. She deserves far better than Spooky Mulder. But, she's a smart woman who seems to have made her own choice. Far be it for me to question her judgement in this matter. We wander out to the edge of a semi-deserted pier because Scully wants to show me the Golden Gate Bridge. It's a lovely site, a perfect view, but I'm beyond caring about anything but her and what I want to happen. I turn her around slowly and look down at her. In the darkness, her eyes are partially hidden, but I can see enough of a gleam in them to know she wants what I do. We both chuckle a little self-consciously, possibly worried that we're going to make the same mistake and introduce our noses again. Not this time. I cradle her face and, smiling, lower my head to hers. This time, she zigs and I zag. THE END Authors Notes Again: Aren't you tired of me? This is truly the end of the story. Mulder and Scully were both waaay to distracted to keep telling me what went on the rest of the evening in great detail, but from what I can tell, it was all good, baybeee! So, I left them perfectly silhouetted against the Golden Gate Bridge, locked in a romantic embrace. Fade to Black. Thank you so much for making it this far.