Title:  Standing Scared
Author:  Scullysfan

Rating:  PG
Classification:  VA
Spoilers:  Sein und Zeit
Disclaimer:  The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property of 
Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are not mine and no 
copyright infringement is intended. 
Distribution:  Do not archive at Gossamer. Anyone else, please 
ask first. Thanks. : )
Summary: On the outside looking in at a world made just for two, 
a brave man learns to fear those whom he wishes to protect.


Feedback: Any and all comments longed for at 
slong001@midsouth.rr.com  


Dedication: For Kris -- partner-in-crime and sister.  Never mind that 
pesky biology. <g>  Happy early 21st, and don't come cryin' to me 
when you blow everything on the slots.  ; )

Author's notes and thanks following story.


~~~~~~~


Scully scares the hell out of me.  

That realization slams into my gut just as her pointed stare drills 
into my eyes.  She's planted in the middle of the airplane's first 
class section, ignoring boarding passengers as they jostle 
briefcases and laptops, trying to stow away carry-ons and take 
their seats.  The ticket stub in her hand directs her to seat 4C.  

Mulder is slumped against the window in seat 5A, the space next 
to him vacant and has my name on it.  

Yes, Scully, I see what you mean.

I had moved to take my seat when Scully pinned me with a glare 
not unlike the one she wore after opening Mulder's apartment door 
this morning.  Her fierce determination to protect him filled that 
doorway.  I saw it written on her face -- no one was going to bring 
him more grief, not on her watch.  But a little girl is missing.  Two 
other people are grieving, and we have a job to do.  

Despite what she must believe, I'm not wholly insensitive to 
Mulder's loss.  I pleaded with Billie LaPierre to speak with one of 
the agents already on-site and when she refused, I booked two 
first class seats, instead of the coach accomodations the 
Bureau's finance department prefers.  At least Mulder wouldn't be 
crammed into a seat barely big enough for Scully or surrounded 
by quite as many strangers who had no idea he'd lost the last 
remaining member of his family.

She deemed insignificant my attempt at good intentions with the 
set of her jaw and an icy order.  "Well then you'd better book 
three."  It left me wondering once again when the superior and 
subordinate roles had been switched and why no one had 
informed me.

The look she's giving me now bears an uncanny resemblance to 
this morning's.  The one that reduces me to a predator in her eyes.  
She's protecting Mulder from me, from the world, and I'll admit it 
hurts just a little to know she probably doesn't care how that 
makes me feel.  I motion to my left in surrender.

"Agent Scully, why don't you take the seat next to Agent Mulder 
and I'll be in --"

"Thank you, sir."

Cutting short my offer, she slips past me and into the wide, 
leather-covered chair and turns immediately to her partner.  
Dismissed, I take my place one row ahead and across the aisle.  
My seatmate acknowledges my presence with a grunted good 
morning and, without waiting for a reply, returns to stock prices 
scrolling along his laptop's screen.

With the practiced nonchalance of a seasoned flyer, I ignore the 
flight attendant's safety lecture and watch Mulder and Scully out 
of the corner of my eye.  

Scully's rummaging in her bag, soon pulling out a small bottle of 
orange juice and a pill container.  Unscrewing the juice lid, she 
offers the drink to Mulder.  He accepts it with the shaky 
movements of a mechanical toy running on its batteries' last legs.  
Her offer of the pills -- sedatives, I would guess -- doesn't go over 
as well.  He shakes his head.  I can't hear him over the roar of the 
engines as the plane begins its taxi, but he makes a token protest.  
And that's all it is, a token protest.  He can no more stand against 
her will than I could.  She whispers to him.  I know her voice is a 
whisper, that it's not the noise drowning her out, because it has 
always been this way.  The two of them alone, turned inward, 
their wagons circled.  Their words only for each other's ears.

He swallows the pills and empties the juice in a few gulps before 
handing the bottle back to her.

Tucking it into the seat pocket in front of her, she sinks back into 
the cushions, and her eyelids slip shut as the plane hurtles down 
the last few yards of runway and lifts off.  Her head rocks gently 
from side to side with the shaking ascent of the jet.  She looks
tired, even more so than he does.  If it was a hard night for him, 
what must it have been for her... bearing his pain and her own.  A 
feminine Atlas.

Yes, Scully scares me.  Even when she's at her most tender, as 
she is now, shifting in her seat to tuck one leg under the other so 
that she's turned toward Mulder.  His face is already lax in sleep, 
his head drooping in her direction, and I doubt he is aware of  his 
hand cradled between hers.  Neither must he feel the almost 
imperceptible movement of her thumb over the back of his hand.  

Her fingers join her thumb in tracing patterns up and down each of 
his fingers, over his wrist and back again.  

It's my mistake to assume she's unaware of her surroundings, or to 
think my mesmerized observation of them would go unnoticed, for I 
had ceased to watch them peripherally.  With my neck craned in 
their direction, I no doubt resemble the family mutt peering 
pathetically through the screen door at the meal being eaten inside.

This mutt tucks his tail and faces forward in his seat when the 
door slams in his face. Scully's sudden glance across the aisle 
morphs into a suspicious stare and startled, I leave them to the 
solitude she demands.

I leaf through the case notes for Amber Lynn's disappearance until 
I can no longer concentrate.  Stealing a look at my agents I find 
them just as I left them.  The flight attendants are serving drinks 
and the expensive mixed nuts that go along with the expensive 
everything else in first class, but they move briskly past Mulder 
and Scully at the latter's sharp shake of her head and silent 
warning not to wake her partner.

They're afraid of her, too.

Settling back in my seat I consider my fear of Scully.  Being 
truthful, I must acknowledge that fear and guilt walk hand-in-hand 
in my life, and that maybe I'm not as afraid of Scully as I am of 
myself. 

It frightens me that this agent, this woman, this tremendous human 
being who has suffered violations and losses no one should 
experience, has survived to be stronger and more uncompromising 
than I could hope to be.  It frightens me that even in feeble 
attempts to right wrongs, I've failed more often than not.  Most of 
all it frightens me to recall the times she has looked at me with 
doubt in her eyes, but also belief... belief that I have betrayed her, 
or worse in her eyes, him.  This morning was just the latest such 
incident.

It can't continue.  I don't want to be this way, trapped between a 
fucking rock and a hard place, taking two steps toward salvation 
and then five steps toward Hell.  Maybe that's my ultimate fear, 
that one day the dial on Krycek's little machine will turn just far 
enough to explode my heart, and Mulder and Scully will never 
know if I was traveling the road to good or evil when it happened. 

The rumble of the food cart moving down the aisle interrupts the 
long-time rumuniations I occasionally indulge.  Feeling the need to 
take a piss before the requisite chicken, fish, or roast beef is 
served, I walk to the lavatory situated in front of this section of 
seats. 

Occupied.  Shit.  

Turning to head back to my seat, I find the way blocked by flight 
attendents as they fill food and drink requests, so I settle against 
the outside of the lavatory to wait.  Unexpectedly I notice it affords 
me an all-too-clear view of one of my agents in turmoil.  

From here I watch as Scully again declines service, this time of 
lunch, and turns to calm Mulder.  

It's a nightmare, I know.  I remember.  The tremors, cold sweats, 
my own voice drawing me from sleep with a shout or sometimes 
nothing more than a whisper.  

Mulder hasn't reached the shouting stage yet, though he's restless 
and the whimpers I can see, if not hear, are loud enough to attract 
the unwelcomed attention of passengers in front of them.  Scully 
captures his face between her hands and smoothes her thumbs 
over his cheeks, shaking him a little until his eyes open.  For the 
first time today a smile breaks across her face, but it's a tenuous 
one and it fades as his eyes slip shut again and his head bows.  

She talks to him in earnest, her hands never leaving his body, and 
I wonder if Mulder realizes his loss is not complete as long as he 
has this woman. 

Eyebrows raised and head tilted, she asks a question.  His 
answer, a sigh and shake of his head, makes her shoulders 
slump, but only for a moment. She tries to move the armrest from 
between them, and I see her swear as she realizes it won't budge.  
Undeterred she lifts his right arm and brings it around her 
shoulders.  A few graceful maneuvers later, and her back rests 
against his chest and the armrest, her head leaning on his 
shoulder as his chin rubs through her hair.  Her left hand reaches 
across her stomach to hold his hand as it squeezes her arm, and 
together they rest.

Scully might be a frightening woman, but she's also wise -- wise in 
the ways of a broken man. She's giving Mulder something to hold 
onto, while his world spins in maddening circles.  

Sharon knew these things, too.  She gave herself to me as a 
talisman against horrors found in sleep, when mortar shells flew 
through dreams to explode in our bed, when sheets tangling 
around legs became the clutching hands of dying comrades in 
arms. 

The lavatory door opens and I exchange hellos with a young 
woman as she exits and I leave the tableau before me to take her 
place.  

The rest of the flight passes without incident.  Mulder and Scully 
barely move, and I manage to get a few moments sleep, trying in 
vain to ward off the headache building between my eyes.  

Upon landing, I suggest they proceed to baggage claim where I 
will meet them after picking up our rental car documentation and 
keys at the Lariat counter.  Twenty minutes and a few dozen forms 
later and I'm approaching Baggage Claim B when I spot them.  It's 
not Scully's hair that draws my attention or Mulder's tall frame.  
It's that they're the only two people alone in a crowd.  

He sits on the metal edge of the baggage carousel, his knees 
apart to accomodate her standing between them.  She rests one 
hand on his shoulder, the other holding her laptop and carry-on. 
Deep in huddled conversation, her body blocking his view, her back 
turned toward me, neither notices as I move quietly to stand 
behind the large, square support beam just a few feet behind her.  

"...is over, I think you should request some time off."  

"Scully, I don't -- "

"Yes, Mulder, you do need it..." 

I tilt my head in her direction, straining to hear as her voice drops.

"... I need it for you."

They are silent for a moment and just as I begin to step from my 
hiding place, Mulder reminds me of my unstable position in their 
eyes.

"Skinner'll never approve the time, Scully.  It hasn't been that long 
since I was out for weeks after... after my... after you came back 
from Africa."

Her voice is hard when she begins to speak again but it gives way 
to soft murmurs that I wish I knew.  "He will approve it, Mulder, 
don't worry.  Don't worry.  I'll take care of everything."

My presence either goes unnoticed or ignored when I move from 
behind the post. Mulder is leaning forward, the top of his head 
resting against her stomach as her hand makes wide sweeps up 
and down his back.  

When this is over, she'll come to me.  Just as she promised him, 
she'll come to take care of everything, her eyes blazing, daring me 
to deny her.  I won't take that dare. 

Scully scares the hell out of me.

  

THE END

~~~~~~

Author's notes and thanks: Glory be, I wrote a Skinner fic!  
Apparently friendship knows no limits.  ;- )  I can't take credit for 
the story idea -- my best friend, Kris, asked for it for her birthday, 
and she was even nice enough to plot the thing for me, more or 
less.  With that much done, kinda hard to say no.  <g>  So happy 
early birthday, Kris!  

Big thanks to fabulous beta-readers -- Jill, Jerry, Laney, and Lisa.  
Lisa, especially for instruction in the ways of first class.  <g> 
Laney,for bouncing around Skinner ideas and sparking thoughts.  
Jerry, for helping to iron out wrinkly sentences and a little tutoring 
in Fic Logistics 101.  And Jill, for saving me from calling this story 
"Skinner".  Hello, my name is Shari, and I'm title-impaired.  


If you have thoughts on this story, I'd love to hear them at: 
slong001@midsouth.rr.com