TITLE: Car Ride, 1/3 AUTHOR: JLB CLASSIFICATION: V, A, MSR RATING: PG SPOILERS: Duane Barry/Ascension, Blessing Way/Paper Clip, Cancer Arc, Christmas Carol/Emily, FTF, Two Fathers/One Son SUMMARY: What happened after M&S left that hanger? (post -One Son) DISCLAIMER: Of course I don't own them. CC and 1013 do. Because if they were mine...well let's just say things would be a lot different right now. FEEDBACK: God, I'd love it. Amory20@aol.com See, I'm a Fan Fic virgin so I'd be thrilled to find out what everyone thinks. But please remember...it's my first time so be gentle. Car Ride by JLB We haven't spoken for the last ten minutes, but I will not be the one to break the silence. I refuse to give in first even though I know that this entire situation is strange and I should make allowances. I'm driving Skinner's car, which he graciously offered to us since he had to stick around and oversee the official investigation. Part of me wishes I that I had insisted on staying, that I had just let Mulder take the car and go by himself. I could have caught a ride with someone else later. But then I would have been avoiding the inevitable, not confronting this head on. Not like I'm actually confronting anything now, but at least we're sitting in the same car, even if it is in complete silence. But I refuse to speak first. I will not do it. For a variety of reasons. Yes, I'm still angry with him. I'm still hurt that he refuses to listen to me ab out her, that he'd like to write it off as some sort of territorial jealousy. He'd probably get some perverse thrill out of watching us pull out each other 's hair, claw at each other's faces. Well, there's zero chance that I'= d let that happen so he'll just have to fantasize. That's actually a scary thoug ht since his fantasies probably involve hot oil or mud wrestling. I refuse to speak first because I don't know what to say. I don't know the words that will fix this, will repair the rift that has somehow formed bet ween us, even after seven years, even after Duane Barry and Missy and his fathe r and my cancer and Emily and a host of flukemen and assorted mutants. I don't know the words that he needs to hear, the things that will comfo rt him now when he's convinced that the world is about to end, the sky abou t to crash down on us. She probably does. Maybe that's why he was with her tonight. I tried to convince myself th at he was affected by what the Gunmen and I showed him, so he went to her for answers, for the truth. But maybe he just wanted to be with someone who believes him, without question, without demanding proof. Someone who could understand his fears and concerns because she shares them, or at least, says she does. I still don't know what happened between them exa ctly. I still don't know how they came together, what tore them apart. I don 't know if he loved her, if he still loves her. And I can't think of a single, rational reason why that should matter to me, but I'll leave that alone right now. All I do know is that she does not deserve his unconditional trust, which he seems to ha ve turned over to her without hesitation. And I shouldn't have to take up the burden of conversation anyway becaus e I'm trying to focus on the road. For once, I'm the one in the driver's s eat and I want to take the task seriously. It's difficult with him beside me. His pre sence, as always, is a distraction. I steal a glance over in his direction. His h ead is thrown back against the seat, and his eyes are shut. He looks tired, but more t han that really. I mean, I've seen him tired before =96 circles under his eyes, the lines in his face more pronounced after a night of terrible dreams. This is different, something more. Over the years, I've memorized his face, become familia r with the color and texture of his skin, the fullness of his mouth, the slo pe of his nose, and God help me, the color of his eyes =96 all their infinite shades, their light and darkness. I know his face as I know my own. So sometimes when I look at him, I almost feel as if I'm looking in a mirror because I kn ow I'd see the same things in my own face =96 pain, fear, emptiness. But when I loo k at him now, I see someone I don't know. The pain and fear and emptiness are all still there, but mixed with something else, something new. Resignatio n, defeat. For a moment, I contemplate taking my hand off the steering wheel and running my fingers down his cheek, along his jaw, for mutual reassura nce, to let him know I'm still here, to remind myself that he's still aliv e, still warm, and still, despite the bureau, despite Diana, still my partner. But then I remember what has transpired in the last twenty-four hours, and I lose al l desire to reach out to him. He starts to shift loudly in his seat, but I keep my eyes on the road. I realize suddenly how many stars are visible tonight, dozens filling the blue-black sky, and I forget again for a moment and almost point out the beauty to him. He sighs heavily, but I continue to ignore him, every muscle in my body straining to keep up the charade. I don't know if he realizes, if he understands how desperately I am trying to appear neutral, unaffected, how much I feel like screaming right now, at him, at Diana, at the world for being the unjust, cruel place that it is. But I won't. That's not who I am. Maybe once. A long time ago when I didn't feel quite so guilty about not being indestructible. A lifetime ago though, so far and so distant that I barely resemble that girl anymore. Her face was soft and full while mine is hard and angled. I wonder if he notices how I've changed. I wonder if he can see it. Suddenly I feel him turn to look at me. The silence in the car is palpable. He hasn't said a word to me since we left the hangar, when he tried to explain what had happened. I just listened quietly, and nodded. I didn't ask for proof or evidence, though I had a difficult time making sense of any of it. But when he was finished, he closed himself off, and neither of us spoke again, though we have plenty of things to say, I think. At least I do. I planned a ten minute monologue in the two minutes it took for me to get to my car from the Gunmen's place earlier tonight, but I know I'll never share it with him. He opens the window a crack, and I feel cold air rush in, hitting me directly across the face. I must wince because he shuts the window almost immediately. "Sorry," he says, his eyes closed once again. "It's okay," I manage weakly. "I think that's the most you've said to me all night." He lays his head back against the seat, but turns so he can watch me, gauge my reaction. Continued in pt. 2 Date: Sat, 27 Feb 1999 02:13:44 EST Car Ride (2/3) by JLB (Amory20@aol.com) "It's okay," I manage weakly. "I think that's the most you've said to me all night." He lays his head back against the seat, but turns so he can watch me, gauge my reaction. "I'm sorry if I don't feel like making small talk right now, Mulder." I almost sound tough. Indestructible. "Oh come on, Scully. I'm just dying to know what you think about this cold front that's hitting us from the north." The double meaning of his words isn't lost on either of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him half-smile. "I'm not in the mood, Mulder." "Damn, and I was just gonna suggest we find some cheap motel and get it on." I glare at him quickly, but pointedly. "I'm glad this is so amusing for you, Mulder." "Yeah, this is a barrel of laughs. Come on, Scully. Work with me here. I need some clue as to why you're so pissed off." "If you need a clue then-" "God, Scully, can't you be straight with me for once?" For a moment, I think I might cry. I feel as if I'm about to burst into tears or flames or something. Every emotion in me is about to bubble to the surface, explode in a fit of light and heat. He always seems to find a way to get to the heart of things, the heart of me, and I resent him for it more than I can say. "If you're accusing me of not being honest with you or holding something back, Mulder, you've got a lot of nerve. A hell of a lot of nerve." My voice is even but he knows I mean business. "I'm not doubting your honesty, Scully. I'm not that stupid. All I 'm saying is you can tell me what you're really feeling without being afraid of appearing weak." I don't respond. He knows me so well and it frightens me. I try to focus on the road ahead of me. "Scully, I know it's not easy. I know it's hard to open up but don't you think that after everything" "Don't you dare! Jesus, Mulder! Don't even start. You have no right to preach to me about opening up, not when you won't do the same in return." "Is this about Diana again?" He sighs, annoyed, frustrated. I want to slap him and throw him out of the car. I picture him slamming against the pavement , rolling into the dirt along the side of the road. "She's only part of it, Mulder. I cannot count how many times you've run off without telling me the truth, the full story. Not until you absolutely had to because you were in trouble or needed me to cover for you. You didn't even tell me about the possibility of me finding Emily, something that directly affected me. Admit it sometimes you don't trust me with your almighty truth. The thing is I'd like to think that after seven years together, I've earned your complete trust. That I deserve it." "So now I don't trust you at all? This is ridiculous, Scully. Of course I trust you." "But you trust her more, is that it?" I say angrily. "What is this, a contest?" Without even looking at him, I know he's smirking. I can hear it in his voice. "You know what, Mulder? It is. And the winner takes all." I sound dramatic, even to myself. "Well that's positively cryptic." "I'm looking out for you. Why can't you see that? Why can't you see that I wouldn't question Diana's loyalty unless I honestly thought there was reason to?" "Scully, will you just admit that some of your motivation is purely personal. That your emotions have affected-" "No, actually, Mulder, the truth is that it's all personal. You matter to me. And not solely in a professional capacity. I care about you. I want to protect you. I would think that by now that's evident. I mean, after everything I've gone through?" I can't finish the thought. I don't want to finish. But suddenly his hand covers mine on the steering wheel. "Stop the car," he says in a firm voice, "Stop." Continued in pt. 3/3 Date: Sat, 27 Feb 1999 02:31:19 EST Car Ride (3/3) by JLB (Amory20@aol.com) "Stop the car," he says in a firm voice, "Stop." I follow his orders without thinking, almost afraid not to. I can't look at him but I know that's what he wants. I close my eyes and let out a long sigh. I feel his hand on my chin now, turning me to face him. I shiver at the touch of his warm fingers. "Look at me, Scully, " he says finally, when I still won't open my eyes. "What were you going to say? After everything you've gone through ... what?" I know how it will sound. He'll feel hurt, guilty, and that's really the last thing I want. But he's insistent. He won't let this go until I tell him. "After everything I've gone through... the abduction, losing my sister, the cancer, watching Emily die, do you honestly think I stay with you out of a sense of professional duty or responsibility? Anyone else would have walked away from this quest years ago. Anyone else would have run away from you a long time ago." I know there are tears in my eyes. I feel one escape and slide down my cheek. He looks like he might be teary eyed too, but I can barely make out his eyes in the dark car. "So why do you stay then, Scully?" His voice is so sad. I want to tell him. I want to say the words. I can't though. I won't. I'll just find some way around it. "I stay because I believe in you, because I believe in the power of the truth. I stay because you've shown me too much to ignore, things I carry with me everyday. I stay because after all these years, you mean something to me. You're my friend. I stay because this summer you told me you needed me and I believed you." I am crying fully now. I can hear him sobbing too, and I realize that he knows what I'm afraid to tell him. He understands. He stares at me for a moment, then shuts his eyes. "Is that enough?" he asks, sounding very tired, very far away. "I have to believe it is, Mulder. It feels like enough." He's slumped back in the seat, turning in on himself, feeding the guilt. I reach out and run m y fingers through his hair. He smiles weakly, straightening up quickly. "I do need you, Scully. More than you'll ever really know." We're quiet for a moment. I don't know what to do next. I'm waiting for him. As usual. "You know what, Scully?" he asks finally, looking me in the eye. I cock my head to the side in response. But he doesn't respond right away. Instead, he places his hand on top of mine. I watch as our fingers intertwine almost on instinct and hold my breath as I wait for him to continue. "I bet there aren't any bees in here," he says suddenly, in complete seriousness. There isn't even a hint of a smirk on his face. "No, Mulder. I bet there aren't." I return the serious look, but I feel positively giddy. "So Scully?" I barely realize that he's moving closer to me until is face is an inch from mine, until I can feel his warm breath on my mouth. He kisses me, firmly, intently, like someone who's been waiting on this kiss for a long time. I return it with the same urgency, forgetting everything else but the feel of Mulder. And for one moment, in a dark car on a deserted highway, I don't care that the world could end tomorrow. the end. "