Category:  MSR/PG-13
Spoilers:  US Season Five/all
Archive:   Do NOT forward to ATXC.  Please archive anywhere, just keep
my name and E-mail attached.
Summary:  Light MSR mind-candy.  No redeeming value claimed. <grin>

TITLE:  A DETOUR TO FELICITY
Author:  by syn
synnerX@yahoo.com
Feedback:  Begged for pathetically, as always. ;-)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had begun with the sleeping bag that was laying on his desk.

It was dark green, six pounds, with a temperature rating of minus ten
including a fully retractable zipper. It even had a small down hood
for those *just in case* sort of winter nights and was neatly rolled,
fresh from its factory bag, the smell of new nylon still clinging to
it.  Somehow, though Mulder really couldn't tell why, as incongruous a
piece of equipment for an office it might have been, it fit neatly
amongst the scattered files and half-filled, moldy coffee cups and the
single odd sunflower seed shell that held court on his desktop.

So, when Fox Mulder finally took his seat, he left it there, large,
soft and dark green, lying smack in the midst of his work.  He'd just
pulled a file out from underneath it, when he heard the office door
open and the familiar sound of Scully's heels clicking over the worn
basement floor.

"Good morning, Mulder" she said, as she had nearly every work day for
the past four years.

"Good morning, Scully," he replied, turning in his chair to face her.
He tilted his head toward the bag.  "Is it my imagination, or has it
begun to rain sleeping bags inside the office?"

Scully looked at him for a very long moment, an expression of perfect
serenity hovering over her, shining, as perhaps an angel might.  "Yes,
it has," she replied, as he noted with some surprise how bright and
blue her eyes were and how her pale and thin cheeks had finally
regained their color...and their life.

A tiny dawn rose in Fox Mulder's mind. "Does this mean I've gotten
lucky?" he said, slowly...jokingly, waiting for the punch-line that he
knew was just around the corner of this conversation, waiting for it
to appear, as it had in every other.

But Scully didn't smile or laugh at him, with a raised eyebrow or
crinkled nose.  Instead, her expression remained absolutely composed,
as if her soul had become content with itself, at last.

"Yes, it does," she replied.

It was then that Fox Mulder realized that no punch-line was
forthcoming.  He attempted not to gape or stare or even tremble as she
started to speak, in smooth, collected tones, the ones she had
perfected over the years of her schooling, her work and finally, their
partnership.

"It's taken me a long time, longer than it should have, Mulder, but
after the past few months, I have to admit that I've had revelations,
revelations of all types.  I can't say that these were new ideas,
because they've always lurked somewhere in my mind, but when I became
sick, they were pushed to the forefront, to a part of my consciousness
where they could no longer be ignored."

Mulder turned away and stared at the sleeping bag, trying to slow his
breathing by counting the stitches in its seams, as Scully's voice
continued to float around him, like smooth water or a placid wind.

"When I was ill, I was lead to believe, by my doctors and even myself,
that there was no chance, no hope at all for recovery, therefore, I
decided to keep these revelations, these discoveries, hidden within
myself, for their admission would do nothing but cause more pain than
had been already inflicted on those concerned."

A hand, warm and small was on Mulder's shoulder now, its pressure
slight, but inescapably strong.  He closed his eyes and swallowed
dryly, as Scully continued.

"But, as you know, something happened, Mulder.  It was supposed to be
a singular miracle that I'd been blessed with, everyone said so, but I
knew that there were a multitude of them, miracles upon miracles, had
happened on that day. For it wasn't only another chance at life that
I'd gained, but a chance to share the revelations that I'd kept hidden
for all that time, to share what I knew as the truth in my heart. And
I believe it's time to tell this person, what I've learned, what I
believe...what I *know* to be the truth."

Mulder felt a finger lift his chin and his eyes opened to see
fathomless blue ones returning his gaze.

"I've learned that I love you, Fox William Mulder, with all that I
ever was, with all that I am, and with all that I could ever hope to
be," she said, the tranquility of conviction shining around her. "And
that's the truth."

Fox Mulder sat, still trying not to gape, or stutter, or tremble. He
felt two lips brush against his forehead and then retreat.  Scully
quietly turned around and picked a file up from her desk as she'd done
nearly every work day for the past four years.

"I'm going to the lab with this, Mulder," she said, crisply and
professionally.  "And please, don't forget..."

"Yes?" he croaked out, not sure it was his own voice he heard.

"There are no conditions attached to my love for you."

And as Fox Mulder watched her turned and silently leave the office, he
knew that there was only one thing left that he could possibly do.  He
calmly picked up his car keys and slowly put on his jacket.  He strode
purposefully to the elevator, strolled quickly through the lobby,
quietly exited the two front doors and when he finally reached the
sidewalk...

Fox Mulder ran like hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~

That's how he'd ended up in a very cheap, very dusty motel in the
southern-most part on the wrong side of nowhere, a town
inappropriately named "Felicity".  He'd spent the day trying his
hardest to think up interesting antonyms for the word, but coming up
with nothing, he'd tried instead to concentrate on the case he was
trying his damnest to make out of three sighting of a large albino bat
that had the residents terrified, even after the traces of bleached
flour had been found sprinkled liberally over all the areas where The
White Devil Bird had been seen.

There *might* be a mystery here, he'd thought miserably, laying back,
still fully-dressed on top of the motel room bed, its scratchy and
not-exactly-clean comforter making his neck itch. Or, there might a
mystery somewhere else, he'd thought, somewhat hopefully. Like in
Fuji...or Iceland...

Or Jupiter.

Or, maybe I'll just commit myself now to the Old Boy's Home For
Cowards and save myself the travel time, he thought, clutching his
head and groaning into his palms.  Idiot, he chanted, over and over
again, a soothing mantra he'd used all his life, to assuage his pain,
by saying first what he knew was going to be said to him by everyone
else.

What an idiot.

Why on earth would he have come all the way out there when he had the
perfect X-File, right in his office?  A case worthy of any that he'd
ever worked on, wondered about or even heard of. The case of a
beautiful, intelligent, woman, one whom he trusted and adored,
confessing that she loved him, entirely and unconditionally, and
instead of sweeping her up and ravishing her like any sane man would,
he'd driven like a madman to a town that was populated by three cows,
five dimwits and one flour-covered bat.

And why?

Because, for the first time in Fox Mulder's long career of bravely
going where no one, not even the hardiest souls, would dare to tread,
he felt fear.  A terrible gnawing fear, that made him shake and
twisted his insides into awful, miserable knots of terror. The worst
of all possible things had happened to him, the only thing on this
planet or any other, that could turn him into a shaking, miserable
wreck.

He was loved.

By someone that he loved in return.

He clutched his stomach at the thought.  Loved.  What could be worse?
Especially by a woman who deserved so much better than the paranoid,
loser idiot that he knew himself to be.  Mulder squeezed his eyes shut
and kept chanting, reciting from the astonishing thesaurus of insults
that was rattling through his mind.

//Pinhead...simpleton...jerk...kook...dimwit...//

He'd almost run out of adjectives, when he heard the knock on the
door.  Oh good, he thought hopefully.  The mothmen have decided on a
little trip up north.  "Come in," he said, hoping they'd sharpened
their fangs a little more carefully this time.  He started to silently
chant again, his eyes still tightly shut, when he felt himself being
pulled up by the knot of his tie.

"My love for you may be unconditional, but the terms of our
professional partnership are not," said a familiar voice.

Mulder looked up with a start to see Scully, her eyes blazing and her
right hand wrapped firmly in his tie.  "And if you ditch me *one* more
time Fox Mulder, I will make you wish that you were spending your days
making balloon animals at kiddie parties dressed in a Barney suit.
Got that?"

Mulder swallowed harshly and nodded.  "Got it."

"Good," she replied, letting him go. With a sigh, she sat on the edge
of the bed and looked around the dirty motel room with a grimace.  "I
scared you that badly, huh?"

"No...yes," he replied miserably.  "I mean...you know..."

Scully gently took his fingers between hers and squeezed them.  "I
did.  And I'm sorry.  But it had to be said at some point, Mulder.
I'm no longer a believer in waiting.  Life is too short, much too
short."

Her voice turned gentle, soothing. "But I'm still me, Mulder.  There's
nothing here now that wasn't there before.  You believe that, don't
you?"

Mulder merely nodded, not wanting to trust his voice, the slight choke
of tears already threatening to come forth.     "Scully, listen.  I..."

But she shushed him, a slim finger against his lips.  "And you realize
that I didn't tell you this because I expected my affections to be
returned to me in immediate and equal measure?  You do, don't you?"

Another nod.

"And that no conditions means just that.  I love you, simply because I
must, without pride or even hope.  I love you this way, because I
don't know of any other way to love you and there's nothing that I can
do to change it.  You understand this, don't you?"

He turned to her, and her desperate glance was so piercing and so
unhappy, he drew in his breath at the sight.  "So, please.  If you
don't feel the same way," she said, with a trembling smile.  "I
understand."

"That's not it, Scully," he replied in an unhappy voice, slowly lying
back down, shutting his eyes tightly once more. "That's not it at all."

"Then what is it?" she softly replied, lying down next to him, her
fingers still entwined with his, their warm strength quietly creeping
through him, whether he wanted it to or not.

He took another deep breath before replying.  "I have all sorts of
problems, Scully.  You don't know the half of them."

"Try me," she replied dryly.

"You know, all this?  These things that I do?  These things that I'm
looking for?  I know now it wasn't only about Samantha, Scully.  After
I found her, I realized that my obsessive search into her
disappearance was a smokescreen for a much larger, much more
fundamental problem that I had."

"And that would be?"

"That I'm nuts," he replied miserably.

At this, Scully merely smiled.

"And I can't shake it.  I don't think there's a therapy on earth that
can help me, help me get rid of this feeling that there's something,
someone invisible and overwhelming surrounding us, bent on the
destruction of the truth and our freedom.  That there things being
hidden from me, purposefully hidden, and that I have to find out what
they are, as if my very life depends on it."

"I see."

"And that's nuts.  Right?" he asked, turning and searching her eyes
for an agreement, but, to his great surprise, he didn't find one.

"Right?" he repeated, trying to find something, anything besides the
love that shining from her features, the love that proving him to be
wrong about so many of his beliefs.  The beliefs about himself. That
he *was* insane.  That he was crazy.  A crazy, hopeless fool...an idiot.

And that he couldn't possibly be loved.  At least, not by her.

But search as he tried, he couldn't see past what that shone there.
It was love, fire-bright, honest and perfectly expressed, without a
single word.  He continued to stare into Scully's eyes, even as her
lips gently took his underneath their own soft warmth, stayed and then
withdrew without a sound. Mulder traced a finger along her jaw,
wondering at its smooth lines, and he put his palm against the plane
of her cheek, warm silk against his rough hand.  He drew in a sharp
breath when she turned and kissed its worn surface, not with kindness,
but with passion.

"Scully," he began, his voice trembling along with the rest of him.
"I think there's something else you should know."

She let go of his hand and gently pushed a lock of hair from his eyes.
"Yes?"

"I'm not good in bed," he blurted out, wondering what moronic demon
had just possessed him to say that.

Scully bit her lip, hard, and turned her hysterical laugh into a
cough.  "Oh, Mulder.  I think we can deal with that later."

"And...and I forget important dates and anniversaries," he continued,
trying to gauge her reaction out of the corner of his eye.  "I'll
never remember your shoe size and I'll probably buy you the same watch
every Christmas and birthday."

"At least I'll know what time it is," she shrugged, still struggling
not to laugh.

"I only use organic toothpaste and my deodorant wears off every
evening at around seven," he said, now sounding a bit desperate.

Scully nodded with a grin. "Well, I already knew that."

He turned toward her, a smile just beginning to curl the edges of his
lips.  "You did?"

"Yes, I did.  And you buy your ties from Sears, your car needs new
struts and your overbite is returning, ruining thousands of dollars
worth of brace work, only because you won't get that wisdom tooth
yanked.  Your hair is getting gray in the back and there are tiny
lines around your eyes now, especially when you smile."

"Oh.  Well, I better stop smiling then," replied Mulder, in a somewhat
disgruntled tone.

Scully turned toward him, her own smile shining.  "Please don't.  I
love those lines."

"Really?"

"Really," she replied and tried to kiss him once more, when he
interrupted her again.

"Oh, and there's one more thing I forgot to tell you," he said.

Scully sighed, and flopped back with a resigned expression. "Yes?"

"I've been in love with you for years," he said with a wry smile.
"Possibly longer."

Dana Scully grabbed his tie once more, yanking him toward her, until
their foreheads touched.  "You're a dead man, Mulder," she whispered,
before taking his lips once more with her own.  "Dead..."

~~~~~~~~~~
end

synnerX@yahoo.com

feedback is greeted with tears of ecstasy...
syn ;-)
 
 
 

==

"Unlike profiling serial killers, writing is a lonely and depressing profession." - Jose Chung

JOIN...The X-Anarchy Pen XFFanfiction List!
Send an age statement to...
XAPEN@aol.com

__________________________________________________________________
Sent by Yahoo! Mail. Get your free e-mail at http://mail.yahoo.com