Subtext: Darkness Falls

TITLE: Subtext 05: Into the Light
SPOILER STATEMENT: "Darkness Falls"; "Lazarus"; small ones for "Ice"
RATING: PG
CONTENT STATEMENT: M/S friendship, perhaps UST; a tiny bit of sap. A bad word or two.
CLASSIFICATION: V
SUMMARY: Post-ep for "Darkness Falls" And, yes, things are finally looking up for the Dynamic Duo. Quoth Trixie: "If these two people just make each other miserable all the time, what's the point?"
THANKS: To Robbie, Shannon and Sharon, for beta duty.

Subtext 05: Into the Light

by Brandon D. Ray

He was the first thing I saw when I woke up.

It was not what I had anticipated. As my consciousness slipped away for what I truly believed was the last time, I assumed I would soon either be suffused with the Holy Spirit as the Church has taught me, or I would suffer the complete lack of existence which science has lately led me to expect. Eternal life, or non-existence. Perpetual light, or final darkness.

I certainly did not dare hope that I would ever see Fox Mulder again.

Yet there he was when the darkness finally lifted, alive and whole and looking just too good to be true, despite the burns on his face and the oxygen tank he was carting around with him.

Part of me, deep down inside, thinks I should be worried about how good it felt to see him again, but I'm damned if I'm going to give in to that again. I've been down that road, thank you very much, and I'm just not going to do it again. Things have gotten so much better the last few weeks, and I'm not going to let it get away from me a second time.

I'm not going to let *him* get away from me a second time.

God, I can't believe I'm thinking these things. I can't believe I'm *feeling* these things. Most of all, I can't believe I'm *allowing* myself to feel these things.

But it feels good.

It feels liberating.

It started getting better right after the Dupre case -- the one where Jack was killed. I truly was on the brink of despair after that one. Things had not been right between Mulder and me since the trip to Icy Cape, and as I sat there in the bullpen staring at Jack's watch I was sure that it was all over. But somehow, in the aftermath of my father's death and Jack's death and all the other heartaches and upsets, Mulder and I managed to reverse the downward slide we'd been on ever since we'd slept together.

There. I can even use the words now without going into a tailspin. I still think it was a mistake, and I *know* it's something that should not and can not and *will* not be repeated, but at least now I can think about it and articulate the thought. I can accept it as part of my history, as part of *our* history, and move onward and upward, into the light.

And that's liberating, too.

Then came the trip to Olympic National Forest -- Mulder's "nice trip to the forest". The "nice trip" which we are even now recuperating from in a bio-isolation unit.

The old me, the me of a month ago, would be doing a slow burn over what this trip has cost me. Not merely the fact that I very nearly lost my life -- although that would have been bad enough. No, what really would have upset, shocked and disturbed me was the way I lost control when we were trapped in that cabin in the middle of the night.

I don't lose control. It just doesn't happen. And I *certainly* don't lose control when there is anyone around to witness the event.

Only this time I did. When we were up there in the woods in the dark, with nothing but a cranky old generator with an uncertain fuel supply standing between us and a horrible death, I just lost it, right there in front of Mulder and that Forest Ranger, Larry Moore. Somehow, some way, deep down inside, I knew that it would be okay to do so, and so I just abandoned my self-control for a few minutes.

And Mulder was there for me -- and what's even more remarkable is that I *let* him be there for me.

Which is something else I don't do. I don't let people hold me and take care of me and make me feel better. I realized a long time ago, before I even entered medical school, that it was going to be tough enough for me, as a woman, to function as an equal in the world. I couldn't afford to give any appearance of weakness -- not the slightest hint. And so I just don't let people get inside; I don't let them get that close.

But I let Mulder in, that night in the cabin.

And that felt good, too.

Mulder has actually wandered away for a few minutes, which is fine. He's been sitting by my bedside every waking minute since I regained consciousness two days ago -- and I suspect that he's been there while I slept, as well. Somehow I can feel his presence now, even when I'm sleeping. A few weeks ago I would have found this burdensome and oppressive, but now I actually take comfort in this sign of his concern, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief and contentment everytime I open my eyes and see him sitting there.

He hasn't really said much, and neither have I. But where long stretches of silence would previously have been heavy and uncomfortable, now they seem right and proper. When I think of something to say, I say it. And when Mulder has a response, he says that, too. And vice versa. But beyond that we just stay quiet and enjoy each other's company.

We've been smiling a lot, too.

There are a pair of ironies here that are not lost on me. The first is the fact that it took the death of my former lover to shake us loose from the trap we'd set for ourselves; the second is that it took our own near-deaths before we were really able to be completely free. These are two paradoxes which I suspect I will still be pondering when I finally really do lay on my deathbed. And perhaps if the Church is right and my science is wrong, I will finally be allowed to understand it.

But until then I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Mulder's coming back now, and so I push away the abstract thoughts and philosophical musings which have preoccupied me for the last few minutes. For once I'm going to reach out to someone, and just experience what life has to offer.

Onward and upward.

Into the light.

Fini

Title: Subtext 05: Willingly Confined
Author: Trixie
Spoilers: Blanket the 1rst season, shall we?
Archive: Knock yourself out.
Rating: PG
Classification: V, UST, itty bits of angst & sap.
Summary: Post-ep for 'Darkness Falls'

~

Subtext 05: Willingly Confined

~

I really hate being confined.

Not to mention the fact that my neck itches like crazy and every time I reach behind me to scratch, Scully gives me that Look of hers. That 'you know you're not supposed to be doing that because it's infected, so why are you even trying with me right here?' Look. I've decided that look is cute, and I will never, ever tell her so, because that would definitely be met with an unenthusiastic response.

The talk we had after Willis was killed has done our partnership the kind of good I don't think either of us anticipated when she arrived at my apartment that night. It wasn't what either of us said, so much, as the way we said it. We were open and honest and neither of us was wary around the other. We watched an old movie on AMC and she drove herself home just a little after midnight.

I admit it; I was tense that first day back to work together. I was scared to death all the progress we made, the new, tenuous understanding between us would be missing somehow. But when she'd walked into my office, she had a warm, if not wry, smile on her face. I gave her one in return and we both seemed to relax; it was okay. We were okay, and we were back.

I feel closer to her now; closer than I ever have before. I kissed that damned oxygen tank goodbye today and I couldn't be happier. It was a bitch to drag it around with me wherever I went. Now, I can move freely - if not a bit more slowly than usual - about these deluxe accommodations of ours. They say we've got another week of quarantine; I think we're up to the challenge.

Glancing to the left, I see Scully, hands on her hips, arguing the fact that she's =fine= and fully capable of moving about on her own. I contain a grin; the Doctor in his biohazard suit doesn't know what he's up against. He should just give up now; she's determined to walk around and he's sure as hell not going to stop her.

I'm glad she was more determined than I was to make this partnership work. Because left to my own devices, I most likely would've just let us - whatever that is - slip away. I have always been a loner; it's something that's familiar, something that's constant. =I= won't leave; I can depend on myself, I can trust myself. It's a safe feeling, knowing you're completely impervious to the rest of the world.

Impervious, that is, until a redheaded dynamo strides into your life and makes you question whom, exactly, you are. Scully is a force of nature; I was foolish to ever believe I could move out of the path of her particular storm.

This elevation in moods I'm experiencing is beginning to distress me. Fox Mulder just =isn't= happy on a regular basis. And he sure as hell doesn't fight back grins while in quarantine after almost dying on a 'nice little trip to the forest'.

Jesus, it just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I bet Scully's ready to throttle me after this one. We both thought aliens and liver-eating mutants were about as weird as it got. Who knew killer glowing bugs were around the next corner? Killer glowing bugs who wrap you in a cocoon to preserve your body . . .

Sometimes, I wonder if the day will come when nothing seems odd or away from the norm to us.

The doctor's about to be exposed to a full on Scully-explosion; I can tell by the tiny disapproving furrow between her brows. Scully can express a thousand different emotions just by the way she moves her eyebrows. There's the one-sided, incredulous slight lift of her brow; those I get when I throw a theory at her she's heard before but still doesn't believe. Then there's the creep up to her hairline 'are you looney-toons?' brow that, if I'm honest with myself, is my favorite.

Her skepticism can be trying at times; frustrating as hell. But it's also endearing, in an irritating sort of way. The way she handles herself; the way she handles others is inspiring. She has a way about her she doesn't fully realize or acknowledge herself, I don't think. I find myself once again updating the mental profile I have of her in my head; the fact that I do this on almost a daily basis is not lost on me.

My partner is beautiful; that is a given and something obvious to anyone with a pulse. She is intelligent, which to me is also obvious, but some feel the need to deny this fact to themselves until she has proven herself beyond a reasonable doubt. My partner is compassionate; she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve, by any means, but once you get to know her, you can tell. Her eyes soften and I can read anguish there when something moves her. In our work together so far, I have read sonnets and volumes of pain in Scully's eyes.

She doesn't allow herself to wallow in her own misery. She accepts the pain consuming her and sets it free. Whether by burying herself in work, or going out to lunch with her mother, Scully confronts her pain and deals with it, or buries it where it can't touch her. I wish she wouldn't bury it as much as she does, but it's how she copes and I cannot begrudge anyone their coping mechanisms; God knows I understand how vital they are to survival sometimes.

There are simple truths about Scully; she is intelligent, beautiful and professional. She misses her father, loves her family and wishes she could spend more time with them. Our partnership is important to her, but not to the exclusion of all else. She puts me first far more often than I'm entirely comfortable with; I don't like depending on people; needing them. My internal profile of myself immediately supplies the reason for this: people leave. And when they leave, that means someone has to be the one left.

I'm so tired of being the one left.

Deep down inside, I am afraid Scully will become essential to who I am; to the work, to my life, to everything. While the rational, cynical part of me denies this; denies anyone could ever be so all-consuming as to hinder me with their absence, another, much more frightened part of me believes. The part of me that believes does so with a ferocity usually reserved for little gray men. Scully could become as important to me as air or water. And should that happen, being left by Scully could potentially destroy me.

Make no mistake, I know she'll leave eventually. I watch her wait until the doctor walks away from her bed, then make a quick move to stand. He spins around and while I can't see his face, the expression there must be withering, for Scully sighs and lays back on the bed, tucking the covers primly over her legs. She will leave; it will be the best thing for both of us. She will most likely move onward and upward to become a bigwig upstairs. When this happens, I will most likely gain a contact high up and an occasional lunch buddy to reminisce with.

She will remain the best partner I've ever had; the only partner I've ever respected and the only woman I've ever . . . something. I chuckle at myself, at my own inner-morose musings. I hope I'm wrong, I realize. For the first time I can remember I hope I'm wrong; I hope that she won't leave and that five years from now we'll be working together, in some capacity or another. Hell, I just hope she'll be in my life five years from now. Because whether I like it or not, Dana Scully =is= an essential part of my life.

Sighing at the inevitability of it all, I slide off my bed and grab the deck of cards a nice doctor smuggled in for us. I watch as Scully's eyes meet mine, her expression hopeful. I waggle the cards at her and move very carefully across the room toward her.

I could get used to being confined.

~

END

~

When the ninth person in a day asked me 'Do you have a webpage?' I decided to stop fighting City Hall - but I will never stop fighting the future! (Yea, yea, I know, I know, adoration/obsession, fine line, yadda, yadda, yadda . . . )