Subtext: The Erlenmeyer Flask

TITLE: Subtext 07: Waiting
SPOILER STATEMENT: The Erlenmeyer Flask; small ones for "Ice" and "Tooms". If you've managed to avoid knowing why Scully was assigned to the X-Files, I suppose there's a spoiler or two for "Pilot" as well. ;)
RATING: PG, mostly because it can't possibly be rated G
CONTENT STATEMENT: M/S UST
CLASSIFICATION: VA
SUMMARY: Post-ep for "The Erlenmeyer Flask". The X-Files are shut down, and Scully is free to return to a more normal life, right?
THANKS: To Brynna, Paulette, Robbie, Shannon & Sharon, for beta reading.

Subtext 07: Waiting

by Brandon D. Ray

"They're shutting us down, Scully."

That's what he said on the phone when he called me two hours ago. "They're shutting us down, Scully."

I still can't quite believe it. In such a short time, in less than a year, the X-Files went from being a fringe project, something I was barely aware of from casual Bureau gossip, to being such a central part of my life. I'm going to miss the work, strange as it was; at the same time, I feel a little bit as if I'm about to re-enter the real world after a year-long sabbatical. It's been a strange trip -- in some ways a wonderful one. But I think I'm glad it's over.

I told Mulder he should fight the closure, of course. I told him to lodge a protest. I don't know whether he will though. He seemed so ... placid on the telephone. So calm. So resigned. So tired. Even as he said that he isn't going to give up, that he's going to continue to pursue the truth, he seemed flat and without affect. And that worried me.

Which is why I'm sitting in my car outside his apartment building at 1:30 in the morning, trying to get up my courage to knock on his door.

I know he's awake; if there was any doubt in my mind on that score, the slight movement I saw in the window a few minutes ago has laid that uncertainty to rest. I have a funny feeling he knows I'm out here, too. I don't know *why* I think that, but I do.

I also have a strong feeling that this is not the last I've seen of Fox Mulder. If this had happened a few weeks ago, it might have been different. It probably *would* have been different. But now -- well, we've been forming a bond which I like to think is stronger than that between two co-workers. We've been becoming friends, and I've been thinking lately that perhaps I'd like to get to know him a little better outside of working hours, but somehow the time never seemed to be quite right.

Maybe now I'll get that chance.

So if I really do feel this way, why am I just sitting here in my car watching his apartment window, instead of going on inside and checking to see that he's okay?

Part of the answer is easy, of course. The last time Mulder and I were in a situation like this -- alone together, late at night, under stress -- things happened. And although we've pretty well worked past that mistake at long, long last, there's still some residual tension between us because of it. Once burned, twice shy, and all that. Neither one of us wants to repeat that error, because this time it would probably destroy the trust we've been building these past few weeks.

Not that I'm necessarily opposed to pursuing that sort of relationship with Mulder. I've come to realize since our second encounter with Eugene Tooms that perhaps there is room in my life for more than just a professional partnership with this man -- even more than just a platonic friendship. I'm still not sure that he feels the same way, but there have been certain indications ....

Another reason I'm not going up there is a little less pleasant: Guilt. Guilt over whatever part I've played in the chain of events which finally led to the X-Files being closed. I know it hasn't been all my fault, but Mulder and I both know why I was assigned to work with him. I was supposed to spy on him, to debunk his work, and ultimately give the Bureau higher-ups the ammunition they needed to close the project for good. And I think I may have done my job just a little bit too well.

The irony of it is that I never did really accept that assignment -- not in the way that Section Chief Blevins and the others wanted, and probably not in the way that Mulder expected. I did not embark on a seek and destroy mission, or set out with the deliberate intention of bringing down this man and his work. Even when our personal relationship was at its absolute nadir, after the trip to Icy Cape, I didn't sink that low.

But I couldn't just give Mulder a pass, either, and I don't know if he ever really understood that. I had to remain fair and objective; I had to stay true to my conception of the scientific method and be rigorous in my analyses.

I had to be true to myself.

I *did* write the reports Blevins wanted -- I had little choice about that; it was an explicit part of my assignment. And even though I bent over backwards to be open-minded without sacrificing my objectivity, I'm afraid that my reports probably had a prominent role in the decision to shut down the X-Files.

So I guess the real reason I'm sitting down here by myself watching Mulder's window, instead of going on upstairs to try to, well, to try to comfort him, is that I'm not sure how I'd be received. And even if Mulder *did* accept my presence, I'm not sure I would deserve it. I may not be Judas; I never accepted the thirty pieces of silver in exchange for conscious betrayal. But I feel uncomfortably like Peter, having been forced by circumstance to utter a damaging denial of someone I care about.

Again I see motion at the window, and this time I'm almost certain I see Mulder's face, if only for an instant. He *does* know I'm down here; he has to know. I'm parked right across the street from his building, and he can't possibly have missed seeing my car, even if he can't see me sitting inside it.

I shift restlessly in my seat. I should just go up there. I should just set aside my fears and go to this man and make sure he's doing okay, and let whatever develops, develop. He did call, after all. He did reach out to me, for the first time, really, since Icy Cape. He wouldn't have called if he was holding me responsible for what's happened -- or if he had, the conversation would have been very different from what it was. But he didn't call to accuse me; he called to commiserate. He called for comfort.

But somehow I can't quite make myself get out of the car; I can't take that final step. I don't know what would happen if I went up there; I don't know where that path would take us. Everytime I think about doing it I feel myself flinch internally, and I'm just not strong enough to grit my teeth and do it anyway.

But I can't quite make myself start the engine and drive away, either. I can't abandon Mulder and leave him completely alone in his agony. Even if I don't go up there he knows I'm down here, and surely that must count for something. Just knowing that someone else cares must ease the pain, at least a little.

I hope it does, anyway, because right now that seems to be all I have to offer.

Fini

Title: Subtext 07: Wild Things
Author: Trixie
Classification: V
Distribution: Knock yourself out.
Spoilers: The Entire First Season
Summary: Post-Ep for Erlenmeyer Flask
Disclaimer: Isn't, never was, never will be.

Subtext 07: Wild Things

by Trixie

When I was little, my mother used to read me 'Where the Wild Things Are' (story and pictures by Maurice Sendak, originally published in 1963, thank you very much) every single night. That was the first thing I ever did with Samantha after she was born; before I held her, before I messed with her, before I talked to her, I read 'Where the Wild Things Are' to her. It wasn't my best job of storytelling, but it was the first time I'd tried to read a book out loud to anyone but myself and I was proud. As soon as the last line was read, I'd peered at her through the bars of her crib and whispered a greeting to her.

Her tiny eyes had opened as though she heard me; as though she understood me. A rare bond was formed between my sister and I that night; a bond I don't think all siblings share. Yes, we fought like cats and dogs. Yes, there were times I told her to get lost. Yes, there were times I even meant it. But no matter what, I always loved my sister; I treasured her, I found joy in her exuberance. I was a reserved child; Samantha was not. She was, for want of a better term, audacious.

And so while I had always pictured myself as Max, after reading it aloud to Samantha for the hundredth time, I began to realize she was more Max than I could ever be. She was a wild thing, free and untamable with a will of her own and the ambition to be anything she wanted to be. Queen of the Wild Things, if you will.

I really wasn't an odd child until after Sam was taken. I watched Star Trek, but that was where my fascination with the unknown ended. I wasn't the chemistry set, magnifying glass, ask why the sky was blue kind of kid. When I wanted to know something, I read a book; or I watched others interact. Samantha leapt right into the thick of things and demanded her curiosity be satisfied =immediately=.

I believe that when Sam was taken; when I lost her influence in my life, I adopted many of her characteristics. I became bolder; less willing to settle. I was more inquisitive and easily fascinated by life's little wonders. The sadness of losing my sister weighed heavily on my soul, but I effectively blocked it from my mind. I wasn't driven to find her until Dr. Werber helped me recover my memories.

After those memories returned, however, I became something more than I was before. Joining the FBI had already satisfied the curiosity in my nature, the need to help people. I was on the verge of quitting when I stumbled upon the X-files. Those files brought new purpose into my life; gave me hope, no matter how slim, that I might actually someday find Samantha. I was content to work alone on them, to dedicate my life in the pursuit of the truth. I didn't need or want a partner.

But then you came into my life; Scully, you came into my life and I resisted you. You amused the hell out of me at first; you were so young, so green. But in very short order, you proved yourself more than worthy of my respect; of my trust. I gave you everything without even realizing it. I think I might've even given you my heart.

We almost ruined what had morphed into the best partnership I'd ever witnessed, let alone been a part of. Whether it was the night we spent together, or our refusal to acknowledge it that put the wedge between us, I can't be sure. I only know that for months I couldn't reach you, couldn't touch you, could barely talk to you. It hurt; it hurt more than I realized then, more than I'm willing to admit to now.

Yet out of that pain, came an understanding; we understood each other. We understood what we were, what we are, and what we could be to each other. The air between us has been clear for weeks now; we've grown closer, strengthened the bond we formed at the very beginning, I believe, beyond reproach. You are my partner Scully; but they have done something I knew they would do. They have forced you to leave me.

By shutting down the X-files, they have done more to me than closing down a division. They haven't just changed my job; they've changed my life. They are stealing my hope and my faith in everything; in you, in us, in my dreams to find my sister. For reasons that are entirely their own, they do not want us in contact. And, for once, I believe they may be right.

I can't lose you the way I lost her; I can't devote my life to another search. I can't abandon my search for Samantha to search for you. I needed you here tonight Scully; I needed to hold your hand and hear your voice and look into your eyes. It grounded me and it gave me a reason to continue hoping; at least for now. Whatever happens in the future; whatever we decide between us, you will always be my partner Scully; they can't take that away from me.

Her car finally pulls away; I peer at her through a slit in my curtains as she disappears into the night. I told her everything tonight; everything I had kept in the confines of my soul for thirty-some odd years. I tried to explain to her exactly why I was deconstructing; why I was unable to let her in, even though I wanted to. Reflecting back on the words I spoke aloud to her, I don't think I adequately conveyed my point, but I do feel better having tried.

I watched her car for almost an hour before I came to the conclusion that she either wouldn't - or couldn't - come up. So, I went to her. I slid into the passenger seat of her car and we let the silence envelope us for a few, precious minutes. It was nice; I'd forgotten how good it felt to share silences with someone. In fact, I can't really remember a time when I'd ever shared silence with someone; other than Scully, that is.

There are things I have still not told her; things I am afraid to tell her. For instance, I did not explain that, to me, she is a wild thing all her own. Most people don't see it; she hides it well. But I see it; dancing behind her eyes; in the crook of her brow; a certain way she quirks her lips. She has a wild thing inside her, Scully does. I had hoped I would be allowed to see it one day; to really experience it. The one night we shared gave me a taste and I find myself hungry for more; more smiles, more laughs, more moans on both our parts.

For now, though, I can't allow that to happen. As hard as it will be, Ibelieve distance is best for us now. They have already separated us; shut us down. While I cannot give name to the feeling, an uneasiness surrounds me when I consider Scully too much. I worry for her; I worry for the innocence I can still see in her eyes; innocence they stole from me a long time ago.

My soul would not bear the loss of another wild thing. And the fact that Scully was so unwilling to come up to my apartment sends a simple truth home to me; she cannot trust herself around me. While this knowledge gives me a certain rush, it does nothing to falsify another simple truth; I cannot trust myself around her, either. Dana Scully is addictive and I can't allow myself to indulge.

At least, not yet; that's the thing about wild things, though.

No matter how hard you try, you can't control them.

Fini