TITLE:  I Guess She's Mine
SPOILER WARNING:  Never Again, Triangle
RATING:  PG for a little bad language.
CONTENT WARNING:  MulderAngst. ScullyAngst. Scully/other alluded to. 
MSR.
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA
SUMMARY:  Sequel to my story, If She Does Not Return
and Vickie Moseley's She Never Really Left. 

The morning after....
 

I Guess She's Mine

by Brandon D. Ray
 

I awake to the smell of coffee brewing, and I know that she has returned.

For a few minutes I simply lie on the sofa, eyes closed, not moving,
barely breathing.  I can hear the sound of someone moving around in my
kitchen:  Cupboards opening and closing, pots rattling, and other small
sounds which I cannot identify but which seem very domestic and reassuring.

More time passes, but still I do not move or open my eyes.  More smells
start to emerge from the kitchen, breakfast smells:  eggs and English
muffins and bacon.  And in another moment I sense someone enter the
room, and then I hear footsteps coming towards me.

"Are you awake?"

Her voice is soft and tentative, almost shy.  I open my eyes and see her
kneeling on the floor next to me, a plate of food in her right hand.  We
lock eyes, and for a moment we just look at each other.  And I realize
in that moment that something has changed.

I'm not sure I want to know what's changed.  In fact, I KNOW I don't
want to know, but I do know.  I can tell just by looking at her.  She's
in love.

I turn my head away and stare into the leather of the sofa, trying to
tell myself that this is unreasonable, that it's not right for me to
feel this way.  I told her to do this, after all.  And it's not as if I
have any claim on her.  She's a free individual, and a good woman, and
she deserves some happiness.  God knows she's had little enough of that
these past five years.  I should be happy for her, grateful that she's
finally found someone.

Even if it isn't me.

I feel a touch on my chin, featherlight; it's her fingertips and she
slowly, gently turns my head back towards her.  She's now sitting
crosslegged on the floor, and the plate of food is on the coffee table
beside her.  There's a solemn look on her face, and as I watch her she
shakes her head slowly.

"Mulder, about last night --"

I cut her off.  "No, Scully.  You don't have to explain anything to
me."  Please, Scully...I don't want to hear this.  I want to pretend for
just a little bit longer.

But she won't let it be.  "No, Mulder...I do owe you an explanation.  At
the very least."  She hesitates, and bites her lip.  "I'm sorry."

I feel like crying again, but somehow I manage to swallow the lump in my
throat.  "It's okay," I say.  "I understand.  I...."  I want to do the
right thing; I want to make her feel better about this.  I want to tell
her I'm happy for her.  But I've never been able to lie to this woman,
and I can't start now.  And I drop my eyes away from her and look down
at the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder.  I never meant to hurt you."  God, can't she
leave it alone?  Why did she even come here in the first place? 
Shouldn't she be with him?  At least if she were with him I could be
alone with my misery.  I close my eyes and despite myself visions of the
two of them together dance in my imagination.

Once more I feel her touch on my chin, and I sigh in resignation and
open my eyes again.  "Scully --"

And she leans forward and kisses me.  On the mouth.

It lasts only a second, but it seems to go on forever, and I think that
for the rest of my miserable life at least I'll have the memory of this
one moment.  For just an instant I want to believe that the kiss means
something else, but I ruthlessly suppress the thought.  We both know why
she's here.

"Your eggs are getting cold."

I realize that I've allowed my eyes to drift shut again -- I seem to be
having a problem looking at Scully this morning.  At the sound of her
voice they open again, and I see her holding out a fork heaped with
scrambled eggs.  She gently touches the tines to my lips, and I
reflexively open them and take the eggs into my mouth.  She then
withdraws the fork and in a moment she's back with another load of eggs.

I wish I understood what the hell is going on here.  I really do.  I'm
lying here on my sofa, my eyes red and my throat raw, having had far too
little sleep, and Scully is sitting crosslegged on the floor next to me
and feeding me breakfast.  This wouldn't make a lot of sense on the best
of days, and this is far from the best of days.

The only thing I can think of is that she feels guilty for some reason,
or that she feels sorry for me.  Or both.  And much as I can't cope very
well with the idea of being an object of pity for her, this is too
comforting for me to be able to make it stop.  Besides, when she stops
she's probably going to get up and leave -- go back to him -- and then
I'll have nothing at all to distract me from my imagination.

But maybe that would be just as well.  T'were best t'were done quickly.

I open my mouth to say that, to tell her that I'll be fine and she
should just go ahead and leave.  But before I can get the words out
she's stuffed a piece of English muffin smeared with strawberry jam into
my mouth.  I chew and swallow, and again I open my mouth to talk, and
again she puts some food into it, a determined look on her face.

She doesn't seem to want me to talk, and I guess I can understand why. 
I'm not the most kind and sensitive man on the planet, and she's
probably afraid I'm going to yell at her or something, and make a
complete ass of myself, the way I did after that nightmare in
Philadelphia a couple of years ago.  But what she doesn't understand is
that I've changed since then; I've grown.  And on top of that I've
fallen in love with her, and I really and truly am determined to do
whatever's necessary to make her happy.  And if that means watching her
walk off into the the sunset with another man, so be it.

No matter how much it hurts.

But if she wants to go through this process of feeding me my breakfast
first, I guess I can wait until she's done.  It is rather pleasant, a
sign of caring, and I know I won't have anything like this to look
forward to after this morning.  So I may as well build at least a few
happy memories to go with all the bad.

All too soon we've finished the food.  Scully sets the plate back down
on the coffee table and turns to face me again.  And before I can even
get one word out, she starts talking.

"I never expected this to happen," she says, and I'm shocked to see
tears forming in her eyes.  "If I had, maybe I would have done things
differently.  I like to think I would have, at any rate.  But you have
to believe me when I tell you that the last thing I ever wanted to do
was to hurt you."  She looks me squarely in the eye, and adds, "Can you
ever forgive me?"

Something about her manner is puzzling me, but I'm not up to analyzing
it right now, and all I manage to get out is, "What's there to forgive?"

She sits perfectly still and stares at me for a long minute.  Finally
she swallows and nods, and says, "Okay."  And she climbs awkwardly to
her feet and stands looking down at me for another moment, and now
there's a single tear running down her cheek.  "I guess I'd better be
going."  And she turns and heads for the door.

There's something not right here; even I can see that.  I just can't
figure out what it is.  But I know I can't just let her walk out of
here; I'm going to have to do my best to fix whatever's wrong.

"Scully....wait."

Even though my voice is very low I know she hears me, because I see her
shoulders tense.  But she just keeps walking towards the door, and so I
struggle to my feet and go after her, and I catch up to her just as she
puts her hand on the doorknob.

"Scully.  Wait."  She freezes in place, but she doesn't turn to look at
me, and I realize I'm going to have to do the talking for a minute, and
it's going to hurt like hell.  But I can't let her leave here looking
like this.

"Scully," I say, and then I have to pause because that damned lump is
back in my throat again.  "Scully.  I don't know what's got you so
upset, but I guess it must be me or we wouldn't be here talking about
this.  But I don't understand, Scully; I don't know what I've done."  I
swallow the lump down as best I can.  "Is it that you don't believe I
want you to be happy?  Because, Scully, if that's what you think you're
wrong."

I stop for a minute and close my eyes.  This next part is going to be
the hardest, both for her and for me, but it has to be said.  I force my
eyes open again, and see that she's turned towards me and is now staring
intently into my eyes.  Oh, god.  This is going to be bad.  But I've got
to do it.

"Scully," I say.  "Oh, Scully.  All I want is for you to be happy.  All
I want is for you to have a life, a good life.  And if it's...getting to
me a little bit, that's just the way it is, I guess.  I'll get over it;
I'll have to get over it.  I love you too much to even try to stand in
your way."

There.  I've said it.  I've finally, really said it.  Not that it's the
first time; I said it last fall after that fiasco in the Bermuda
Triangle.  But that time she thought it was the painkillers talking, and
this time there's no way she can write it off, and that's what's going
to make it tough on both of us.  But I had to say it so she'd know I
meant it, just this once.

And suddenly a miracle happens.

Scully smiles.

Not just her usual enigmatic little smile, but a big, broad, thousand
watt, light-up-the-stadium sort of smile.  I don't think I've ever seen
her smile like that.  Not ever.  She just doesn't do it.  But something
just made it happen --

"Mulder," she says, very softly, and suddenly there's something electric
in the room.  She takes one hesitant step towards me, and goes on,
"Mulder, what exactly do you think I've been trying to say to you this
morning?"

Now that is an excellent question.  A question I thought I knew the
answer to, but now I'm not quite sure.  And I really, really don't want
to think about the possibility that just this minute occurred to me,
because it would hurt too goddamned much when it turned out I was wrong.

And so I just stand there saying nothing, but everything must be written
on my face because Scully takes another step towards me and reaches up
and traces one of the tear tracks down my cheek.  And she says, so
softly that I can barely hear her, "You think I came to tell you I was
in love with HIM."

This isn't happening.  It is not happening.  It can't be happening.

It is.

Suddenly there's no more space between us.  Scully must have done that,
because I know I couldn't possibly have moved; I'm paralyzed.  And she's
standing there in front of me, looking up at me with big, tragic eyes,
and her hand is still resting lightly against my cheek.  And she says,
in that same soft, almost inaudible voice, "Mulder, I don't fix
breakfast for just anybody.  Don't you know that?"

She takes a deep breath, and I can see how much this openness is costing
her.  Control has always been important to Scully, and if what I'm
slowly coming to think might be happening really is happening, she's
about to give up that control.  To me.  She's going to give it to me.

Jesus.  I feel my body start to tremble.

"Mulder."  If anything her voice is even softer than before, and I can
feel my own throat closing up in sympathy.  Her face is floating in
front of me, her beautiful, beautiful face, and unless I'm completely
mad there's something in her eyes....something I've never seen
before...and she speaks....

"Mulder, it's you.  It's always been you.  Only you.  Never him.  Never
anyone but you."  And she rises up on her toes, and she kisses me.

She kisses me.

She kisses me.

And I kiss her back.

#          #          #

It's later.  I don't know what time it is, and I really don't care. 
After that stunning, wonderful, unbelievable kiss, all the energy seemed
to drain out of both of us.  Scully just stood there leaning against me
with her eyes closed, looking utterly exhausted, and I was feeling
pretty wiped out, too.  I offered to call her a cab so she could go home
-- not that I wanted her to leave, but I felt I had to make the offer. 
But she just leaned a little closer against me and shook her head.

So here I am, lying on my sofa with my head propped up on a pillow. 
Nothing new there.  But what IS new -- and stunning and wonderful and
unbelievable -- is that Scully is lying stretched out on top of me, fast
asleep, just cuddled in my arms.  In my arms.  In MY arms.

Jesus.

I don't know where this is going; I simply have no clue.  There's
nothing in my life that can account for something like this happening,
and I don't have any experience to measure it against, either.  Not with
Diana, and certainly not with Phoebe.  So I guess I'm just going to have
to wait and see.

I still don't know what happened last night, but I guess I don't need to
know; it's not important anymore.  I think she must have slept with him
or she wouldn't be this traumatized over it, but it just doesn't
matter.  What matters is that she's here now, with me.

How does the old saying go?  If you love something, set it free.  If it
comes back to you, it's yours.

I guess she's mine.
 
 

Fini