Reciprocity By: Lydia Harkness Rating: G Genre: Vignette Spoilers: Teency-weency reference to Closure. Synopsis: Post-ep for ‘all things’. Scully’s storm is near over, but a few things still need to be said. Disclaimer: They aint mine. If you thought they were, I’d say you have serious mental issues. Author’s notes: This is my first post-ep, so be gentle. I did my best to capture the feeling of ‘all things’ here, so please let me know how I did. Feedback and constructive criticism always welcome: xpositions@yahoo.com _____ Speak to me baby, in the middle of the night. Speak to me, hold your mouth to mine. Cause the sky is breaking. It’s deeper than love. I know how you feel like the rains outside. So speak to me. (Moby--The Sky Is Broken) _____ With knotted hands twisting bitterly I want only to cover my face. Alone, in his hallway at last. It was everything and nothing—seeing Daniel again. It was the release I never knew I needed and if tears that might have fallen were dammed instead, it is only further proof I am not who he loved. Or knew. The feeling had been surging for a week prior, and that’s part of the fear—I knew my storm was so close to breaking. My rain pours out at last, in dry sheets…in shudders and cold fingers inching their way up my spine. I walk down his hall, running from comfort—I always do. I wonder when Daniel will be released. From the hospital, yes, but also from me. The prisoner I never asked for. It’s an uncomfortable feeling that borders on guilt. Trying to wash it away with cold water this morning only deepened my pain—shallow, in the pit of my stomach. I feel empty. I think I must have felt this way for a long, long time but this is the morning my senses finally felt alive. I feel drained. I close my eyes and slap the elevator button, remembering the sterile smell of hospital health…I couldn’t watch him anymore: so sure was I that he was dead. Daniel is alive though, still breathing. Heart still pumping. A systolic contraction of blood and arteries, but the life is gone. Or maybe it is I who has died. She…Dana…whoever it was who reached unflinchingly for love and found it returned. The girl so bold and strong, she put her heart in her hand and gave it to another. Reciprocal love and knowledge and acceptance and respect. It was all folded so comfortingly within the warmth of a man’s arms. A disbelieving smile finally breaks through when I realize it’s that warmth I haven’t felt in ten years. When I walk away the tears I held back find release in my throat. I’d cry if I wasn’t so tired of this over-emoting. I want the sense of finality I can feel just on the edge of this storm. The eye is passed, but something else lingers. I can’t quite release yet—because I don’t want to leave. And yet my second-nature drags me, with heavy feet and a solemn heart. This paroxysm of clenched throat and heavy eyes simply will not do. I didn’t think when I left his apartment that I would simply leave untouched. Instead, the elevator seems a perfect sanctuary for my descent and for tears left unshed. A confessional would hardly be so comforting as the doors begin to slide closed into consummate, caramel colored silence. But the familiarity of this moment strikes me hard and angrily. A slight rattle and hum…the air expands. Time slows with pained exhalations. Asthmatic seconds extend infinitely, and slowly an arm reaches out. Elevator doors stop. And open. Mulder is there in boxers and a hastily thrown on T-shirt. His hair stands up on one end and he holds out a god to me. "Mulder…" It’s not just a god, though. The god. Eyes open and alert, personifying human nature in it’s very gaze. I wonder if it saw any more last night than I did. "You, um, left so quickly. Your stuff was gone and…I think you left this. It was where your things were." By the fish tank? The doors will start to close again soon, no more quickly than I myself have learned to shut down, so I step off the elevator and back into this memory-strewn hallway. First instinct is denial, of course. I don’t think that’s too appropriate though, after last night’s honesty-fest. But I took too long. "It’s not yours…is it?" "To be honest…no. I don’t remember buying it." God is held out expectantly, in incredulous hands. Funny, I think. It’s a rare moment when Mulder can evince disbelief and skepticism for the sake of rationality. If faith had a face this would be it, I think, as I take God from Mulder’s waiting hands. Eyes half open in a knowing, sagacious and penetrating stare. Faith’s smile would be that of the Mona Lisa, forever bewildered and enchanted by the working’s of fate. It’s heavier in my grasp, thick and weighty with unnecessary emotions… prejudgments of how God should be. "Mulder, I never really got to thank you for last night." He finally seems to wake up a bit, though still squinting terribly in the low light. "Scully you don’t need to thank…" "Yes, I do. I know I don’t open up very often…" Did Mulder just scoff? "…but when I do, I’m glad you’re there to listen. It means a lot to me." He simply nods and smiles, appreciating my honesty about, of all things, honesty. That familiar phrase ‘I’m fine, Mulder’ seems more to me like Hamlet’s poisoned sword tip than anything. Killing instead the bold wielder of such a weapon. I really believed it all those years. That wall I’d built had kept me safe, and though I knew it blocked him at times, I really, truly believed my mantra: I was fine. Maybe I wasn’t after all. Maybe my storm is finally breaking. "Scully…you okay? Speak to me." I nod, and the tears lingering at the back of my throat with that newly rained feeling are beginning to fade, finally. "It’s just that…the past…I feel like this whole week has been building. The weekend was…difficult, to say the least. And now, it’s like the calm after a storm. I don’t quite know what to do." "You’re free?" Any emotions left are consumed by an instant, understanding smile. "I guess you could say that." He nods, and I think he comprehends in a way I never let myself see before. "But there was something else I said last night. When I spoke about there being only one choice, and all the others being wrong; I didn’t want you to take that the wrong way. If I ever did make a wrong choice on that path, I’m glad it’s led me here." "I’d never count any turn on the road that may have brought you here as a wrong choice." He looks at me steadily, till his eyes break out in the gentle smile I’ve needed so badly. "At least, that’s just my humble opinion." I sigh in that silence with a desperate need to fill the air with some sort of life or sound. Remembering God, whom I’ve been clutching so carefully, I look down. And I hand it over. "I think I want you to have this Mulder." Surprise and affection swirl across his features. His eyes cloud over knowingly, and I think he recognizes the truth when he sees it. We’ve both had something of a reconciliation over the past few months; a correlating release of personal histories…shared, though divided and individual. We’re finding release, together as always. This tempest was painful…yes, both of ours were. What we have may be undefinable, but it’s strong enough. This is deeper than love. It’s reciprocity. [1]