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When I'm not dreaming of feedback, I imagine that Chris Carter taps me to be a new writer for season seven. Until that happens, the entire XF community belongs to him and the boys at 1013.

Author's notes: If it weren't for six-hour competitive review meetings, I would never get any writing done. This story contains no lotion.

She
May, 1999

Diana

She thinks I'm out to get her. Which, if I'm completely honest with myself, is a little bit true. A lot true, if I'm being honest.

I breezed into her life and set about carving and huge niche out of it for myself. Not that it was terribly hard, at first. All early indications were that she would simply step aside.

Things aren't always what they seem.

That's a lesson I learned the hard way about the time I was setting up shop and getting all cozy in her complacence. She started giving me the look. The one that said, "Step away."

She probably thinks I hate her. How else could I take away what she holds most dear, and still have a clear conscience? The answer is, my conscience is anything but clear.

I've lived without him. I know how empty it feels inside. She'll hurt, and I'll feel guilty about it. I'm not a monster, although sometimes I feel inhuman without him. But I am flesh and bone, and my instincts tell me to ensure my own survival. With him. Part of me, I'll admit, secretly loves it that she thinks I would waste the energy to hate her.

She thinks I don't love him.

Oh, sure, it's not the idealistic chivalrous love like what she thinks they have. He and I came together out of mutual respect and a passion for uncovering the truth. And yes, there was a time when I wanted the truth. It's just that once I found it, Truth made me an offer I couldn't refuse. But I digress.

I do love him. For all the ways he made me feel that no one else ever has. With him I was smart and instinctive, qualities he made me believe were sexier than my lean curves. Mutual, actually, is a good word to describe us. Mutual goals. Mutual theories. Mutual agreement. We rode the same track through our careers and into the bedroom.

Ah, the bedroom. He and I would spend all day talking non-stop about a case, but not a word was spoken between the sheets. There wasn't time. We both wanted it fast and hard. Each time he pushed me over the edge with his teeth and lips and hands...never a sound.

She thinks I'm trying to destroy him. Funny, we're actually working toward the same thing. I want to save him, too. It's self-preservation, really. The moment I saw him again I knew; saving him would save me.

*-*-*-*-*

Scully

She thinks I'm worried about her. Which, if I'm being completely honest with myself, is probably a little bit true. A lot true, if I'm being honest.

She pushed her way into my life at a time when things were finally slipping into place. Her mere presence had the power to shatter my world. And the fact that she would have that power made me feel frustrated and weak; weak being something I've fought resolutely not to be.

So it stunned me into silence.

It's important to note that silence does not denote inactivity. That's something I learned from my father, who was a man of few words. When he did speak, it was with all the facts. He taught me to use silence as a weapon.

She thinks I hate her. Hate is probably a strong word. And it's too simplistic. Sometimes, when I see her watching him with those feline eyes, I feel jealousy. But when he doesn't return her gaze, avoids it even, I feel sorry for her. After all, I've lived with the constant fear of losing him for six years. Those few times I thought he was really gone, it took all my strength to keep from giving into the urge to follow him. So I know how she feels.

But I know she doesn't love him.

I know, because when she watches him it's with hungry eyes. When she touches him it's with possession. No one who loves him would want to devour him like that.

He and I have clawed our way through all these years to find common ground. Trust. It's a frightening thing to hang your hat on. But I love the way he trusts me. Not my science, or my skepticism. Me. He trusts me to love him. Put him back together, no matter what.

He tells me this every day with his eyes and that deep, silky voice. Someday he'll tell me with his body, and we'll whisper all the things we've been hiding. When it happens the words will spill out and we'll never be able to stop. Someday.

She's trying to destroy him. Funny, I think some part of her thinks she's trying to save him. She's wasting her time, though. If there's anything I've learned from my time with him, it's this: The only chance he and I have is to save each other. Call it dual-preservation.

end

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