DISCLAIMER:  The following scene does not belong to us, rather it belongs to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson for bringing it so wonderfully to life. The following interpretations, do, however, belong to us.

SPOILERS:  Quagmire

SUMMARY:  Every conversation has two sides...

RATING:  PG

CLASSIFICATION:  V, possibly A.  Mulder/Scully friendship

NOTES:  This story is a result of what happens when a MulderLover and a ScullyLover get together over e-mail and clash.

FEEDBACK:  Yes, definitely!  Send comments to Jennifer [jenbird72 at verizon dot net].

"Is there ever enough space between us
To keep us both honest and true?"
 --John Prine
 
 

The March night was cool, and their impromptu swim in Lake Huevelman had left Mulder shivering with cold.  He watched Scully, sitting close by the fire, unable to resist teasing her about the photographer hoping to make money off Big Blue, or cannibalism, even.  Perverse, yes, but sometime he
enjoyed getting a rise out of his partner, watching her eyes flash as she defended her science and logic.

Scully was in mood for light-heartedness, however, and she stared glumly out into the dark.  "Poor Queequeg," she sighed.

He didn't know what to say--pets had not been allowed in his household when he was growing up.  The endless string of goldfish that populated his fish tank was the closest Mulder came to a pet.  It was hard to form attachments to fish.  He preferred it that way.

Obviously Scully didn't.  He floundered for something to say.  "I'm sorry," sounded stupid, insensitive.  He decided to try to get her to talk about it--take her mind off her pain.  It was a tactic that worked well for him.

"Why did you name the dog Queequeg?"

"It was the name of the harpoonist in _Moby Dick_," replied Scully.  "My father used to read to me from _Moby Dick_ when I was a little girl.  I called him Ahab and he called me Starbuck.  So I named my dog Queequeg."

Mulder nodded, intrigued by the picture her words painted.  She had never mentioned much about her childhood.  It was so different from his own barren childhood.  He could no more imagine his father calling him by a pet name than he could imagine the old man reading to him.

Abruptly, Scully looked up.  "It's funny--I just realized something."

Alarm bells went off in his head.  The intent look on her face could mean no good. He was going to have to do some quick thinking if he wanted to avoid an in-depth conversation.  He fell back on the foremost weapon in his arsenal:  humor.

"It's a bizarre name for a dog, huh?"

"No.  How much you're like Ahab."

He froze, his eyes silently pleading her not to continue, to leave him alone.  Close--they were too close.  Impossible to keep his barriers up if she persisted in talking like this.

"You're so consumed with your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology."

He tried to read her, get past her neutral expression, miserably aware that his own feelings were pasted on his face.  With just a few words, she had toppled his walls into a puff of dust.  And yet, he had to fight for a moment longer--it was instinctive to his nature.

"Scully, are you coming on to me?"

It didn't work.  He wasn't surprised.

"It's just--the truth or a white whale--what difference does it make?  I mean, both...both obsessions are impossible to capture and trying to do so will only leave you dead, and everybody else you bring with you."

What did she mean by "everybody else you bring with you"?  Was she accusing him? Or was she just oblivious, ignorant of how unknowingly she had touched on his deepest fear?  Suddenly he wanted to talk, to give his emotions free rein to speak without fear of rebuke or rejection.  He could only hope she would allow him to do just that.

Hesitantly, he began to speak.  The words came from his deepest place, the sheltered cove where his innermost thoughts, feelings hid.  He couldn't have stopped if she had held a gun to his head.

"You know, it's interesting that you should say that, because I've always wanted a peg leg.  It's a boyhood thing I never grew out of."

She made an exasperated gesture, looked away, and he felt the stirrings of panic.  He had to make her see.  He had a sudden memory of himself, sitting in the huge library in Chilmark, rain beating on the windows, postponing the inevitable moment when he would have to return home, _Moby Dick_ laying open on the table before him.  Could he make her understand?

"No, I'm not being flippant.  I mean, I've given this a lot of thought."

That was it--he had her attention now.  Make her see how serious he was.  Gamely, he went on.

"If you have a peg leg or hooks for hands, maybe its enough to simply carry on living..."

<Do you see, Scully?  Emotionally, I am a cripple, as much so as if I was confined to a wheelchair.  Can't you see?>

"...bravely facing life with your disabilities, it's heroic just to survive.  But without these things you're actually expected to make something of your
life, achieve something, or at least wear a necktie.  So...so...so if anything I'm actually the antithesis of Ahab..."

<Don't make me into a monster, Scully. Obsession has its price, but I can still cry late at night, I can still mourn...>

"....because if I did have a peg leg I'd quite possibly be more happy, and more content, and not feel the need to chase after creatures of the unknown."

Happiness.  He had long ago accepted that he would probably never be happy, never experience true contentment with life and his place in it.  His soul had shriveled at the realization, but it was better this way--better that he accept the way things were, than to spend the rest of his days striving hopelessly for something he could not attain.

Finished, he was expectant.  He had bared his soul to her, she held his emotional future in her hands.  Shaking with fear now as well as cold, he
finally looked up at her.

"And that's not flippant?"

With those four words, Mulder's heart broke.  She had not heard his plea for understanding, not seen the desperate way he had leaned in, yearning for the chance at intimacy.

"No..."

His body jerked painfully as the walls came back up with a resounding crash.

"No, flippant is my favorite line from Moby Dick."

At least he could prove to her he'd *read* the damn book.

*****

Scully curled up as much as she could, shivering from the cold.  She was miserable, wanted to be any place but where she was.  Her mind kept going back to Queequeg, and how he had been torn right out of his collar.  In shock, she had gone back to the cabin, only to have Mulder jump all over her about that stupid photographer.  She was zoning out right in front of him, for God's sake, and all he cared about was renting a boat and finding some mythical creature.  Typical.

"Poor Queequeg," she said sadly.

She was surprised how much she missed the little puff ball already.  He'd been good company.  Scully didn't care that he'd eaten part of his former
mistress.  He was just trying to survive, poor little thing.  Then Mulder had dragged them both off on a nice trip to the lake.  Now here she was, wet and freezing on a rock in the middle of a lake where a prehistoric man eating creature might or might not live, and Mulder was making cannibal jokes.

<He gets funnier by the minute.>

She sighed again.

"Why did you name your dog Queequeg?" he asked.

She turned to look at him, wondering if he was going to start making dead dog jokes.  She wouldn't put it past him.  He'd only ever referred to Queequeg as "that thing."  She was prepared to toss him bodily into the lake if he made so much as one wisecrack.

"It was the name of the harpoonist in _Moby Dick_.  My father used to read to me from _Moby Dick_ when I was a little girl."

<Dad.  Mulder was so supportive when Dad died.  Why can't he understand that losing a pet, while not on the same level, is still depressing?  Especially when said pet was the only being in your life who always listened to you.  Well, almost always.>

"I called him Ahab and he called me Starbuck.  So I named by dog Queequeg."

<So help me God, if he laughs at *that* admission I will slaughter him.>

"It's funny, I just realized something," she continued.

<Now.  *Now* he's going to say something off the wall.>

"It's a bizarre name for a dog, huh?"

<Jerk.>  She opened herself up to that one.  She barely restrained herself from saying <no more bizarre than naming a boy Fox> but knew that would be a low blow.

"No.  How much you're like Ahab."

It was the first thing that popped into her head but she found that it was quite apt for all that.

"You're so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology."

<He always says I use big words when I'm angry.  But I'm not really angry.  Just frustrated.  And tired.  And cold.>

<We've been drifting apart since Melissa's murder, but in some ways this kind of thing is the worst part of our rift.  We're sitting right next to
each other yet Mulder is miles away from me.>

"Scully, are you coming on to me?"

She looked at him, exhausted.  <What's the point of trying to have a serious conversation with someone who only knows how to be flippant?  I'm trying to explain to him what I mean the best way I know how.  So much for literary analogies.  Probably never read the damn book anyway.>

"No..."

<In your dreams.>

"...it's just, the truth, or a white whale--what difference does it make? I mean, both...both obsessions are impossible to capture, and trying to do so will only leave you dead, along with everyone else you bring with you.  You know, Mulder, you *are* Ahab."

<Melissa.  His father.  Deep Throat.  X.  God, so many people have died.  Do I blame him?  Well, Deep Throat and X knew the risks they were taking.  They knew what could happen if they were caught helping Mulder.  His father...he made his own choices.  They brought him to his own end, and they had nothing to do with Mulder.  But Melissa...oh, God, Melissa.  It should have been me.  I was supposed to walk through that door.  But no one would have been after either of us if...no.  No, I won't think like that.  I made my own choices as well.  I knew the risks.>

"You know, it's interesting you should say that, because I've always wanted a peg leg.  It's a boyhood thing I never grew out of."

<Oh, for God's sake.  No wonder we've been drifting apart.  We're talking different languages.> Scully shot him *the* look, wondering where this train of thought was going.

"No, I'm not being flippant--I mean, I've given this a lot of thought.  If you have a peg-leg or hooks for hands, you know, maybe it's enough to simply carry on living, bravely facing life with your disabilities, heroic just to survive."

Scully pursed her lips, mulling over his words.  <He talks about being handicapped as if it's some kind of badge of suffering.  People with disabilities are capable of so much more than just surviving.  I'm surprised he would say something like that.>

"But without these things you're actually expected to make something of your life, achieve something, or at least wear a necktie."

<Chase real criminals instead of aliens?  Accept the fact that your sister is probably not coming back?>

"So...so...so if anything I'm actually the antithesis of Ahab, because if I did have a peg leg, I quite possibly would be more happy and more content and not feel the need to chase after creatures of the unknown."

<He's crazy.  If he had a peg-leg, he wouldn't be able to work for the FBI, at least not as a field agent.  He couldn't go off on wild goose chases, and he wouldn't have the resources he does now to look for Samantha.  He'd be even more miserable than he already is.>

Scully arched one eyebrow when she realized he was finally done his fanciful speech.

"And that's not flippant?"

"No--no.  Flippant is my favorite line from Moby Dick.  'Hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple dumpling.'"

Scully pulled a face, allowing herself to be impressed.  Maybe, she thought, he *has* read the book after all.

****

Scully seemed impressed by his quote--at least, it was better than the barely concealed irritability she had been evincing all night, and Mulder allowed himself to laugh with her.  A faint splashing sounded off to his left, and he glanced briefly in that direction.

Just another duck, and while Scully's look froze, Mulder merely shook his head. Sadly, he thought of what he'd learned here tonight.  Scully claimed
he never learned from his mistakes, that he never opened up to her, or talked about his feelings, but tonight's conversation had taught him a harsh
lesson:  Don't open up, don't talk about your feelings, because in the end, it hadn't mattered--she didn't want to hear them after all.

Another, louder splash sounded, and Scully turned startled eyes toward him.

"What was that?"

"I don't know, but it ain't no duck."

Already he was reaching for his gun, and as he got to his feet, Mulder wondered fleetingly if maybe Ahab hadn't had it right, after all.

*****

Scully glanced away after laughing with Mulder.  Why couldn't they have more moments like this, she wondered.  <If only he would take me seriously...>

She thought she heard something off to her right.  She didn't want to appear too nervous or jumpy after catching Mulder's smirk when that duck swam by.  Relief flooding through her, she'd realized that she was more than a little on edge.  Mulder voiced her very thought: "I'm tempted to shoot anyway."

Funny, she thought, the tangents he goes off on sometimes.  All that stuff about wanting a peg leg.  <When he was a kid I bet he had a wild imagination.  Probably got in trouble for it at school, too.>  At least he had gone easy with the Queequeg jokes, although she hadn't appreciated his snide remark about bizarre names for dogs.  Scully sighed quietly to herself.  She never talked much about her private life with Mulder for this very reason.  Everyone has their little in-jokes with their family that no one else would understand.  The kind of things that you don't want other people making fun of.  <If he starts calling me Starbuck, I'm going to call him Fox.>

Scully heard another splashing noise come from the fog.  This one was much louder.  Something was out there.  Images of those dismembered bodies popped into her mind and without thinking she reached for her gun.

"What was that?"

"I don't know, but it ain't no duck," Mulder replied as he pulled his own weapon.

Despite her irritation, Scully was glad that she had Mulder with her.  He may not be much for serious conversation, she thought, but he's a good partner.
 

END