by Justin Glasser
Report 17 of --
Operative 7477108N
2125 hours
M and F subject sleeping in same bed. Escalation of physical contact appears to have occured as a result of discovery of surrveillance--
He stopped typing. He should provide an explanation for their contact, he should explain how after five years of nothing more than hand-holding, agents Mulder and Scully wound up in bed together on his watch.
But it had been his snafu. He had been the one who sent in the clean-up team before his subjects had asked for one, before they had even thought about calling for a nurse. In his drive to be efficient and provide a report so complete that he could use it to get the fuck out of this hellhole, he had exposed himself and his bosses. Mulder and Scully knew they were being watched and he couldn't have been more responsible for that knowledge if he had sent them a fucking certified letter.
He glanced at one of the screens, the one taken from the FLIR camera, watching the black and white outlines of the subjects shift on the narrow bed.
They were the lucky ones. At least Mulder had her. Mulder was a trial subject and his next twenty-four hours were going to be the worst of his life if he survived. Some hadn't. Some had simply screamed in pain until they ruptured something and then died, fresh blood in their mouths. But if anyone found out who had clued the subjects in to their surrveillance, he would trade lives with Mulder in a heartbeat.
The trials weren't the worst things that could happen to you here.
He glanced at the computer tracking their vital signs. They were asleep, from the looks of it. He ran his hands over his face, pushing his knuckles into his eyes.
Then he began to delete.
*****
When I slid beneath the covers, I expected her to turn on her side away from me and go to sleep. We had nothing more to say to one another--she'd made that clear. "Let's talk about that some other time." Some time when she could get away from me that much easier. Scully spent a lot of time trying to put distance between us, and I spent a lot of time trying to coax her back.
The bed was small, so small that she was pressed against my side, every inch of me from my shoulder to my waist-- she must have had her knees bent.
I had crossed my arms over my chest, because if I didn't, I would reach out for her. There was a little black hole beneath my ribs, a hole that had opened up the first time she had mentioned leaving, a thousand years ago in my apartment. It was a little wider now, a little more ragged around the edges. I folded my arms over it. It was mine.
�Should we be doing this?� I asked.
�Doing what?�
�Scully, they�re watching us, recording us . . . Is this wise?� �You worried about blackmail material?� She sounded amused.
�Depends. What do you have in mind?� I asked.
�Go to sleep, Mulder.�
I lay on my back, trying to do just that, when she spoke again.
"What would you do if I left?" she asked, her voice coming from the other side of her body.
What would I do?
I shrugged against the pillow, realizing suddenly how comfortable it was against my back. For some reason, the softness made me feel more lonely than that plastic chair had.
"I don't know," I said. "I meant what I said back in the hallway. I don't know if I can do it without you. Maybe for awhile."
She shifted under the blankets and I felt her shoulder settle back against my arm. She was so warm.
"Did you know that psychologists have demonstrated that men are forty percent more likely to self-disclose when they can't see the person they're talking to," I said, trying to move away.
"What are you saying, Mulder?"
"That it's a common complaint among people who know me that I have, um . . . trouble communicating. After I shot my first man, the therapist they sent me to said that for someone who talked so damn much I sure didn't say anything."
She chuckled a little, her shoulder moving against mine. She needed to stop moving very soon or I would have to get out of the bed and sleep in the damned chair.
"Sorry," I said.
"Don't apologize, Mulder," she answered, and I could still hear the amusement in her voice. "Answer."
"Answer?"
"Why didn't you tell me you wanted me to stay?"
"I couldn't."
"You couldn't."
She always repeated things when she didn't believe me.
I sighed. Why not, I thought. Why not tell her? We were finally in the one place where Scully couldn't get away from me, nor I her. No phone was going to ring, no case was going to get dropped in our laps, no fucking bee was going to sting her. We were in the middle of nowhere being held captive by an unknown contingent under constant surveillance and it was the only place my partner and I might actually talk.
Irony wasn't the word.
"I thought . . ." I paused. Breathed. "I thought it might make you leave."
�You . . . Mulder, why would you think telling me you wanted me to stay would make me leave?"
For someone who believes he loves the truth as deeply and abidingly as I do, I find it awfully hard to speak at times. I swallowed.
"I thought you might feel trapped. Obligated." My voice came out light and careless, but my heart throbbed and pounded in my chest.
"Trapped."
There was silence for a long time after that. I thought she might have fallen asleep. Strange pictures of rabbits and a picnic were playing in my head when she finally spoke again.
"Why do you do it, Mulder?"
"Hmm?" I said, although I'd heard her. She asked again. Scully is relentless.
"Why? Now that you've seen Samantha."
"Now I'm in too deep, Scully. How could I walk away, live a normal boring life solving bank fraud cases?"
I heard her move in the dark. Although I couldn't describe why, it sounded like she was nodding.
"So we just do this until we can't be rescued anymore, hmm?"
I wanted to grab her hand and press it to my chest, to smooth away the weariness I heard in her voice, to ask her if this meant that she was going to stay, X-files or not, but she was just a warm shape beside me and her hand could have been anywhere.
"I'll always rescue you, Scully," I murmured, half- hoping she wouldn't hear.
Silence.
The bed shifted, then she pulled one of my arms away from my body and crept under it, resting her cheek on my chest.
"Scully," I murmured, wondering.
Her fingers found the hem of my t-shirt and slid beneath it, coming to rest against my stomach. I found myself wanting to suck my breath in. Her hand was slightly cool.
"Go to sleep, Mulder."
"I was just wondering if I should be concerned for my virtue."
As a response, she sidled closer, throwing one leg over one of mine, just missing the sure sign that I had long since stopped considering Scully as my platonic friend and asexual partner It was a big sign, even if I have to say so myself.
We lay in the dark, folded together, so close that I could feel her heart against my ribs. I wanted to squeeze her tight: I didn't because I thought if I held her too tight it might make her aware of what we were doing and then she would pull away. Same worries, different day.
"Do you think it's kinkier now that we know they're watching?"
"Shut up, Mulder."
I squeezed her, kissed the top of her head.
I am a brute to Scully. Over and over again I push her away, test her, torment her to see how much she will take. As of yet, I haven't reached her limits. She may go after all. She may leave me and go to Utah, she may leave the Bureau altogether and go on to what would be a brillant career in forensic pathology, she may go off and write a cheesy airport novel that sells a billion copies and makes her independently wealthy. If she decides to go I have promised myself that I will not do what I did in that hallway the last time, I will not offer her the chance for something other than my partnership in order to keep her. I owe her that much.
She must stay because of her dedication to the truth, because she believes, as I do, that only through our cases can we have access to the information necessary to reveal the secrets being kept from us. She must stay because she sees the bigger picture.
Sometimes, I see only her.
And then I shake my head like a wet dog and then that goes away. For a while.
"Mulder," she said, and I didn't want her to say anymore so I spoke. It seemed easier to say it than to hear it.
"We won't be doing this when we get back."
I wanted her to leap in then, to press her finger to my lips and then press her lips to my lips. I wanted here to say that we would be doing this and more. I wanted her to whisper in my ear that she would never leave my side, that we would always be wrapped up together like this, that there was nothing I could do that would force her away, I wanted her to say--
"No." Her voice was low and calm. "We won't."
I sighed, lightly. "I'll miss it."
She smiled, I know, because I felt the movement of her face against my chest. She might have kissed me there, over my heart. I pressed her closer. I nudged my face into her hair.
"I already do," she said, against my shirt.
*****end 5/10*****
