TITLE: I Don't Know How To Love Him
AUTHOR: Kestabrook
E-MAIL: Kestabrook@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION: If you'd like to archive, I'd be
flattered. 
SPOILERS: Post-episode "Triangle"
RATING: G
CONTENT WARNING: UST
CLASSIFICATION: V
SUMMARY: Scully says "Oh brother" in response to
Mulder's "I love you." Outside his room, she
considers--and re-considers--her answer.
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine; they
belong to Chris Carter and the X-Files gang.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please! If positive or helpful.

I Don't Know How To Love Him
by Kestabrook

Dana Scully quietly closed the door of Fox
Mulder's hospital room behind her, but she turned
back toward it, her mind whirling in patterns as
confused as the door's woodgrain. Her hand
lingered on the knob as she pondered his closing
words to her. "Hey, Scully," he'd beckoned. And as
she'd returned to his side, her face close to his,
her eyes meeting those hazel green eyes she'd
feared she'd never again see, he'd tenderly said,
"I love you."
  
Stunned and disbelieving, she'd murmured, "Oh,
brother," and left him, certain the treatments he
was receiving or the exposure and injuries he'd
suffered due to his capsized boat, or, hell, his
time in the Bermuda Triangle, had caused this
sudden, surprising confession. But what if his
words had been honest? She wanted to go back in,
to somehow find out what he'd really meant.

"Agent Scully?" It was Skinner's voice. "I'm sure
he'll be okay."

She turned quickly, finding herself face to face
with the inquiring, worried eyes of not only her
former boss but of the three Lone Gunmen as well.
"Oh, I--"

"Thought maybe you'd gone as loco as Mulder,"
Frohike joked, "when we saw you staring at the
door." He referred to the Oz-like dream Mulder'd
apparently had.

"Yeah, man, what a trip he's having, huh?" Langly
said, playfully punching Frohike's arm. "If I ever
take a vacation, I think I'll shipwreck in the
B.T."

"You and Toto, too?" Byers asked.

Langly laughed. "Yeah, why not? But Auntie Em can
stay home. I never trusted that woman."

"Dudes, shut up a minute," Frohike told them,
noticing the confused look on Scully's face.
"Agent Scully, Mulder *will* be all right, won't
he?"

Scully looked at him, taking a moment to focus on
his question. Skinner was even staring at her
strangely. She tried a quick half-smile to
reassure them. "Yes, of course. He obviously needs
a few days to get over this, though."

"Yeah. Well, we've done our parts for now,"
Frohike said, his hands on the shoulders of his
friends to steer them toward the elevator. "Let's
get out of here for tonight."

Scully looked at them fondly. They'd proven
themselves to be vital friends on more than one
occasion, and this was another instance. "Hey, you
guys," she said, "thanks, for everything."

Frohike touched her arm. "Anything for you, Agent
Scully. And for Mulder, too, of course."

As they walked away, Skinner gestured for her to
accompany him. Scully bit her lower lip, though,
and didn't move. "Sir, if it's all the same to
you, I'd like to stay for a little while."

His eyes narrowed. "Agent Scully, is there
something you're not telling us? Are you worried
about Mulder's mental state?"

Scully chuckled. "Almost every day." When she saw
Skinner's smile mix with concern, she shook her
head. "No, sir. It's not that--I guess I just need
some time to myself. Much happened in a short
time, and I could use a breather. I'll catch a cab
later."

Skinner shoved his hands into his suitpants'
pockets, eyeing her to be sure she wasn't lying.
When satisfied she wasn't, he nodded twice.

Scully stared into his eyes, a moment of regret
and despair clasping her as she remembered he
wasn't her boss anymore. But she still respected
him--and was thankful. "Sir, I want you to know I
realize I went off the deep end--so to speak--to
get your help." She stopped, also remembering--now
with some embarrassment--the huge smacker she'd
planted full on his lips when he'd greeted her in
the elevator with the information she'd requested.
Desperate to save Mulder, grateful for Skinner's
help, and frustrated by those thwarting her
search, she had, in one impetuous moment, lost all
control and finally shown her former boss how much
his help and support had meant to her. Feeling a
blush in her cheeks now, she told him, "You saved
Mulder's life, sir. And I can't begin to express
my gratitude for your aid--"

"Scully," Skinner said softly, "just don't forget
that help has to be kept secret. And if Assistant
Director Kersch ever helps you, I'd suggest a
handshake  or a simple 'thank you' for your
response."

She abashedly returned his smile as he said good
night and left her alone in the hallway. Strange,
she thought, all these men in her life with whom
she'd shared, suffered, and struggled so much, and
yet, never did she seem to allow herself the
freedom to say what she so often wanted to, to
them.

Scully slowly walked to a hallway window
overlooking a small yard, illumined by several
streetlamps, eight stories below. She could see
several nurses and residents standing outside,
talking, smoking, perhaps enjoying each other's
company. Beyond was a highway whose passing cars'
headlights led passengers on so many separate
paths and journeys. And yet, most likely, all of
these people could talk to each other, could tell
each other their feelings.

She shuddered as she thought of Mulder's words--
had he been tripping or honest? He'd been
different lately--well, much the same, yet
different. The trust they'd almost always shared
had taken a few beatings but had remained strong
and unyielding. As did their respect for each
other, as did their partnership. But after Dallas,
after she'd essentially quit--had he begun to
appreciate her more...or maybe just realized his
appreciation for her? That old maxim: "You don't
know what you have until it's gone" rang in her
mind. She'd never been certain of her value to
him, but when he'd followed her into the hallway
of his apartment building, told her she'd made him
a whole person, had kept him honest, that he owed
her everything, she'd been stunned. He'd never
confessed such things to her before, so she'd
found she couldn't doubt his words. And he'd
wanted to kiss her--she'd found she'd wanted to
kiss him. Damn that bee.

Then to wake in Antarctica to his face, his hands.
To find he'd gone so far to rescue her. Would
every partner risk so much for such a reason?

And tonight he'd said, "Hey, Scully...I love you."
Shivers went through her body now. She'd refused
to believe him, assuming he'd not known what he
was saying. But he did love her. His words, his
actions shouted as much. The man so alienated from
most others, had suddenly confessed his love--and
she'd dismissed it.

Why? Did she not feel the same way? If she didn't,
why had she begun a flurry of actions--some of
them extremely dangerous to career and life--to
find him in the Bermuda Triangle as she had saved
or followed to rescue him so many other times? Was
it merely duty or obligation, or was it something
far more treasured?

Could she simply not admit she felt the same way
as he? Would it change everything if she did? She
coveted her privacy, her professionalism, her
independence. She cherished the way her
partnership with Mulder worked; why jeopardize it?

Yet she knew she was fond of him in some way--
rarely had any doubt about that surfaced. She
needed him in her life--needed his strength; his
convictions; his goofy, stupid, quirky sense of
humor; his wild theories; his trust--his very
presence. After five years and so many struggles,
so many journeys, they were so much a part of each
other, and to split one away from the other would
cause both to fall.

She was scared. That was all. Scared that if she
returned those words to him, they would commit
her, perhaps, to more than she could handle. For
with a closer relationship than they already had,
were deeper responsibilities, higher risks. A
sense of owing someone. Enormous feelings of loss,
sometimes guilt, if that close person passed. Yet
a closer relationship brought both emotional and
physical rewards, too. Could she accept being
needed and wanted? Dependent and depended on?
Could she adjust to sharing her life--to no longer
being alone?

Scully leaned her elbows on the windowsill and
rested her head in her hands. "You're being
stupid," she told herself. "How many times have
you been jealous whenever another woman looked at
him or claimed him?" She felt her teeth grind as
she pictured the faces of Phoebe Green, Angela
White, Diana Fowley. "Kind of idiotic to feel that
way toward them while failing to accept the man
when he's handing himself to you."

And she smiled slightly as her mind replayed
Mulder's words once again--his voice so naked, so
vulnerable. She admired his breaking through his
own emotional barriers to brave the confession--to
admit this to himself, let alone to her. He'd been
so alone--distanced from family, shunned by
would-be friends. And yet, here *he* was daring to
take the risks of rejection, of crossing their
professional line. How could he take those risks?
Well, Fox Mulder wasn't one to wait for things to
happen nor to give up something he knew he needed.

And had he been sane when uttering those words?

Scully slowly turned. She gazed at the closed door
and sighed heavily. She remembered being in the
kitchen with her mother back in the seventies.
They'd been preparing some big holiday meal. Her
mother's tape player had been blaring Andrew Lloyd
Webber music, and she now recalled the lyrics of
one song her mother had particularly liked: "I
don't know how to love him.../Don't you think it's
rather funny,/ that I should be in this position?/
I'm the one who's always been /so calm, so cool,/
no lover's fool,/running every show.../Yes, if he
said he loved me, /I'd be lost, I'd be frightened.
/I couldn't cope.../I'd turn my head; /I'd back
away./I wouldn't want to know..../he scares me
so/I love him so." And after the song had
finished, young Dana had declared astutely--or so
she'd thought--to her mother, "I don't understand
how anyone could be so confused. Either you love a
guy, or you don't."

Since those days, she'd had her share of
boyfriends and found what sort of confusion could
erupt. Most times, it was easier just to avoid the
problem, to avoid the hassles of a relationship.
In the last few years, she'd tried dating again.
Rob--the one date phenomenon whom she'd hoped
would give her a life outside the FBI. She'd found
him to be boring after her work with Mulder. She'd
taken a trip on the wild side with Ed Jerse,
hoping for, maybe even in rebellion for, a normal
woman's life. But not only had that relationship
proven too dangerous, but she'd also found the
unexplored to be too far away from what she
wanted.

And what did she want? Did she know? To be loved,
protected, cared about and for, secure in the
knowledge that someone wanted her around, to be
needed?

She'd turned away from Mulder minutes before, but
she couldn't stay turned away. "Hey, Scully...I
love you." She smiled to herself. Those weren't
bad words to hear--even if he hadn't known what he
was saying. She moved back toward his room and let
herself in quietly. She tiptoed to his bed. He lay
on his side as he had when she'd left him. But now
she could hear his even breathing, and she knew
without looking that he was asleep. And somehow
that relieved her.

She gently reached out and smoothed some of his
tousled, shorter hair. He did look a mess from his
ordeal at sea. His face held bruises and
swellings, and he looked so exhausted. But this
pushing himself to his physical limits, defying
the FBI's authority, pursuing his own limitless
quests, endangering his very life--these were
nothing new. Mulder loved his work and would do
almost anything for it.

And he loved her and would do almost anything for
her.

She tenderly took his hand, careful not to wake
him. And she gazed down at those closed eyes--her
best friend's eyes, her soul-mate's eyes. She
remembered those eyes peering down at her,
strengthening her outside Penny Northern's room.
Those eyes worrying, fearing after he'd saved her
from that horrid, icy cocoon and revived her in
the belly of an alien ship. Those eyes drifting
closed on the ice field of Antarctica; she still
felt the panic when she'd feared she'd seen the
life behind them for the last time. Those eyes
searching hers while his lips uttered, "I love
you."

Scully deftly pulled the sheet and blanket up over
her partner, covering his bare arm. She tucked
them snugly around his shoulders. And she stared
at him--how many times had she been here? Worrying
about him. Caring for him. Yet, he'd done the same
for her as often.  And she knew neither of them
had done that merely out of duty or obligation.

Gingerly, she touched his cheek. She leaned over
the bedrail and let her lips kiss his forehead.
They lingered there, feeling his warm skin beneath
them. Nice skin. And then she pulled back, taking
in those features she knew so well, but seeing
them in a different way. She didn't know how to
love him; she just knew that she did. 

"Hey, Mulder?" she whispered to his sleeping form,
glad he didn't hear her. "I love you, too."

********************************
End "I Don't Know How To Love Him"

Webber, Andrew Lloyd, and Rice, Tim. "I Don't Know 
How To Love Him." "Jesus Christ Superstar". MCA 
Records, 1973.