Title: The Way She Moves
Author: Catherine Earnshaw
E-mail: [email protected]
Classification: vignette, Mulder POV. Companion piece
for "The Eyes of the Beholder", which I wrote for
Fandomonium's Voyeur Challenge.
Spoilers: bits and pieces of season six
Archive: I'll take care of Gossamer and Ephemeral.
Anywhere else, please let me know.
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and the X-Files
belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. But
they'd be nothing without David Duchovny and Gillian
Anderson. I mean no copyright infringement with my
story; I just love them too much to let go of them.
The rating of "PG" is trademarked by the MPAA.
Dedicated to Susan, who gave me the idea for this story,
and to Sallie, the ultimate Scullyfan.
Thanks, as always, to Mimsy, beta-Godmother and mentor.
http://www.cybillxfilesopus.com/catherineearnshaw/home.htm
***
Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
Somewhere in the way she smiles
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
You're asking me will my love grow
I don't know, I don't know
You stick around and it may show
I don't know, I don't know
Something in the way she knows
All I have to do is think of her
Something in the things she shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
(George Harrison)
***
The Way She Moves
Scully is staring at me.
She thinks I haven't noticed. I certainly have. She might not
be aware, but I notice everything about her.
I felt her eyes on me all the way through our meeting with
Skinner. She was stealing glances -- she's nothing if not
discreet -- but she was definitely not paying attention to
our boss. She was biting her lip and licking the corner of
her mouth in that way of hers. I had to try very hard to
focus on the expense sheets in front of me.
Skinner was in full scolding mode, not that I hadn't given
him good reason. Those darn Louisiana swamps. It wasn't my fault
that the road was slippery and I ended up drowning a car. And it
wasn't my fault that some crazy voodoo practitioner decided
to use his Hot Wheels miniatures as a weapon against us and
managed to shove Scully and myself onto a ten-foot ledge.
The laptop which went through the windshield didn't help
matters, either.
I know she was a bit upset, but she didn't blame me. She was in
the car, after all. She saw the steering wheel moving of its own
accord. She also saw the gas pedal slam all the way to the floor
when my foot was on the brake. She'd told Skinner she had no
explanation for the phenomena, and then gone silent.
Now, I know Skinner is open to extreme possibilities. He has
to be to put up with us. The problem is he's facing the
Financial Department, and they're not happy.
That's how we got stuck in Skinner's office in a bright
Friday afternoon, me being lectured mercilessly and Scully
pretending she was listening, but actually looking at me.
I'm not complaining. She can look her fill. Hell, I'll give
her front row seats to watch me do anything she wants. I'm
just trying to understand what's going on, while justifying
an outrageous Lariat bill to my boss.
Right now, we're back in our office. I pretend to be
interested in my computer while she stands and stares at me.
Scully is still holding the expense sheets and the Louisiana
file. She's got a strange look on her face. It's a focused,
deliberate stare -- it makes me feel like she's studying
me. It's the scientist in her. She won't cease being herself
just because she happens to be in love with me.
That sounded extremely presumptuous, but I know it's true. I
believe she knows I love her too. I wonder who will break first.
I almost put an end to the suspense once, when she fished me out of
that Nazi nightmare. She had the perfect excuse to dismiss my
outburst -- I was high on painkillers, and a Demerol-induced
proclamation of love isn't exactly what I'd call a good move. But
she knows.
She drops the paper load on the desk, and all of a sudden I
can't stand the idea of talking about work. I loosen my tie --
I hate the damned things. People think I used to wear loud
ties because I lack fashion sense, when in fact it was an act
of rebellion. Scully has tamed my dress code over the years. I
could see her cringing every time I wore the one with the little
green alien heads.
Throwing my reading glasses at the desk, I stand up and face
her. Her gaze stops at the discarded object for a fraction of
a second. I have to struggle not to smile. Busted, Scully.
I know she likes to see me wearing my glasses. I aim to please.
I'll gladly throw my contacts away if it makes her happy.
She looks puzzled, since I have just turned my computer on and
now I'm about to leave the office.
"I'm going for a walk. Join me?" I don't give her a chance to
protest. I bolt out, press the elevator button and the doors
automatically open in front of me. I hold them open as she comes
out of the office, locking the door before getting into the elevator
and giving me The Eyebrow. I'm stressed out -- a hint of a
headache makes my forehead pound. I pinch the bridge of my nose
to drive the pain back. She's still looking at me.
It's a beaufitul afternoon. The sun makes Scully's hair shine.
I wish I could see red in moments like these. She walks in
silence beside me, letting me set the route. I know where I'm
going, and I suspect she knows, too. Our bench. We could call
it our temporary X-Files office, since this was our meeting
place during those awful months when we were apart, having to
pretend to be strangers when we craved each other's presence.
She's so beautiful. It saddens me that she doesn't know
that. She sees her height as a major drawback and her petite
frame as a hindrance. I'm well aware of the hours she spends
at the gym and the self-defense classes she regularly takes.
Always trying to outdo herself, my Scully. When we first met, I
thought she was pretty, but I was determined not to let her get too
close. The physical attraction was there, but I tried to drown it
under tasteless innuendo and raucous jokes. She's a Navy brat,
after all, she could take it.
As the years passed, she changed from pretty to stunning before
my colorblind eyes. Her features are more pronounced now. She
carries herself with a certainty that fascinates me. The attraction
has only gotten stronger, but then again, I was attracted to
Phoebe. I was attracted to Diana. When they left, I drowned in
self-pity and drank myself into a stupor, but I survived without
them just fine. Take Scully away from me and you might as well cut
my oxygen supply.
Scully's sure steps match mine. It's synchronicity, and I'm
amazed -- I don't even have to slow down so she'll keep up.
It comes to us naturally.
See, I have never been that fond of the Beatles -- my taste
leans more to the Stones -- but I could make George Harrison's
words mine.
Something in the way she moves attracts me like no other
lover.
Not that she's my lover, in the strictest sense of the word.
But if not lovers, what are we? Partners? Friends? Those words
would have been enough once. Not anymore. Not in a long time,
at least for me.
We sit together facing the Potomac, both looking at the dirty
water. I remember a thousand moments when I sat here alone, and send
a silent prayer to whichever higher power exists that she's here now.
Her hand touches my back softly, and I move mine to her knee,
giving it a brief squeeze. Those are strangely intimate touches,
and neither of us flinch. I wonder once again when it's gonna
happen, when we'll finally drop the shields - I hope it will
come out of joy rather than despair; I pray it won't take a
bullet or a hospital bed to drive us to each other's arms.
I stand up, holding out my hand. She takes it, and I'm at the
same time surprised and elated that she's acknowledged this
simple public display of affection. She smiles, I smile back,
and as we walk back to work I look at the way she moves and
find myself caught in love.
The end
***
Author's notes:
- I realized I made a mistake in "The Eyes of the Beholder":
Mulder and Scully's bench is by the Potomac River, not the
reflective pool. I'm correcting it here, and I do apologize.
- The last sentence is a personal tribute to one of my
favourite bands, Belle and Sebastian. "If you find yourself
caught in love" is in their fifth album, "Dear Catastrophe
Waitress."