TITLE: Stalking Scully
AUTHOR: Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer.
SPOILER WARNING: Sixth season episodes through Milagro.
RATING: PG
CONTENT STATEMENT: MS/UST
CLASSIFICATION: VA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST
SUMMARY: A post ep for Milagro.
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.
NOTE: Huge thanks to Keleka and Sallie for beta reading!

Stalking Scully
By Shoshana

I edge away from the curb, praying my luck will hold out for just
one more week. If she ever found out I was doing this... no, let's
not go down that road yet. She hasn't found out and she won't. Not
if I use every tip I've ever picked up from my dealings with plain-
clothes officers. The academy wasn't the only place to learn how to
tail a suspect.

Of course, I never thought I'd be tailing Scully, who emerged from
her apartment house seconds ago and is heading off on her Saturday
morning run. We're together twelve to sixteen hours a day five days
a week. Unless we're out of town on a case, the weekend has always
been reserved for private time. I don't worry about making an
occasional phone call--she usually sounds pleased to hear from me.
Even on Sunday, or holy bath day, as I call it.

There have been weekend days when I've appeared on her doorstep,
broken and beaten from some misadventure or elated and excited by
some new tip I had to share in person. But those times have been far
and few between. Really. I'm not just saying that.

This latest project, following Scully around on her morning jogs,
shopping trips and midnight Ben and Jerry's runs, has only lasted for
three weekends. I've been very very careful. She doesn't suspect a
thing.

I know I'm invading her privacy but my rationalization is simple, I
have to know how Padgett did it. How the hell did he stalk an
intelligent, highly-trained Federal Agent for months and months of
her life? I have no doubt about his power of observation. They
seemed as acute as my own, honed by years of investigative work. A
writer would take note of miniscule details others would miss. A
writer would create a richly detailed story for his main character,
using every scrap of information he had gathered.

Even erroneous little technicalities... like the fact that Scully is
almost always in the company of her best friend and partner. Like
the fact that her partner is about a head taller and thirty pounds
heavier than the little weasel who chose to dog Scully's every
footstep in DC for God knows how long.

The *observant* writer finally got it, finally saw the light somehow
in that interrogation cell. I was stunned myself. I knew I loved
Scully. I was almost sure she loved me. But I wasn't sure whether
she was *in love* with me and I didn't want something so personal, so
precious discussed in a tawdry prison cubicle by a two-bit criminal.
I maintained my poker face, as did Scully. It was easy, really. We
didn't dare look at one another for the next fifteen minutes. By
that time, we'd processed the paperwork at the station and gotten
into the Bureau car and driven back to Hoover. All without speaking.

By the time we got to our office, the shock of Padgett's revelation
had somehow lost its punch. We cordially decided to pick up some hi-
tech listening and viewing devices and wasted no time going to my
apartment to set them up. Work has always given us an easy out, a
way to defer personal conversations for a day, a week, sometimes
forever.

Was Padgett truly intuitive or did he just make a lucky guess? Yes,
he was able to commit to writing the scenarios for several murders.
Yes, they did come to pass. But was Agent Scully already in love?
No way was I going to let the little weasel invade my partner's world
like that. I was even more determined to catch him in the act after
that off-the-wall affirmation.

Okay, okay. You've listened to my blathering long enough. Back to
the street and my furtive pursuit of Scully. I've managed to keep
her in sight the last few minutes while I've entertained you with my
admittedly biased account of the whole sordid affair. What? I
didn't tell you the whole story? I will. Give me some time to park
the car. Scully's stopping for a latte.

I'm lucky to find a space right across the street from the coffee
bar she's chosen. I've been here many times with her in the early
morning, especially if we want to catch some caffeine before a
flight. One of us waits in line while the other checks our laptops
for any last minute E-mails from the boss. Sometimes we sit and
drink in silence, once in awhile we start arguing a case as civilly
as we can in public.

It's always a thrill to be seen in Scully's company and a real rush
to observe how other men react to her beauty. Occasionally, I dare
to believe she's mine, that we're lovers having a quick breakfast
after a long night together. It's a dangerous notion, delusional I'm
sure.

What if he's right? What if she is in love? And wouldn't it make
sense that I'd be the likely prospect? Who else is there in her
life... I would know wouldn't I?

So, okay, yeah. I'm not doing this to discover how Padgett was able
to stalk Scully. I'm doing it for my own peace of mind. I want to
know if she's seeing someone. If she is, I'll give up. I'll never
daydream about a future with her again. At least I'll try.

Holy shit! A guy just sat down next to her in the cafe! She knows
him, she gave him a kiss on the lips. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I have
certainly been a master of self-deception. She does have someone.
How could I have been so stupid?

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I'd like to break
something, hit something hard. For that very reason, I'm not leaving
until I get a hold of my emotions.

My body has become my enemy all of a sudden, every muscle feels
tense and strained to its limits. I slump down in the car seat,
holding my forearm against my aching stomach. Goddammit, goddamit.
I should have known. Why did I take her for granted? She found
someone else while I was waiting for her to make the first move. I
am the biggest schmuck in the universe.

I can't see the picture window of the restaurant anymore, only
because I'm collapsed so low into my bucket seat. I rented a Trans-
Am for the occasion. A Cadillac the first week, a Continental the
next. All cars very unlike my own beat up Honda Accord. Guess it
was all for naught, right?

No, no. At least I know now. I'll go home and nurse my wounds in
front of the TV. But first, I have to figure out a way to leave with
dignity. My shaky hands and wobbly legs are not cooperating.
Neither is my digestive system. I want to lose what little breakfast
I choked down today but I know I don't want to draw attention to
myself. So I swallow the bile back down my GI tract and try to get
regain some composure.

I'm able to sit up straight now and I pull down the makeup mirror
mounted behind the sun visor. I don't really want to face myself but
I should erase the tear tracks beneath my eyes. I must have really
lost it, man. I cried on a public street in Georgetown in the middle
of the day. Over a woman. The only woman.

I better get going now.

I don't even give the coffee place a backwards glance. My life with
Scully is over now. I'll have to find some way to get her off the X-
Files. She's sacrificed everything for my stupid quest and she
shouldn't have to anymore. She should quit me and go to Quantico to
teach and conduct nice, safe autopsies indoors. Maybe she can get
married and adopt some kids with that guy. Maybe I can move on with
my life too. I need to be pragmatic about this. It's the best thing
I could do for Scully and myself.

It's eight o'clock when I get home and the sun is streaming into my
dusty old apartment. I feel tired, more weary than I have in weeks.
Stalking Scully energized me, gave me something to look forward to.
Now I have some common ground with Padgett, I guess. I have him to
thank for showing me the light. Maybe I can force her to make a
clean break with me and keep herself safe again.

I shuck off my jacket, shoes, and socks and lie down on the sofa.
Good old leather sofa. It smells familiar and I nestle down in its
comfortable folds. I need to sleep. It's far better than staying
awake and thinking about Scully and her guy.

I could have been that guy. Yeah, I really think I could have.
She's shown interest in me. Look at that Eddie van Blundht fiasco.
She thought I was attractive enough to kiss. I could have tried to
open up to her, to court her, so to speak. We would have had to end
our FBI partnership. I know that's why I didn't go after her right
there and then.

Instead, I waited another year before I tried to kiss her and was
thwarted by a damn bee. Never got the same feeling back after that.
It was always the wrong time, especially after Diana spooked Scully.
I wanted to explain to Scully about my past with her but I never
found the right time or place. We just let it go until and the whole
problem festered until El Rico rolled around.

Things have improved since February, but not by much. I thought we
might have a chance together after we got the X-Files back. I was
going to stop ditching her and try to repair our relationship. Diana
was out of the picture, thank God. I thought that was all I needed
to do.

Apparently not. Apparently Dr. Scully has found a medical resident
or DC detective or tenured professor to have early morning breakfast
with. She never needed me to love. I've been a fool to think
otherwise.

I turn my face away from the world, away from the truth that's hurt
me so much. I smother the throw pillow with unfettered tears,
pulling my legs to my chest and hanging on tight.

Hours later, there's a knock at the door. I've slept this whole
time and I'm a physical wreck. I should wash my face before I
answer.

"Hold on!" I yell at the persistent sound. It must be Scully and I
don't want her to see me like this.

"Mulder! Open the door!" she insists.

"Just a moment!" I holler.

I rush to the john and relieve myself and splash some water on my
face. I rub my cheeks vigorously with the towel. I want her to
think I've been working out and that's why my face is so red.

I open the door and she looks so small today, in her flat tennis
shoes and running apparel. Her suits give her an air of authority,
impossible to duplicate with Adidas wear.

"Hi. Sorry about that Scully. I was doing some push-ups."

She looks at me skeptically and brushes by me quickly, waiting for
an invitation to sit. I shut the door and motion toward the
armchair. The sofa is a mess and I have to fold the Navajo blanket
before I can seat myself.

Scully bites her lip nervously and brushes her hand through her
hair. It's April in DC and turning out to be a really warm day.
Showers are forecast for tonight so I know the humidity probably cut
her run short, even this early in the morning. I glance at the VCR
clock. It's ten a.m. She's been running for three hours now, aside
from her stop for coffee.

I see her kissing her mystery man again in my mind's eye. The
atmosphere is stifling me, I can't breathe well. I try to hide it,
try to take a deep breath without her noticing my aggravation. I'm
not successful.

"Are you satisfied?" she begins with evident sarcasm.

"With what?"

I'm going to play dumb until I have to confess. That's what I've
learned from all those criminal interrogations.

She heaves a disgusted sigh and drops her head to her hands. "With
your little game, Mulder."

"What game?"

I am really asking for it now. Her cheeks are glowing with anger,
her eyes convey their disappointment in me.

She gets up and starts to pace from the computer to the television
set, sparing me a harsh glance or two, mostly focussing on the
movement of her own hands as they gesticulate in the air. She's
having a hard time articulating herself. Oh boy, I really am in
trouble now.

She finally stops immediately across from me, on the other side of
the coffee table. She crosses her arms and looks me directly in the
eye.

"Goddamit, Mulder! You know you've been following me! This was the
third week! Does this have something to do with that asshole
Padgett?!"

I haven't heard her use that word very much in the past and I can't
help but transfer its meaning to myself at this moment. I am an
asshole. I stalked her. I invaded her privacy and compromised our
relationship as partners and friends. I don't know what to say. I
say something, anything, to stall her out and calm her down.

"It's not what it looks like, Scully," I bleat. I sound miserable
and I know my face and demeanor match my pathetic tone of voice. Get
it together, Mulder. You have to tell her to leave you. You have to
be strong.

"It looks like one of your cockamanie experiments, Mulder. It looks
like you're convinced I can't take care of myself. That there are
men stalking me left and right," she retorts bitterly.

Before I can think things out I say, "Well, there's at least one
other man around. I saw him and you don't have to worry about me
anymore, Scully. I won't stand in your way."

Scully shakes her head incredulously, "Won't stand in my way? What
the fuck are you talking about, Mulder? What way?"

She's stumped. Either I haven't made myself clear or I've been
totally wrong about her relationship with the man in the coffee bar.
I take the pessimistic view and try to explain myself, "I only
followed you because I was worried about you. I thought you might be
too nonchalant, jogging around without recognizing potential
dangers."

"What dangers?" she interrupts crossly.

"I don't know. I couldn't understand how Padgett got so close to
you. He was able to tail you for months, Scully. You never even
noticed him. I just wanted to know how oblivious you are when you're
off the job. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed that. And anyway,
you have someone else to watch out for you now," I add, straining to
sound pleased. All I manage to convey is my utter misery, not my
happiness for her new found love.

Scully's mouth drops open, her hands clench at an imaginary object
in the air. She closes her eyes for a few seconds and sighs when she
opens them, "Why do you think I need someone to look out for me when
I'm off work, Mulder? Has it occurred to you that I could have beat
the crap out of Padgett? Haven't I been able to take down men larger
than myself?"

"Yes," I agree sheepishly.

"I need you. I need you to back me up on the job. I need you off
the job, too. But only when I tell you I do, Mulder. I don't need
you to stalk me around town. No matter how worried you are about my
welfare. I appreciate the thought but it's annoying as hell to see
you sitting across the street from the Coffee Klatch at eight o'clock
in the morning."

I drop my head into my hands and scrub at my eyes. They were red
earlier. Wonder if they still look like I had a good cry.

I feel Scully sit down next to me and I peek at her from the veil of
my hands. She's putting her arm around me! Scully, get away. I
don't want pity now.

She rubs my back firmly and I put my hands in my lap. I'm rigid
beneath her touch. I'm not ready for the straight dope on her new
boyfriend just yet. I wish she would leave instead of caressing my
back like this. It feels really good and I have no reason to be
wanting her touch right now.

"Mulder," she says softly, "Would you please relax a little.
Please? For me?"

Her eyes are sparkling. She's on the verge of tears and I put them
there. I feel like shit about that but I also find it impossible not
to relax into her touch, it feels too damn good. I start to slump
over, my forearms propped upon my thighs.

She scoots over on the couch, surprising me when she puts her head
on my slumped shoulder and croons quietly, "Mulder. Listen to me.
I'm not angry anymore."

I lift my head and check out her eyes to see if it's true.

Scully laughs softly at my puzzled expression. "Well, maybe a
little bit." She combs the stray hair off my forehead as I sit up
straighter to listen to her. "I knew you were following me the first
week you did it. You are a really bad undercover operative." She
giggles girlishly and I smile at her for the first time since she's
been in the apartment.

"I am?" My eyebrows rise in response to her negative evaluation of
my cloak and dagger skills.

"Yes, at least as far as following your partner goes."

She laughs again and rubs my shoulder affectionately. I am enjoying
this way too much. I don't want her to know how much so I am
thinking about the flukeman with all my might.

"I know you too well. As you know me. Or should. I told you that,
didn't I?" she says, her voice lowering to a whisper.

I do little more than nod. Her hand returns to my head, massaging
the nape of my neck. Oh, Scully this is so unfair. I keep my hands
locked between my legs as I relax into her touch. My head falls to
my chest of its own volition. My mind is screaming no and my body
begs for attention.

"You okay?" she asks as my breathing slows and I feel like I can
make it.

I sit up straight and smile over at her. Her hand is rubbing my
spine now and I wish it would stay there forever.

"I'm much better. I'm so sorry, Scully. I really screwed up,
didn't I?"

She smiles at me for a few seconds then agreed, "Yeah, you did.
You're forgiven though. Does that make it better?"

I smile back and nod my head yes. I chew my lower lip, not sure
what to say next. I still want to know about the guy but I couldn't
possibly ask her about him.

Her hand stops on my lower back and stays there. I am thinking
flukeman thoughts at the speed of sound at this point. She looks
over at me and grins.

"The guy is a friend from medical school, Mulder."

"Oh?" I respond in my 'I don't really care' tone of voice.

"Yes. He's gay, Mulder. I've kissed him on the mouth for ten
years." She smiles and adds "He's my friend."

Without thinking I blurt out, "Like I am?"

Her eyes soften and she says quietly, "No, not quite like you are,
Mulder."

Scully's hand travels from my lower vertebrae to the nape of my
neck. She fingers the soft hair there and tilts her head so she can
look at me directly, "No one is quite like you."

I am stunned by her admission. I think I know what she means but
I'm terrified of that slim margin of misinterpretation. I stare at
her open-mouthed. I need all the air I can pump into my lungs at the
moment.

Startling me slightly, she moves closer, laying her head against my
shoulder once again. This time I firmly put my arm around her,
pulling her against my side. I kiss her forehead once and smooth my
hand up and down the soft skin of her forearm. She burrows her cheek
against me, telling me more in one simple gesture than she could in
mere words.

We sit quietly like this for several minutes until she begins to
yawn. She chuckles softly and raises her hand to cover her mouth.

"Tired?" I ask as she pulls away from me slightly.

Scully agrees with a nod but doesn't leave my embrace. Her eyes
tell me it's up to me what happens next.

"Why don't you lie down for awhile. The bed is made," I admit
proudly.

She assents with a dip of her head and says, "Sure. That's sounds
good, Mulder."

I rise from my couch and offer her my hand. She takes it and I pull
her up to a standing position. She's inches away from me and we're
both as nervous as teenagers on their first date. I clear my throat
and smile at her. She returns the expression, then dips her head, a
little flustered.

She's so appealing, so beautiful right now. Kissing her is a
temptation but I want to wait. I feel emotionally overwrought and I
think she does too. I gently steer her toward my bedroom, my hand on
her bare forearm.

"You'll like it in here," I quip. "I had to replace the water bed
in March."

She lifts her head and repeats in the same impish manner she did
once before, "You had a waterbed, Mulder?"

We both smile and her hand finds mine before we reach the door. I
don't trust myself beyond this threshold. I think she knows that.

"Get some rest and I'll see about getting us some lunch, all right?"
I tell her. I rub her shoulders gently, hoping she'll relax.

She bobs her head in agreement and squeezes my hand once before
giving me a brief, sleepy smile and shuffling off to the bed. I
close the door quietly and stand motionless outside the door. I
force my legs to take me to the kitchen to get water from the
refrigerator.

I spot the rental car keys on the table and eye them suspiciously.
Maybe we can still take that Trans-Am for a spin after lunch.

fin

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