SPOILER FOR POST MODERN PROMETHEUS
Summary: Scully's thoughts during a dance
Category: V (short) MSR
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: In gratitude for a great fifth season, I hereby will refrain
from infringing on the copyright of 10-13 Productions. Thanks for
making Sunday something to look forward to again :)
Archive: Please feel free to put this anywhere as long as my name
and disclaimer stay attached to it.
Sent to EMXC and all regulations as such do apply
Dedicated to all of you who have requested this story :) You know
who you are <G>
Comments to vmoseley@fgi.net

Song and Dance
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

"And I was walking in Memphis . . ."

Mulder has been squeezing my hand since the opening notes of the
song. I've known for years that Mulder loves this song. He's not the
biggest Cher fan in the country, but she could have been Cancerman
in drag singing this and Mulder would still be singing along.

"Walking with my feet ten feet off of the earth . . ."

What a case. I came out here, fully expecting this to be another of
those monumental 'Mulder I told you so' cases, and once again, he
was the one who had it figured out. Well, maybe not figured out.
Maybe just open minded enough to let the pieces to the puzzle fall
into his lap without standing up and disregarding them. It's an
attribute that I've always found particularly endearing in my partner.
Annoying sometimes, yes, but always, in the end, endearing.

"And I was walking in Memphis . . ."

I can't help but smile as Mulder gives a high five to our newest
'friend'. I absolutely refuse to go the night calling him 'Monster', so
he told us to call him 'Sonny'--that is apparently what his father
always called him. I have no problems with that. It's a hell of a sight
better than 'Frank', which had been Mulder's muttered appellation.
That would have fallen too far into my partner's delusion.

"Do I really feel the way I feel?"

The sixty-four thousand dollar question, that one. Do I really feel the
way I feel? How _do_ I feel? Since I got the 'Governor's reprieve',
as I secretly consider my remission, I've been a jumble of emotions.
At one moment on the top of the world, the next moment filled to the
eye brows with foreboding and remorse. An emotional rollercoaster
and more often than I care to admit, I've dragged my long suffering
partner along for the ride. Funny thing is, we seem to be on the same
ride, just in different cars. When I'm on an incredible high, I look
over and see tears of pure hellish agony in his eyes. They never
fall--that would cleanse them from his soul and purify him. Far
better to let them fester, unheeded, there on his lashes. Then, when
I'm at the bottom of the pit and digging a hole, I can hear him
humming--practically ready to burst into song. Take the other night
for example. Mulder's hurt, in pain, shock and bordering on
hypothermia, and he expects me to sing.

I didn't really want to sing. I hate to sing. I've hated to sing since
the third grade when Sister Mary Pius forced me to sing the second
verse to 'Oh Mary, We Crown Thee with Blossoms Today'. I knew
the words. Every third grader at St. Cecilia's knew the words, even
Danny Farber who, at that point, still couldn't recite the Pledge of
Allegiance without a prompt card. Heard Danny's now an
anchorman for the six o'clock news in Peoria. But back to the song.
It came the night of the May Crowning, and a girl from each of the
bottom three grades was to sing one verse and on the chorus, a girl
from one of the top three grades would place a crown on Mary's
head. Just my luck that when time came for my verse, the next girl
up to place a crown was Missy. My totally irreverent sister started
giggling as I hit note after note just one half step off key and by the
time she had to place the flowered crown on Our Lady's head, she
was laughing so hard she slipped off the altar and fell flat on her ass.
Needless to say, the rest of the church cracked up. Except, of course,
our parents, Sister Mary Pius and Father Sullivan. The whole school
had to stay in at recess for the next week. And during the next May
crowning, there were no solo performances.

But how could I have explained that to Mulder? He was
three-quarters out of his head by that time, and wouldn't have
followed a word I said. So, in this completely miserable
circumstance, cold, wet, hungry, thirsty, more than a little worried
about my partner--what song do I find popping into my head
completely unbidden? 'Joy to the World'. That's right. Joy to the
World. And not even the good one-- 'Joy to the world, the Lord has
come'. No, I come up with 'Jeremiah was a bullfrog'. I'm surprised
I didn't send Mulder the rest of the way into deep shock. I'm pretty
sure he simply passed out before I got to the second verse.

But I couldn't help myself. I sang that damned song four times
through. And by the end, I think I was averaging about 60 percent of
it on key.

It was a joy to be back to work. All of it. The wet, the cold, the
blood (another blouse down the rag bin due to Mulder's capacity to
bleed all over me)--all of it was joy. Just like this case, where I was
sure I was going to strangle Mulder at several points. I look back
now and realize that I've just had one of the best few days of my life.

Again.

When I came back from my medical leave, Skinner called me into his
office. He shut the door and sat down and took off his glasses. Then,
in a voice that was nothing at all like his 'I'm an Assistant Director
of the FBI' voice, he said 'Dana. You are more than entitled to
request a transfer.' He didn't let me answer immediately. He told
me that he wanted me to take a couple of days to consider it. He said
that Mulder himself had suggested the offer, but couldn't bring
himself to give it to me.

I was hurt at first. Angry and filled with self pity. How dare he think
of getting rid of me after all I'd been through for him. And then, after
I calmed down a little, I realized what he was doing. He wasn't
getting rid of me. He was letting me get rid of him. Mulder was once
again taking all the blame, judging himself guilty, and sentencing
himself to solitary confinement. Thank god we work for the Justice
Department and not the Supreme Court.

But after I calmed down, I came to another realization. I was angry
at first because I'd actually considered asking for a transfer. Bill had
mentioned it as he was leaving for San Diego. He wanted me to
think about it--for Mom's sake. And when I had, I decided that I
didn't want to leave. I love my job, now, more than ever.

And besides, I could never leave Mulder. Not now, not ever. It's
that simple.

I can't say exactly when this epiphany came to me. It sure wasn't
while I was in the hospital. Before the remission, all I could think
about was getting Mulder off the hook for murder one. After the
remission, all I could think of was keeping my darling brother Bill
from killing my darling partner Fox. Kept me occupied for the whole
week recovery.

It never did really hit me. Not like a big discovery should. It sort of
sneaked up on me, somewhere between threatening to tie him to a
bed if Mulder didn't get some rest and almost force feeding him with
Chinese food because I know he didn't eat a bite the whole time I
was in the hospital. Somewhere in there, I figured it out. We're
alive. We're together. Nothing else matters.

I watch enthralled as Cher comes down to our table and takes
'Sonny' by the hand. Mulder gives him a little help getting to his
feet--the poor guy (?) is severely starstruck at this point. Mulder
stands there, and watches them as Cher croons 'his' song to a
one-time monster. Then, in the worst imitation of Elvis I've ever
seen him do, my partner stretches out his hand, bidding me to dance
with him.

Here it comes. The point of no return. Do I take his hand and admit
to Mulder that I now understand how much I would miss him if he
wasn't in my life? Do I take this opportunity to show him that I'm
ready to see where we can take this relationship? Do I have the guts
to see past this dance, into the future, with the one man I know I want
to spend the rest of my life with?

Do I really feel the way I feel?

My hand reaches out of its own accord. His hand is big and warm
and smooth and I'm so used to his touch that it's like coming home
after a long day. I twirl into his arms and smile up at him. I
think--no I'm sure he knows what I'm thinking. He's thinking the
same thing.

Which one do we consider to be 'our song'?

the end
Vickie

Season's Greetings
Peace and Joy