The Truth Is Out There
by
Sydnie MacElroy
"The truth is out there, Scully."
That phrase reverberated through her mind at the oddest of moments. It had become her mantra, her anchor when all was not going as it should. Standing in a sterile lab, looking down at the body before her, the facts of that person's death eluding her, she would hear those words reminding her of her own determination. Sitting at her desk, facing a stack of paperwork so large it nearly brought tears of frustration to her eyes, she would hear those words giving her the drive to complete the work so they could move on to a new case, another chance to find the truth. Laying in her bed at night, reviewing the facts of what her life had become, replaying the horrors she had seen and the horrors she had experienced, knowing these things would rob her of desperately needed sleep, she would hear Mulder's voice whispering those words, and even knowing that he was across town, in his own apartment, she knew that it was his mind speaking to hers, telling her that everything would be all right, and she believed.
The truth. It was his obsession and it was becoming hers. She thought about bloodhounds, how once they catch a scent they will run themselves quite literally to death tracking it. Mulder tracking a case was no different. He would run himself to death, she believed, if she were not there to stop him. She was his anchor. If her obsession grew to match his as she knew it easily could, they might both be lost. It was not concern for herself, but for Mulder that caused her trepidation. She had the common sense he lacked despite his investigative acumen. Sherlock Holmes and Peter Pan rolled into one. Her partner, her friend, her Mulder.
"The truth is out there, Mulder," she whispered.
"Did you say something?" He had been staring out the window of the airplane into the pre-dawn sky, immersed in his own thoughts. Scully considered asking the question, but she suspected that she already knew what, or more precisely, who he was thinking about.
"Do you ever wonder what truth really is? I don't mean the truth we're searching for. I'm talking about truth in general."
"Shades of gray," he said.
"There is no truth without falsehood?"
"He who lives in the dark knows not of daylight."
Staring past him through the window that had held his attention a moment ago, Scully wondered if he was describing himself. In the dim light of the cabin, her own reflection in the glass stared back at her. A reflection in shades of gray. "Is our truth subjective," she asked.
He watched her silently until she turned her eyes to meet his. "I don't know. What brought this on?"
She shrugged. "Just something I've been thinking about. The way people abuse language, use a word until it no longer has meaning. Truth."
"Love."
Scully nodded. "The people who really know what it is don't need the word. They can live it without talking about it."
They were on the red-eye from Denver to Washington, having completed another case, another chance to find answers, and they were going home with only more questions. Mulder looked around at the other passengers, tourists and business travelers, most of them sleeping, a few reading or working at laptop computers, scattered sparsely throughout the plane. What were their lives like, he wondered. Did they enjoy their work or did they get up every morning dreading another day at the office? Did they have families or did they go home to empty apartments? He viewed them with a mixture of envy and disdain. Did they have someone in their lives, someone to talk to, confide in, argue with? Someone to laugh at their jokes and share their pain? Did they have someone they could trust with their lives and with their innermost secrets? Someone like his partner, his friend, his Scully?
"Do you need it, Scully?"
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Truth or love?"
"Either one."
"They're just words." She leaned back in her seat and let her eyes drift closed. Shades of gray, she thought. Her own answer had tended toward the darker end of the spectrum. She needed both and she wanted him to be the one to provide for those needs. She quickly pushed that thought away.
"What is the truth, Scully?"
Without lifting her head, she turned toward him, opening her eyes to find his face just inches from hers. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the look in his eyes, her mind flashing a warning sign as her own eyes mirrored the longing and sadness. "The truth, Mulder, is this. As much as I hate to admit it, I like that tie."
He looked puzzled for a moment, then a grin spread across his face and he laughed. "You hate this tie. You make fun of it every time I wear it."
"And you wear it so I'll make fun it, don't you? I wouldn't want to disappoint you." Gently, careful not to touch him, not to encourage her own thoughts or those she was feeling from him, she took the tie in her hand. She ran her thumb over the smooth fabric, gazed at it, allowing herself to get lost in the haze of the yellow and green geometric pattern. "I would hate this tie," she said, "on anyone else. But it suits you. A little bit different, a little bit unique. You can't imagine how sad I would be if you started showing up for work everyday wearing regimental stripes. It just wouldn't be you."
"Are you saying I'm a brown shoe in a tuxedo world?" His eyes were still locked on her, her eyes locked on his tie. The proximity of her hand to his body was stirring feelings within him that he didn't want to deal with. Not now, not here. Not yet. He didn't want this to continue and he didn't want it to stop.
"Hmm," she said, her voice barely audible over the distant drone of the jet engines. "More like a burgundy velvet tuxedo at a black tie affair."
He rejected the obvious remark as too dangerous under the present circumstances. "Why burgundy velvet," he asked.
Scully sighed and let the tie fall back against his chest. As she returned her hand to the arm rest, Mulder felt a twinge of regret, a hint of relief.
"I don't know, Mulder. Velvet because of the texture, I suppose. Not flat and boring, but not rough. Burgundy because of the richness of the color, the depth and..." She let the words trail off.
"And what," Mulder asked.
"Nothing." She straightened up in the seat and tried to put on her best look of official decorum. Glancing at her reflection in the window, she looked more pained than professional. "So, if I were a fabric, what would I be," she asked, praying for the caustic remark she had set herself up for.
"Yellow silk. Bright, like a ray of sunshine. Appearing fragile and delicate, but deceptively strong and..."
Scully smiled. "And what," she asked.
"I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours."
"Warmth."
"Sensual." He said the word as though he were saying a bad word in church and immediately turned to the window.
Scully sat in amazed silence for several minutes. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought anyone would use that word to describe her. She was Dana Scully, the Ice Queen, unloved and unlovable, cold, logical, forbidding and there was a bitter comfort in that. No risk, but also no reward. No one realized, because no one bothered to look, that there was another Dana Scully concealed beneath that veneer, a normal, healthy, passionate woman who not only wanted but needed someone in her life, someone to love and someone to love her. No one realized that, except maybe Mulder and she couldn't have him. Could she?
Was it fear of rejection or fear of acceptance that was holding her back? The feelings had been there from the beginning. Over time, she had grown accustomed to camouflaging them, allowing her emotions to show only as friendly concern or professional interest, but she knew she was lying to herself. For three years, there had been no one, not for lack of opportunity, but because no one could give her the one thing she wanted.
"Mulder..."
"We're almost home," he said, indicating the lights of Washington in the distance with a nod of his head.
Scully leaned toward the window and the two of them gazed out at the night sky, their thoughts galaxies apart yet strangely united. "The truth is out there," Scully repeated.
The End.
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