Author: Claire "The Coffee Guru" Rating: PG, no sex, no drugs, just a little rock and roll. P.S. This is NOT a song story. Category: MSR, Angst, and wishful thinking. Distribution: Anywhere, with my name and addy attached, and let me know, so I can see where it goes, (so I'm a little vain. Who isn't?) :). Summary: See what a late night and a lot of thinking can do to a relationship. Disclaimer: Oh, this thing again. Well, alright, if you insist. They're mine, or rather, ours, CC, 1013, and Fox. But since all of the Philes combined probably don't have enough money to defend that statement, I have to pretend that they're yours for now. But you'll only get them back when I'm done with them, so you'd better learn to share, and fast. "Nights in White Satin" belongs to the Moody Blues, and I don't mind giving them credit, because I could never have the talent to write like they do. Dedication: To my Cog Sisters, and to everyone who's given me feedback on my stories. I hope that you like this one, guys. Oh, and to everyone on M&S, without whom I would have nothing to read on a Friday night.
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"Nights in white satin, never reaching the end. Letters I've written, never meaning to send. Beauty I'd always missed with these eyes before. Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore. ‘Cause I love you, yes I love you, oh I love you."
It was obvious to the stupidest person that from the beginning that I loved him. First it was with some kind of awe, as one loves God. I could trust this man with my life, and if I asked him, he would protect me with every fiber of his being. Then it was a love that was strengthened by annoyance, as I now know that he is far from perfect. And now, now it is a love that is pure, as pure as the white satin sheets that I lie upon, thinking about him. This love goes beyond words, beyond touch, beyond sound. We are one.
I've tried to materialize it. I've written more than one letter to him, trying my best to tell him how much he's a part of me, but it sounds like the inside of a Hallmark card, shallow and hollow, with no real feeling attached, and that's the farthest thing from the truth. Feeling and being are the two parts of our simple complex relationship. Sound confusing? Who we are, together, is made up of just those two things. Simple. But those same two elements are so complex and confusing that it would take an eternity to even begin to sort them out. And unless we are gods, then there is no chance of our doing that.
Why is it that I didn't realize before how much this simple, beautiful human meant to me? I don't know. I was a blind person, or at least an obstinate one, who wouldn't allow anyone, not even Mulder, to possess a part of me. In admitting that I loved him, I would be giving him free access to Dana Scully, the person, instead of Dana Scully, the partner. What I didn't realize is that I had done just that from the very beginning. That night in his hotel room broke the barriers, but I didn't see it happening. So I put up a shell of ice to keep him out of my persona. And it worked. For about two seconds.
I don't know what's real now, and what's just a dream. If all I feel is what he feels, and I tell him, will the fantasy end? Will all of this self-examination and torture be for nothing? Will the waiting have been in vain? Does the truth heal all, or will it tear us apart beyond repair? There is only one way to know. I get up off the sheets and go to dress.
"Gazing at people, some hand in hand, just what I'm going through, they can't understand. Some try to tell me thoughts they cannot defend. Just what you want to be, you will be in the end. And I love you, yes I love you, oh I love you."
I wanted to tell her from the beginning, though it was impossible. My love for her, as the poets say, knows no bounds. I have to struggle to keep from letting her see: see me, who I am, how I feel, how much I want her as my own.
Every once in a while, I go to sit on the bench by the Pond, and I just watch the couples go by, hand in hand, joyous in their love, ignorant of others' pain in their bliss. I don't blame them, they just don't understand me. They might have once, long ago when they two were struggling with the inner dilemma of love. If I ever do reach the point where I can tell her, then maybe I too, can be one of those blessed with the ability to forgo the rest of the world in favor of the one I love.
I am not worthy of her. I know that. I always have, and have never fooled myself on that point, though I haven't exactly shown her that, either. My little red-headed angel and savior. She is the captor of my soul, of my being, and I couldn't find a better jailer. There are those, though, who tell me that I can never have her, that she will never want me. I pretend not to hear, and I never let them know how much they hurt me, how much their petty statements won't allow me to open myself to her. Others tell me that she is not worthy of me, that I shouldn't waste my time on the Ice Queen. I've given more than one person serious injuries for that statement. Under that thin shell of frozen water lies an eternal soul of fire. I've seen it, I know it's there, and I treasure those moments when it's brought to the surface, even if she's allowing it to be free solely to kick my ass. So their thoughts are nothing more than baseless statements.
I love everything about Scully, everything that it her. I would love her if she was a garbage collector, or the President of the United States. Her title doesn't add to who she is, nor does it take away. Whatever it is just enhances who she is, one aspect of her or another. My multifaceted, all-encompassing Scully. In the end, she is still the one that I love more than any other, and that is all that matters.
Now my question is: do I tell her? Can I tell her? I suppose that I can, and must, and the sooner, the better. It's a good thing that I'm parked in front of her building.
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While Scully was still in the shower, Mulder knocked on her door. Getting no answer, he let himself in. "Scully?" Still nothing. He walked quietly through the apartment, in case she was sleeping, but hurried, worried that there might be trouble. He made it to her bedroom door, and looked inside. There was a light under the bathroom door, and her lamp by her bed was on. Going inside, he noticed a letter with his name on it. Curious, he sat on her bed, and opened it.
"Mulder, There's so much that I want to say but every time I try, I cannot speak the words that I want you to hear. I suppose that it's only one thing that I want to say, and that is that I love you. I mean person to person, woman to man, soulmate to soulmate. Everything there is about you, both perfect and imperfect is something that I adore. I am afraid that if you read this letter, though, all of my doubts and fears will come to light, and you will not love me in return. So I pray that this card will never be read by you. Rather, I wish that there will never be a need for it, and that you and I can love each other forever, someday. So I will wait, and, hopefully, we will be together. Yours forever, Scully."
Mulder held the card long after he finished reading it. So what he came for was not in vain. Joy filled his heart, and carefully he tucked the card back into its envelope and put it back on the table, and she never needed to know that he read it.
At that moment, she walked out of her bathroom, fully dressed with a towel around her hair. He had never seen her more beautiful. She saw him at the same moment he saw her, and stopped walking. All thoughts of rational conversation flew from her mind, and she said the first thing that came to her mind. "Mulder, I love you."
The shock of what she said registered on her face, but Mulder smiled and said, "That's good, because it makes what I came here to say easier." He stood, and took a step towards her.
"What's that?" She attempted to move around him, but he grabbed her elbow and held her in front of him. With his free hand, he tilted her chin up to make her look at him.
"I love you," he whispered, and leaned down to kiss her. The towel slipped down to the floor, and he ran his fingers through her wet hair. She just closed her eyes, and knew that now the truth had been spoken.
The party's over. Let me know what you thought at Chiara_16@hotmail.com Flames will be nice for a fire in my room, where it is quite chilly.
