You can send anonymous feedback about this story using our Feedback form

The characters herein are the property of 1013, Fox and Chris Carter. No infringement on their copyright is intended. Their usage here is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's notes: I first wrote this story to cheer up some depressed shippers, but when I was finished I couldn't believe it was mine. Anyone who knows me is well aware I am never this optimistic. A special woo hoo goes to Amanda, who taught me to seek out the sappiness inside myself, and to Susan who let me send my story to her when she was working on her own stuff. And I have to mention the Havenites who got me started on this in the first place: hettie, danamulder, Sabrina, Just Wondering and ASAC.

*-*-*-*-*-

Quiet
February 11, 1999

*-*-*-*-*-

Scully sat curled loosely in the corner of her over-stuffed couch, leaning heavily on the armrest, a book propped up on her knees. Her white terry cloth robe had fallen open to reveal her pale legs and small feet, toenails painted a delicate shell pink. The book was one she had started and forgotten months ago, before Diana Fowley showed up in her life, before she was stolen away to Antarctica, before Mulder told her he loved her. She'd had trouble getting into it then, and she wasn't doing any better now. Looking down, she realized she'd read the same page dozens of times. And she still didn't know what it said.

Sighing loudly, she stretched her legs out, reaching down to smooth the worn terry cloth over them. She knew why she was distracted. Mulder. These days she thought of little else, and she was remotely both scared and ashamed this was the case. They spent every week day together, often dragging out the work days just to be together a little longer. Both of them knew this was the case, and it was acknowledged each day with a small smile as five o'clock came and went. No words were ever spoken. And Scully was tired of it.

She was tired of stopping herself every time tender words threatened to spill out between her lips. It wasn't that she sat at her desk every day, biting her lip to keep from saying "I love you." That wasn't the case. It was the small, intimate gestures she was afraid to let go of. All the times she wanted to say "I need you to stay with me." All the times she needed him to hold her. Sometimes she wanted so badly to lean back into the hand pressed intimately against her back. She could be in his arms with just a simple twist. "I love you" was a small thing, really, next to admitting that she needed him by her side every waking moment, and wanted him beside her in sleeping ones as well.

Saturdays were lonely for her. She was used to getting up at the crack of dawn, so sleeping in wasn't usually an option. But waking up alone, rattling around her apartment, cooking breakfast for one, depressed her. And she found herself picturing Mulder there with her, hearing his husky voice low in her ear as she awoke.

She never thought it would take this long for her and Mulder to open up. But the longer they danced around their feelings, the harder it became. He knows I love him, Scully thought often, so I don't need to actually say the words. In fact, she was scared the words would open up wounds she wasn't prepared to deal with. Fox Mulder was a man who didn't know how to let someone love him, and Scully felt she got by with it only because they never verbally admitted that's what she felt for him. Without the words, Mulder could pretend it was something else. He would name it pity, he would name it friendship or compassion, but he would never name it love. His heart wouldn't allow that.

The thwack of her novel as it fell unnoticed to the floor startled Scully back to her lonely, quiet living room. "This is ridiculous," she said out loud. Placing the book on the coffee table, she stood up and started for her bedroom. At least one of them was going to behave like an adult.

*-*-*-*-*-

Mulder didn't hear the soft tapping on his door above the sound of the television, which he was absently watching as he flipped through the channels. It was 11:30 already, but he hadn't moved from his makeshift bed since coming abruptly awake some four hours earlier. Sometimes he prayed he could get back to sleep after waking from another predictable nightmare. And sometimes he prayed he would never have to sleep again. Either way, television always seemed to comfort him. When Scully wasn't around to do the job herself.

He was alarmed to notice the sound of someone jiggling a key in his front door. He quickly muted the television and crossed to the entry hall. The door opened as wide as the safety chain would allow to reveal his partner, standing somewhat shyly in the hall. She was dressed casually in jeans and running shoes, a bright blue fleece jacket swallowing her small frame. Her hair was styled the same way she always wore it, though it looked softer, less severe.

"Hey," she said softly, hesitantly looking up into his confused face. "Are you going to let me in?"

Mulder realized he had forgotten to undo the chain in his surprise, and hurried to usher her inside. "What's going on, Scully? Did something happen? Is everything okay?"

Scully chuckled at his automatic leap to the conclusion something was wrong if she visited him outside of work. When were they going to get past this?

"You know what, Mulder? Sometimes my apartment gets too quiet...like this morning. And I realize that no matter what music I put on the stereo, no matter what's on TV, I will not be able to banish the quietness. And sometimes, I can't stand the quiet."

She stopped her explanation and looked up at him expectantly. She could tell by the way his forehead crinkled slightly and his head tilted to the left, he wasn't getting it. It's too quiet with one person. It's too quiet without you, she was thinking. But his mind-reading powers always seemed to fail when it came to her personal thoughts.

"It's too quiet with one person," she said out loud, wondering how he would react. Her eyes tried to catch and hold his, but they skittered off to the far side of the room. She sighed.

"Whatcha watching? Anything good?" she asked to ease some of the tension in the room. Now that she was here, the speech she had prepared in the car seemed silly. And Mulder wasn't having any of it anyway.

"Why did you really come here, Scully?" He turned away from her and walked over to the couch, flopping heavily down on its leather surface. Something wasn't sitting well with him, and he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Perhaps that was what was bothering him most of all--his normally see-through partner was suddenly not making any sense. He tensed a little as he felt her weight joining his on the sofa. He could smell her. Even though they weren't touching, he could feel the warmth of her body. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he would imagine the feel of her in his arms; an experience he didn't have nearly enough. He'd lost track of how many nights she was the last thing on his mind before sleep finally claimed him.

"Mulder, I've spent my entire life waiting for someone to make me feel like this. And I'm tired of ignoring it." There. It was out. She'd said it, and now she held her breath waiting for his response.

Mulder felt the air rush out of his lungs. This was why she had been so distracted lately. She had met someone. He knew it would happen sooner or later, and he knew it was the best thing for her. But he didn't know how he would survive when someone took her out of his life. No one would allow his lover to put herself in danger the way he and Scully always did. No one would let her spend so much time wrapped up in a neurotic nut like him. This would be it. She would leave.

"When did all this happen, Scully? When did you have time to meet this Mr. Right?" His voice sounded hoarse and strangely small as the words came out. He couldn't look at her, knowing she would read the plea in his eyes: Don't go. Not now. Not ever. Stay with me.

"Mulder?" She didn't understand what he was asking. He knew she loved him. They'd just never said it. Surely he couldn't think she was talking about anyone else. His face betrayed nothing. Placing her palms on either side of her legs, she slid over next to him until their thighs were touching from hip to knee. She felt him try to escape, but he was wedged between her and the end of the couch with nowhere to go. Please, Scully, he thought. Please don't touch me. Don't let me feel you against me. Not after this.

Scully reached her hand up and slowly turned him to face her. She saw fear. Not a tentative, let's-take-it-slow emotion, but a raw, frantic one. And she knew what he was thinking. He was so insecure, he wouldn't allow himself to jump to the logical conclusion: she meant him.

"I meant you, Mulder," she said, barely above a whisper. "Why do you always do this to yourself? To us? Why can't you just accept it?

For the second time that day, Fox Mulder was stunned. Him? Somewhere along the way he must have missed something, because the woman he loved had just told him, more or less, that she reciprocated his feelings. It was not a position he was used to being in.

She saw it finally sink in, and Scully reveled in the way his face relaxed and his eyes widened as he looked at her. And when the feeling reached his mouth--the beautiful mouth she spent so much time contemplating--her heart skipped a beat and she found herself smiling in return.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Mulder, I want you to stop pretending that nothing exists between us. We both know it always has. We both know it always will. And we both know we'll be much happier just admitting that."

"Okay," he responded. And it was Scully's turn to be shocked. Never, in six years, had Mulder ever agreed with her on anything so quickly. She found herself suddenly not knowing what to do next.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"I've always wanted to kiss you. I never thought you'd…" Mulder sounded so insecure, Scully almost couldn't stop herself from laughing. Surely he knew, after everything they'd been through, that he didn't have to ask permission? Her answer was to snuggle deeper into his side and she looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

"You're too close," he murmured. "I want to see you."

With that he slid off the couch onto his knees on the floor, coming to rest in front of her. He brought both hands up to cup her face gently, and then simply gazed at her. He saw her lips part slightly, and her tongue sneak out to wet them. He saw her eyes flutter, and her breathing deepen. And he saw that she loved him. And he let himself believe it.

Slowly he leaned forward, his nose brushing against hers as he angled her face slightly to the right. The first touch was barely a touch at all. The second was more firm, but equally brief. But when Mulder felt her small hands come up to tangle in his hair he surged into her, bringing her torso flush against his. He devoured her soft lips, pulling the bottom one into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. She sighed into him and pressed closer.

Moments later they broke apart, and Mulder joined Scully again on the couch, pulling her jacket off and throwing it onto a nearby chair. He sank back into the cushions and pulled her into his arms, allowing one hand to burrow into her hair.

"It's much less quiet this way, don't you think?" she asked him. Mulder smiled.

*-*-*-*-*-

end

You can send anonymous feedback about this story using our Feedback form