"Mashed" By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, and the property of 1013 Productions, as well as Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters copyrighted were used without permission, and no infringement of the copyright is intended. Original Posting : September 20, 1997. Archive Entry : "Mashed" Classification : MSR, SR Rating : R (Adult themes, language, situations) Timeline : Post "Small Potatoes" Summary : My post-"Small Potatoes" take on the 'ship. Feedback : drambo@sonic.net Enjoy ----- "When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead And the white knight is talking backwards And the red queen's off with her head Remember what the doormouse said Feed your head, feed your head Don't you want somebody to love? Don't you need somebody to love?" - Jefferson Airplane "White Rabbit" "...that's what I would do, if I were you." The voice of that...thing is tinny and remote through the tiny speaker. I can barely make out his words, although I am straining hard. I can't see Mulder's face from the camera's downward angle, but I can imagine his expression. Wry, dismissive, remote, his eyes lizard-like, some mental inner lid drooping down to cover his emotions. I watch as Mulder stands and turns his back on Eddie, heading towards the door. The guard unlocks it, admitting my partner to the hallway. He signs himself out as I wait, and we walk down the hall towards the parking lot. I have to say it. "I know this goes without saying, Mulder, but you're not a loser." He says nothing for a long time, fiddling with something in his hands. A sunflower seed? "Yeah," he finally grunts, his voice sounding as if it's coming from a thousand miles away. "But I'm no Eddie Van Blundht, either. Am I?" I have no answer for this. It's the last thing I expected him to say. That he would compare himself to that...freak sitting in the visitation room forty yards behind us is stunning. I want to reach out and touch him, touch him the way I have dozens of times before. A gentle hand on his arm, a soft smile from my face, a certain glint in my eyes telling him that it's ok. But it's not. It's not ok, and I'm not sure if it ever will be again. We get back in the car, heading back to Washington, back to our jobs, our lives. We're silent the entire way, Mulder driving. The radio isn't even on, making the silence between us, the distance, even more oppressive and dark. There's so much I want to say to him. But it's all mixed up inside my head. I can't make heads or tails out of it, and it's driving me crazy. I want to tell him what happened that night a month ago, but I can't even make sense of it myself. Mulder, or what I thought was Mulder, was an inch from my face, from my mouth, getting ready to kiss me. Only now, in retrospect, do I understand that Eddie wasn't even attracted to me. It was revenge, nothing more. A way to get back at Mulder for spoiling Eddie's fun, for ruining his ability to have any woman he wanted at any time by just...becoming who they wanted most. In a sick, twisted way, he was trying to do them a favor. Impregnating the women of sterile, low-motility husbands. Helping them start a family. Helping them become whole again. I've known friends that have been sterile, or who have had problems conceiving. It's so hard for them, the constant worrying, the wondering if this time will be it, if they will finally manage to create a new life between them, if they'll finally manage to conquer an enemy that's silent and invisible. I know all about silent and invisible enemies. More than I ever wanted to know. More than I ever thought I would. And once again, I return to that night in my mind, and once again the same question asks itself unbidden. Would I have let him kiss me? For the fact remains, that until Mulder came crashing through my door, I was sure that the man on the couch next to me was Mulder. That fact cannot be escaped. I could have lied, could have stalled, could have told Mulder that I knew it was Eddie, that I was continuing the case, investigating, trying to get Eddie to confess. But that's nonsense, and Mulder would see through it in a heartbeat. We had the physical evidence. We had all we needed. Eddie was the father of those children, and he was going down for five rapes. Bastard. So, I thought it was Mulder. Thought it was Mulder getting ready to kiss me, to...what? Make love? The thought hangs like a specter between Mulder and I as we drive north, back to DC. The four weeks between then and now have been filled with silences, both long and short. He's called me a few times at home, just as he always does, but there's something missing. Something...lacking between us. I'm not sure if it's a trust issue, or a lack of it. I'm not sure if he's hurt, angry, depressed...whatever. I just can't pin his emotions down because this huge, fat wall is between us now. He won't share with me. The silent connection between us is broken. I can't read his mind anymore, and I'm hoping desperately that he can still read mine. Work is hell. We do exactly what we're supposed to and not a single whit more. No jokes, no teasing, no sly, lurid remarks, no jokes about his collection of adult entertainment. I've given him thirty openings a day, trying to get him back to where he was, trying to get us back to that same place. It isn't working. And it's killing me. Time...time is slipping away. This thing inside me is slowly eating away at me. I don't know how much time I have left. Do I want to leave it like this? Do I want to go on to whatever's next without telling Mulder how I feel about it? About him? About us? The only problem, I know, is that I know what I feel about any of it. All I know is that someone I thought was Mulder came to my apartment, we drank wine, talked, laughed, grew closer (if it's at all possible to get closer to Mulder,) and then we almost kissed. Anything after that is up for grabs, dammit. We get back to Washington, and Mulder drops me off at my apartment. I stand on the sidewalk and watch him drive away. He looks so sad, so haunted. Without thinking, I go upstairs, wondering what the hell I'm going to do now. Opening the door to my apartment, I see the message light blinking. Mom, I think. I hit the switch. "Scully, it's me." Mulder's voice, in the car. My heart leaps. "We need to talk," the voice continues, droning. "I just dropped you off. Please call me." I am dialing before the machine finishes beeping. "Mulder." "Come back. Now." "On my way." He disconnects. Four minutes later, I hear his key hit the lock. On the couch, I wait. The same couch. It's important that he see that, he understand the message I'm sending, even if I don't fully understand it myself. He stands in the doorway, shucking his coat. "I'm sorry," he starts. "For what?" I wonder. "For that comment I made back at the jail." I say nothing, letting it stand between us. "You've been distant lately," I say, trying to open the conversation a little. He nods, says nothing. He comes and sits on the couch. "Want to tell me why?" He cocks an eyebrow and shrugs. "Are you angry at me?" I venture. He shrugs again, unable to meet my eyes. "What are you feeling?" A third shrug. "Mulder, you have to talk to me about this. We have to talk about it." He nods, but thankfully doesn't shrug. "I know, Scully. But it's hard to talk about. Harder than anything." "Why?" "Dangerous," he mumbles, but says nothing further. I let this sit. It is dangerous, I know. Too many emotions, too many highly volatile feelings. Too much left unsaid over the last five years. That's the real problem, I know. We've let this simmer for five years, and today, right now, it's threatening to boil over, scalding anyone that stands too close. "How about if I start?" I offer. He looks up, gratitude written on his face. "I thought it was you, Mulder. I thought you'd come over to spend some off-duty time with me...the first since New Mexico." "That wasn't strictly off-duty," he smiled. "More like off the reservation." I smile at his weak humor. It's his only defense, sometimes, his smart remarks, his oh-so-witty retorts. I say nothing, feeling my lips pinch. "Mulder," I start. "You are obviously upset." "Aren't you?" Ah, the crux. "Well...I'm only upset that you're upset." His features darken as he hears my words and tries to interpret them. "You're not upset that I tried to kiss you?" "You didn't try anything, Mulder," I point out. "You thought Eddie was me at the time," he retorts and I know that he does understand, that he does get it. "Yes," I admit. "Yes, I did." "So? At that moment, as 'I' was leaning in to kiss you -- what did you feel, Scully?" I consider this. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, not wanting to answer rashly. "The fact of the matter is, my emotions prior to you crashing in through the door, which I did appreciate by the way, are a little clouded. The surprise of discovering that the man on the couch was not you tends to erase what happened before." "Not for me," Mulder said softly. I nod, understanding. "But I'm trying to remember," I say softly, letting myself really think about it for the first time in weeks. I close my eyes, going back to that moment and the moments before it: talking to Mulder, telling him about my life, about my childhood, about my father. I remember wondering what Ahab would think of Mulder, of what he and I have been through together as partners, friends, as so much more than the both of those descriptions, and so much less. I know that my father would have liked Mulder for his intelligence, for his obvious devotion to my welfare and safety. But I also know if I had brought Mulder home as a suitor while he and I were partners, after he and I had gone through what we have, Ahab would not have approved. No matter how much Mulder obviously cares for me. "We were talking, Mulder. Really talking for the first time in a long time. I hadn't felt that close to you since...since the hallway." He smiles, remembering holding me in his arms, telling me that the truth will cure me. "And before that," I add, "...after the Roche case. The office. And before that, on the rock." "All times we touched, except for the rock," Mulder observes. I nod, stunned to discover that he's right. "The Mulder on the couch revealed a side of himself to me that I never knew existed. I'd hoped that it did. And it was nice to see that side of him." "What side?" "The side that's open with his emotions," I said. "Not that you aren't, Mulder...but the emotions you tend to share with me are pain and hurt and anger and sarcasm. That Mulder was showing me a side that laughed, that joked, that lived. A side that was gentle, not that you aren't. You are. But a side that had a gentle humor about himself. You were holding a throw pillow in your lap, hugging it like a stuffed animal, wincing as I told you these embarrassing stories about my childhood. And you said something, Mulder...or, he did, anyway. Something that I still remember, something that haunts me." He looks at me, sincerity in his eyes, wondering what the freak Eddie has said to me that I've wanted him to say. "When I told you about my high school prom, he remarked that he couldn't believe I hadn't told you already. That's when ... when I first felt it." "Felt what?" "That pull, Mulder. The same pull I felt in the hallway, in the office, on the rock, in the hospital after Modell. Do you remember Modell, Mulder?" He nods. "Holding hands." "Right. I felt it then. I thought for sure that you were going to take me home...and..." I stop, unable to finish. "We'd never come closer to crossing the line up until then. The pull, Mulder. Don't tell me you don't feel it, I know you do." He nods. "I feel it. I've always felt it." Something unlocks in my heart and flutters free. My face reveals nothing. It's too soon. "Remember when you were going to Canada?" I whisper. He nods, uncertain as to what I'm referring to. "You called me. Told me that you needed for me to know that you were all right. Do you remember that?" "I remember calling you," he says softly. "I...remember saying that." "Why did you say that, Mulder?" He shrugs again. "Back to just shrugging, Mulder?" "It's hard!" he protests. "Yes," I agree, seeing an opening. "It is hard, Mulder. It's hard for me to admit that I feel this pull to you, and that I know you feel the same thing. It's hard for me to look at you and remind myself that you're my partner and my friend and nothing more. It's hard for me to feel that pull and know there's nothing I can do about it!" I stop, sure that I've said too much. "It's hard for me to know that I can't do anything about it, either," he whispers. "Do you want to?" I ask, softly, quietly. "Is that an offer, Scully?" It's my turn to shrug. "Remember when Eddie escape from custody the first time, and I told you your own theory. Do you remember what you said?" "'Should we be picking out china patterns or what?'" I nod. "That's right, Mulder. Do you remember what happened after that." "Yeah, you went off on your usual rant about how it was the time of day, and the deputy and Eddie were the same basic build, and-" "No...before that." "Before my china crack?" "No, after that." He looks confused. "I said the china remark, and you said what you said." "Right. What happened after you made the china remark and I started to shoot it down?" "I was right, though-" I smile. "Yes, Mulder. You were right. But...?" He shakes his head. "I don't know." "Sometimes I wish our lives were a television show, so I could go back and show you the tape, Mulder." I sigh. "That'd be weird," Mulder said, smiling. "Being on TV." "Why?" "Having everyone going over our cases again and again, playing the tapes back over and over. Fan clubs. Action figures. Lunch boxes. It'd be weird." I smile. "Yes, but think of all the groupies, Mulder." "You, too, I'm sure." "What?" "Have your own groupies." "Please, Mulder. I hardly qualify as Pamela Anderson Lee material." He shrugs. "I'd join the Dana Scully fan club." I give him my warmest smile. "You're already the charter member." He shakes his head. "No, your mom and brothers hold that honor." I laugh, and the topic fades. "So...what happened between those two things? In that half second of real time?" "I smiled, Mulder. It was a small smile, but it was a smile for you. Letting you know that I heard what you said, and that a part of me, at least, appreciated it. That I got the...well, not the joke, but the intention. I understood what you meant. And that part of me appreciated it." He smiles. "I'm glad. I remember the smile now, but I thought at the time that it was because you had me so figured out that you thought I was funnily predictable." "No," I said, softly shaking my head. "That was your smile, Mulder. The one reserved just for you." "I like that," he grins. "I like that you have a smile reserved just for me." I stick a toe in the water. "That's not all that's reserved for you, my friend." His eyes bore into mine. "What do you mean? Exactly?" I sigh. He can be so dense sometimes. "Mulder, why do you think that I haven't gone out on a date in two years?" I hold up a hand. "Ed Jerse doesn't count." "Why not?" "Wasn't really a date. It was...getting back at you for being such an asshole." "So now I'm an asshole?" "Only sometimes. And I can be an asshole, too, Mulder. That's what Ed Jerse was...me being an asshole. And the last date I had before THAT was just after we partnered up!" I pause. "So...why do you think that is, Mulder?" He shrugs again. "I figured you just weren't looking for a relationship. That your career was important to you. That, when the time came, and you found the right person, it'd happen. You'd be happy." I can hear it in his voice. The naked truth. 'I could never make you happy, Scully.' "Oh, you're just so wrong," I say softly. "You could, Mulder. So easily." He blinks, startled that I've read his mind. "So why haven't we?" he asks. "I mean, let's look at this from all viewpoints, Scully. We've been partners and friends for almost five years. We're best friends. I would die for you, and you for me. There isn't anything I wouldn't do if you asked me. Ditto for me. Ann Landers says the best marriages start out as friendships." Marriage? I wonder, but say nothing. "...so why haven't we crossed that line? Why haven't we done what we both obviously want to do so badly?" Again, my turn to shrug. "Scared, I guess. Scared that any feelings we might express are just so...charged with emotion that once we started, we'd be unable to stop. Fear of being separated, of losing our jobs. Fear that...they...will use it against us. Fear that they'll take me or you. Fear, Mulder. This is all about fear. I was afraid on this couch. Afraid that you'd kiss me. Afraid that you wouldn't. Scared that I'd have to make a decision that would end up breaking us apart. Scared that I'd make a decision that would bring us closer than we've ever been." I stop, out of breath. "Now what?" Mulder asks. "Now you tell me what you've been thinking, Mulder. I need to know." I pause. "I have a right to know." His head bobs, accepting my twisted logic. "When I...escaped, and figured out that Eddie had become me, I drove back to DC nonstop. I thought about calling ahead, about warning you, but I didn't." I nod. I had wondered about that. "Why not?" "Because I remembered the last time I called you when you were standing in the room with someone that was not me but looked and sounded like me." I remembered. Samantha. The shape-shifting alien bounty hunter. "And I didn't want to take the chance that you'd be beaten and taken again. I thought...if I could just get here, if I could just... make it in time." He smiled. "I did make it just in time, I suppose." "Yes, Mulder. Yes you did." "I often wonder what would have happened if I had arrived thirty minutes later; what I would have found." I don't answer him. It's too dangerous. "I saw you...getting ready. He was leaning over you. Your hands were on the couch. You weren't touching him, you weren't embracing him. It wasn't romantic, in my eyes. You looked like a trapped deer, not sure where to go, the headlights of the onrushing car bearing down on you. I didn't get the feeling that that was where you wanted to be at that moment. I felt ashamed. Dirty." I shake my head. "Mulder..." I start. "Let me finish, please," he begs. I nod. "And so, after I took him into custody, all I could think of is that you had this image of me in your head, this masher, coming towards you, pinning you, making you do something...something you didn't want to do. "And I thought back to all the thousands of times I've wanted to kiss you, wanted to hold you, wanted to make love with you, and I thought that you'd never thought those things, felt those things, that I was just a partner to you, just a friend, nothing more, never more, and I couldn't DEAL with it, Scully! I couldn't handle it! I couldn't handle the fact that this...thing, this freak Eddie had made you see what I wanted you to see, what I wanted you to know was coming from me. And then the thought of...well, maybe that's just the way she necks, the way she makes out. Hands on the couch. Maybe you did want me to kiss you, and I stopped it. Maybe you did want me to kiss you, and this bastard was going to get it! My kiss! My first kiss with you!" My face is blank as I look at him. I can't interrupt him now. I just can't. I have to know. I have to hear his mouth say the words. "And the thought...the image...of this...freak, this...lonely, little man being able to seduce you in one night! A bottle of wine, a little talk, some romantic music...who put the music on, Scully?" "I did," I admit. "When?" "Halfway through the wine." He nods, hearing my words, accepting it. "But..." I add. "What?" "He didn't seduce me in one night, Mulder," I whisper, knowing the truth, hearing the truth in my words. He doesn't understand. I can see it. "You did. You seduced me, Mulder. And it didn't take one night. It took five years. You said it, I've said it. I thought that was you, Mulder. I thought it was you on the couch next to me. It was the culmination of five years of you and me...it had nothing to do with Eddie. It was you." My voice drops to a whisper. "It was always you, Mulder." "So...?" he prompts. "I wanted it to be you, Mulder. I thought it was. I was thrilled that you were listening to me, that we were talking about something that wasn't work, wasn't Samantha or the Consortium or an autopsy of...of...the latest madman or monster of the week. I was thrilled that we were communicating the way friends do, the way-" I stop. "Lovers do," Mulder finishes for me. I nod. We fall silent, each of us lost in our own thoughts. "I want you," he whispers. "God help me, but I want you, Dana Scully. I've never wanted anything or anyone so badly in my life." I want to remind him about his sister, but I cannot bring myself to do so. I remember that he traded me for her once. That he gave her up to save my life. "I want you, too," I whisper. "I've never felt so close to anyone in my life, Mulder. No one knows me as well as you do. Not my family, not my Mom. No one. I've been living my life for you, for us, for so long that I don't remember a time in my life that was before "us." I don't want to remember a life without you, Mulder. You, me, us, our jobs, our careers, our quest...everything comes back to me and you. Us. I haven't taken a lover since Jack. And that was almost six years ago, Mulder. I haven't felt the warmth of man's arms around me in almost a decade. I haven't...made love in that long. I miss it, dammit. But I'm..." I pause, not sure if I can say it all. I take a breath and finish it. "Mulder...you are the most incredible man I've ever met. I won't settle for less. You've taught me that, about not settling for what's out there, what's offered, but to search, to search for what's right. And when it's right, Mulder...it's right. You're right. I'm right. Together, we're so many different kinds of right that I can't begin to explain it. I won't settle for anyone but you, Mulder -- as long as there's a chance that I can have you." "Have me?" I smile. "As in forever, Mulder. You and me, together forever. That's what I want. That's what I need. Can you..." I falter, wanting to say 'give it to me', but I end with, "Understand?" "Yeah," me smiles. "I understand, Scully." "What do you want?" I ask, unable to meet his eyes. "You," he says softly. "You...and some time." "Time?" "Time to love you the way you deserve to be loved, Scully. Time to learn every single thing about you that I've always wondered." I feel a hot flush in my face...and one a little lower as well. "Such as?" "How you taste," he whispers. Oh my. He moves closer to me, his arm stretching across the back of the couch. I have to be honest with him. "Mulder," I say softly, and he freezes, thinking I'm rebuffing him. "Mulder...I'm not sure how much time I have. But... whatever is left...is yours." He is in my arms in a heartbeat. Time stops. The kiss, the kiss that Eddie was going to give me, is instead given by him, and it is perfect. It is so right, so wonderful that I lose myself in it, in him. Time crawls. All that exists is this man, this moment, this one, perfect kiss. And then he takes me to my bedroom, and I take him into my bed. There are no words spoken, only soft whispers, softer cries, moans, the occasional fragmentary shouting of a name. It has taken forever for this moment to arrive, and when it does, it indeed lasts forever, until we are nothing but a satisfied, moist, boneless heap of flesh on the bed. He stays the night. We make love in the night. Twice, actually. And for the first time in my life, it is making love, not having sex, and not that other description. We are doing it : we are creating love between us by the most simple and yet most complicated act between two people. In one sense, it is the thing that has made sure there will be more of us at a later time, just that simple. And another way, a more profound way, it is the most complicated, intense, involved things that two people can do. And when the two people are Mulder and I... Magic. ------- THE END