xfc NEW: Objects in Motion (1/1)
Brandon Ray
TITLE: Objects in Motion
AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray
EMAIL ADDRESS: pub...@avalon.net
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Do not archive at gossamer; I've already sent
it there. Anywhere else is fine, so long as my name stays on it and
no money changes hands.
FEEDBACK: Go ahead; knock yourself out.
Ephemeral: *FEEDBACK*pub...@avalon.net
SPOILER STATEMENT: One Son; FTF; The Beginning; Season 6 in general
RATING: PG
CONTENT STATEMENT: MSR. M/S married, but not typical of that
subgenre, I hope. Some sap; sorry 'bout that. ;)
CLASSIFICATION: SRA
SUMMARY: Post-ep for "One Son". Objects in motion tend to remain in
motion, unless acted upon by an outside force.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a continuation of the storyline which began
with "There But By the Grace of God" and "Making It Personal", and I'm
afraid this one won't make much sense if you haven't read those two,
especially the latter. Luckily, you can find it on my web page; the
url is at the bottom of this message.
THANKS: To Brynna, Lena, Paulette, Robbie and Shannon -- all the
usual suspects.
DISCLAIMER: In my dreams...
Objects in Motion
by Brandon D. Ray
I'm going to wear a hole in this carpet if I'm not careful.
I've been pacing back and forth through my apartment for something
like twenty minutes now. I glance at my watch. Twenty-three minutes,
to be precise. It is now 6:54 p.m., and Mulder is due to arrive in
exactly six minutes.
I tried sitting on the sofa, but it didn't work. Isaac Newton said
that objects in motion tend to remain in motion unless acted upon by
an outside force, and I guess maybe that law applies to me tonight,
because I just can't seem to stay still.
Or maybe I'm just nervous.
It's been a little over two hours since we parted company at the
Hoover Building. I've spent most of the intervening time getting
ready -- putting together dinner and, God help me, changing clothes
three times, from the skin out.
Which makes no sense at all. Mulder has seen me in just about every
state of dress and undress imaginable -- down to and including stark
naked and covered with sticky green goo. Still, somehow it seems to
matter how I look tonight. I guess in a way it's like getting ready
for a date.
A blind date.
With my husband.
Jesus.
I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I can't believe I've
actually *done* this. I can't believe I've actually married Fox
Mulder. Forty-eight hours ago the thought had not even entered my
mind. Forty-eight hours ago I was ready to call it quits, and walk
out -- on Mulder, on the X-Files, maybe even on the whole damned
Bureau.
Now I'm more committed than I ever was before. Or maybe I should just
*be* committed. Or something.
I stop pacing for a moment and stare at the small collection of
photographs sitting on the bookcase. Pictures of my family: Mom and
Ahab; Melissa; Bill and Tara and Matthew; Charlie and Betty and their
kids. Bill, especially, seems to be staring back at me accusingly,
but the others don't look too happy at the moment, either. Except for
Matthew, of course. He's too young to care.
There's a knock on the door and I glance again at my watch. 6:59
p.m. Mulder is actually punctual tonight. Well, he has reason to be.
I move to the door and pull it open, and there he is. Fox William
Mulder, Oxford educated psychologist and Special Agent of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation. My husband. I turn the word over in my
mind: Husband. Husband. Husband.
*My* husband.
Dear God.
"Scully?" he says. "Can I come in?"
I realize with a start that I've been standing here in the doorway
staring at him, mesmerized by his sudden presence. He's gorgeous,
simply gorgeous. It has been a very long time since I've allowed
myself to notice this about my partner, but there's no denying it.
He's dressed in black jeans, a white t-shirt and a v-necked pullover
sweater which I don't remember seeing before, and the overall effect
is absolutely ... something.
And he's holding flowers. Two of them. One red rose and one white
one.
"Scully?" he says again -- and I'm finally prompted to move out of the
doorway and allow him to enter. As I do so I realize that he's
looking at me, too, openly checking me out for the first time in
years. And it looks as if he likes what he sees.
I look down at myself and realize with embarrassment that I'm wearing
what could be construed to be makeout clothes: My nicest pair of
casual slacks and my loose-fitting, low-cut, blue angora sweater. I
bought the sweater because I thought it went well with my eyes, but
from the expression on Mulder's face it obviously has other qualities
as well. The thing is, I only put it on tonight because it's
comfortable.
I think.
This is just one of the many things we have to work out. The whole
question of sex, I mean. I don't think it's going to happen tonight
-- that is, actual sex is not going to happen tonight-- but we may be
able to talk about it a bit. Along with all the other myriad details
which we never quite addressed before we drove over to that courthouse
in Virginia at lunchtime today and swore we wanted to spend the rest
of our lives together.
I've been working on a list.
"I brought you some flowers," Mulder says unnecessarily. Who else
would they be for, after all? But the way he stutters it out is
actually very endearing, and I find it reassuring to know that he's
just as nervous as I am.
"Thank you, Mulder," I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice
as I take the two roses from him. White for friendship, red for ....
"I didn't know which color you liked best," he explains, and now he
sounds even more nervous. "So I got one of each."
I stand there in front of him for a moment studying the flowers, not
saying anything. Despite the subterfuge, it's easy to see that Mulder
is actually asking me a question, in his own oblique, idiosyncratic
way. And it would be so easy just to take the white rose and be done
with it. It would resolve a lot of the stickiest issues and questions
emanating from our actions of the past two days. It really would.
But I can't do that. I can't do that to him, and I can't do that to
myself. Most of all, I can't do that to *us*. Us, I remind myself.
Since this afternoon it's no longer him, or me. It's us.
"Thank you Mulder," I say again, very softly. "I think I'd like to
keep them both, if that's okay." I dare to look up at him, and
judging from the relieved smile on his face I must have picked the
right answer. I reach out with my free hand and lightly touch the
back of his, then turn away to get a vase from the kitchen.
I stand in the kitchen looking at the roses for just another minute
after I put them in the vase. They really are beautiful, and the
symbolism is touching. So Mulder is a romantic. I wonder how I
managed not to know that?
Maybe this marriage is going to have some fun in it after all.
Before going back to the living room I turn the heat on under the pot
of water I left sitting on the stove earlier and throw in some
vermicelli. The herbed butter sauce is already simmering, so I just
give it a quick stir, then grab the bottle of sparkling cider from the
fridge and two glasses from the cupboard and head back out to Mulder.
I find him standing in front of the bookcase, examining the same
pictures of my family which I had looked at earlier. He doesn't seem
to have heard me come back in the room, so I quietly set the bottle
and glasses down on the coffee table and then move up behind him.
I hesitate for just a moment, and then I remind myself that this is my
*husband* standing here, and that I'm allowed to show some affection
towards him. And so I take the last two steps until I'm standing next
to him, and tentatively slide my arm around his waist.
He jumps slight at my touch, but I don't mind that. I'm kind of jumpy
myself this evening. Then he puts his arm around my shoulder, and
glances down at me for a second and nods his head in the direction of
the photos.
"You have a nice family, Scully," he says, just a hint of wistfulness
in his voice. "Very normal and wholesome.
Coming from anyone else in some other context those words might seem
self-pitying, but Mulder and I have been through a lot together, and I
know exactly what he means. He's referring to this whole "normal
life" discussion that he and I have been intermittently carrying on
ever since the X-Files were taken away from us at the end of last
summer. There are some incredibly subtle shades of nuance in his
simple statement -- and as is so often the case with Fox Mulder, he's
asking a question which is very different from what he seems to have
said.
"They like who they are and what they're part of," I offer. "They're
happy." I pause, then continue, "But I don't think I would be. There
was a time when I could have been like that -- " and now it's my turn
to nod at the photographs " -- but that was a long time ago." I raise
my eyes to meet his, and I finish, "I've told you before, Mulder:
Even if I could, I wouldn't change a single day."
"They're your family, Scully," he replies, very softly.
"Yes, they are," I acknowledge, my own voice equally soft. I can't
force myself to go on; I can't force myself to say the rest of what
I'm thinking, and tell Mulder that I've made my decision and that I'm
happy with it. I only hope he can read it in my eyes.
It seems he and I still have a few issues to work through.
# # #
It's later.
Dinner is over, and Mulder and I are sitting curled up on my sofa, not
quite cuddling, but just a little closer and more intimate than mere
friends would be.
I've discovered I like this; I like it a lot. I like the warmth of
his body only a few inches from mine. I like the gentle comfort of
his touch. I like the fact that we can sit here holding hands and
watching television, just sharing some quiet time together. I like
the soft rumble of his voice, and the friendly company of his laugh --
a laugh which I have not heard in so very, very long.
I like everything about this. Maybe we really can make a go of this.
I have to admit that despite the determination I've been projecting
the past two days, I have had my doubts. I still do, but they seem to
be slowly fading. I don't kid myself that we're over the hump by any
means, and I know there are still plenty of challenges ahead of us.
But I'm beginninng to feel pretty good about my relationship with
Mulder -- for the first time, really, in more than two years.
One challenge we face at the moment is figuring out how to draw this
evening to a close. It's getting late, and we both need our rest.
The problem is, I don't quite know how to ask him to leave.
"Scully?" Mulder says. "Would you be upset if I went home now? It's
been a long day, and I have a few things I need to do around my place
before I hit the hay."
I feel a slow smile spread across my face. Score one for non-verbal
communication.
I turn to face him, and dammit, this time I'm going to give in to
temptation, just a little. I slip one hand behind his head and draw
his mouth to mine. "That's fine, Mulder," I murmur, just before our
lips meet. "I've got some things I need to get done myself." And
then I kiss him.
It's not a great kiss, but it's a good kiss. Much better than the one
in his car this afternoon. I think we're both just a little too
nervous for it to be a great kiss, but this too is something that will
come with time. Finally I release him, and we share a smile.
I wait for him to get up and leave, but it seems he still has
something on his mind. I wait patiently for him to work up his
courage, and then my eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he suddenly
starts digging in his pocket.
"Mulder?"
"I brought something for you," he explains, and his hand emerges from
his pocket and he opens it to display a ring.
Not an engagement ring or a wedding ring; a heavy gold ring, suitable
for a man's hand. I feel my pulse speed up a bit, and I reach out and
take the ring from him, and I turn it over and examine it. There's a
large blue-green stone, and as I look closer I realize there's a small
crest of some sort with what looks to be a diamond chip on it.
Studying it still closer, I discover that the crest is a stylized
rendition of the letters CHS, and on the inside is an inscription:
FWM, 5/24/80.
It's his high school class ring.
My vision is suddenly blurry, and I shift my gaze back up from the
ring to my partner. He appears nervous and embarrassed, but more than
anything else he appears determined.
"I've thought and thought," he explains, his voice almost breathtaking
in its sudden shyness. "Trying to think of something I could give you
as a ... present. This is the only thing I have that really seems
appropriate. I know we haven't talked about rings and we may not want
to wear them under the circumstances and this is kind of cheesy at our
age, but -- "
"It's beautiful," I say, cutting him off. "I like it. Thank you." I
pull his head down again and we share another kiss. This one is
better than the last, but not as good as the next will be. There is
promise here, promise of wonderful things to come. Promise that we
*will* be able to work out all the other problems which still are
unresolved.
This time when our lips finally separate I find myself a little short
of breath -- and Mulder is, too. Again we both smile, and he lifts
his hand and lightly caresses my cheek. I lean into his touch, just a
little, and I close my eyes, and for a minute we simply share the
quiet.
At last he rises from the sofa and heads for the door. He stops with
his hand on the knob and turns back to look at me.
"See you tomorrow?" he not-quite-asks.
"Wouldn't miss it," I reply with a smile -- and I wonder how long it
will be before we don't feel the need to say goodbye at the end of the
evening. Mulder smiles back, then he pulls the door open and in
another moment he's gone.
I stay sitting on the sofa for several minutes, thinking about
everything that's happened here this evening. I'd thought we were
going to talk about things tonight -- all the details, both trivial
and important, and all the changes that lie ahead. Money, living
arrangements, sex -- all the things that most people work out *before*
they get married. And of course there's still the small matter of
Agent Fowley and his misplaced trust in her ....
I shake my head and push those thoughts away. We do still need to
talk about those things, but I guess they can wait. Establishing a
comfort level, which I now realize is what we've been working on
tonight, is more important, and even a necessary prerequisite to all
those other discussions we're going to have down the road. We're
still not there yet -- we're still not where *I* want us to be, and I
don't think we're where Mulder wants us, either. But at least we've
taken a step in the right direction.
Objects in motion tend to remain in motion, unless acted upon by an
outside force. Two days ago Mulder and I were in motion, all right,
but we were moving away from each other. Now we've been acted on by
an outside force -- Diana Fowley -- and we're finally growing closer.
We're still in motion, though. We probably always will be. It's not
in either of our natures to remain still for long.
And now I'm tired. I'm really, really tired. It's been a long
stressful day -- hell, it's been a long, stressful week -- and I truly
do need to get some rest. But first I have two things I need to do.
The first is easy. I reach up behind my neck and unclasp the chain
which holds my cross. I thread Mulder's class ring onto the chain,
then fasten it back in place. The ring is cool and heavy lying
against my skin, and its presence comforts me. I touch it lightly
with my fingertips, and I try to imagine the gawky, unhappy boy who
wore this ring so many years ago. That gawky boy has grown into the
man who sat on my sofa tonight and kissed me so thoroughly, and I
desperately want to know more about both of them. Someday I hope I'll
have the opportunity.
Now for the harder of the two chores. I rise from the sofa and go to
my desk. It takes a few minutes of rummaging in the drawers, but
finally I find it: The one and only picture I have of Mulder.
It's a crime scene photo, taken by one of the Bureau's official
photographers. I don't even remember which case it's from anymore; it
was taken years ago, very early in our partnership. It shows Mulder
supervising the investigation, looking very calm and authoritative and
in control. In the background there's a short, blurred figure with
red hair -- me. And I'm watching his every move.
Did I really used to be that person?
I shake my head and move back over to the bookcase. For a moment I
look once again at my family, considering where I want to put the
newest member. Finally I prop Mulder's picture up against the one of
Melissa. Tomorrow I'll stop by Wal-Mart and pick up a frame, but this
will have to do for tonight. That shouldn't be a problem, though;
Mulder can stand on his own for that long.
I stand gazing at my newly enlarged family for just another minute,
before I finally turn the lights off and go to bed.
Fini
--
You may be a loser if .... you've ever had to fake an orgasm while
masturbating. :p
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finn...@hotmail.com
That was great Brandon, I love this series. When's the next part coming
out? VEERRRRY SOON I HOPE? <g>
Finn
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