All Things Considered 

RATING - PG

CLASSIFICATION - Post Ep. Mulder/Scully romance. Angst

SPOILERS - All Things

ARCHIVE - Gossamer/Spooky yes. Anyone else please ask.

FEEDBACK - Yes please. I need feedback to breathe. All comments, good, bad or indifferent to ALISON.REALLY.UNIQUE.ROSETTES@GMAIL.COM

SUMMARY - What happened between him covering her with a blanket and that *wonderful* Scully voice over the next day? Here’s my take on it all. :-)

DISCLAIMER - The characters contained within remain the sole property of Chris Carter, Fox and 1013 productions. Whether or not they deserve them remains a moot point with me right now!

AUTHOR’S NOTES - I *had* to write this even though I haven’t seen the whole ep yet. (Curse of the Brit ‘phile) Consequently, I’m kinda working blind and basing this on the two portions of the ep I *have* seen. The teaser, and the end scene where sent to me by the *wonderful* Meg who seems to understand my need to be spoiled rotten with all the best bits of X-Files that I haven’t yet seen! Thanks Meg, it’s because of you that I got inspired enough to write this.

 

 

 

ARLINGTON.

11:40p.m.

 

We’ve been talking for a long time and I’ve listened transfixed as she’s opened up to me for perhaps the first time in our relationship.

I don’t pretend to know exactly what’s going on with her.

Scully is, even after all these years, a mystery to me. She allows me to see only what she wants me to see. To feel only what she wants me to feel.

She hides behind walls of her own making. She has become an expert at filling in any cracks that might appear in her facade. Never allowing even a chink to form in the impenetrable armour she has shrouded herself in for so long.

I know these things because I sometimes think I’ve taught her all she knows. She’s learned from a true master how to deny.

But tonight is different. I sense a shift from deep within her. Tonight she wants to talk. Tonight I want to listen.

I’ve begun to ramble in answer to one of her questions, unable to find the answers she needs, and I’m conscious of how tired she is. She can barely keep her eyes open, her voice has dropped lower and lower until I have to strain to hear her, and I decide it’s time to take charge. To end this and gently usher her home to get the rest she so desperately needs. I’ve already decided that I’ll be the one to drive her. No matter what arguments she throws back at me, I refuse to let her make the twenty minute journey as tired as she is.

So I finish with what I am saying, turning to her as I do so.

"..........getting in to at this late hour......."

The words, and the smile, die on my lips as I realize I am too late. She is already asleep, perhaps lulled by the sound of my voice reaching her, taking her softly in to dreams.

Her breathing is regular, evenly spaced. This is no cat nap. She is out for the count.

She looks so damn young right now. Beside me on the sofa, her head inclined ever so slightly in my direction. Her bright chestnut hair frames her beautiful face. A face now unlined and relaxed as sleep steals away the tensions that are all to evident during her waking hours.

I am transfixed, mapping out her features with my eyes, wanting to hold on to this image of her forever. To file it away in the recesses of my memory, knowing that I will conjure her up in my imagination for endless nights to come.

But it’s not enough. To watch her like this is painful enough to actually make me ache. A physical pain that begins deep in my stomach and ends in my heart. I need to feel her, to touch her, to heal her. I need to take her in my arms and hold her against me as she sleeps. I need to make everything alright for her again. To chase away her demons so that they will never again return to haunt her dreams.

But, to do that would mean waking her, and it’s not something I’m prepared to do. I’m also not sure of what her reaction would be if I just pulled her against me, and if I’m honest, I’m afraid to find out.

But I *need* to touch her, so I tentatively allow myself to brush that wonderful hair away from her face, leaning in close to her as I do so.

I feel her hair tickling my face as I breath in the scent of her.

It’s a scent I know well. A combination of almonds, light cologne and a sweetness that is unmistakably Scully. It’s a scent that sometimes steals in to my dreams, leaving me bereft when I wake to find myself alone. She is imprinted on my heart. She has stolen my soul. And although I suspect she doesn’t realize it, I became hers a long long time ago.

I can’t even remember when exactly it was that I looked at her and saw a woman who has become so much more than a friend to me.

I love her. I’ve loved her for the longest time. It sometimes feels like I’ve loved her for my whole life, and yet I can’t tell her that. Something always prevents me from allowing myself to get close to her.

Perhaps I’m afraid that if I do, she will be taken away from me like so many before her.

But now, as she sleeps, I can admit to her all that I feel. I can open my heart to her, hoping that in some small way, my emotions can penetrate through her slumber and invade her dreams.

She doesn’t stir as I reach across her for the blanket that is permanently folded at the far end of the sofa. I don’t use it as much as I used to. Something has subtly changed within me during the past year or so. Sleep, which was always so evasive, comes easier now. Gone are the days when I used to lay here, staring unseeing at the patterns on the ceiling as I persuaded myself that I could fall in to restful sleep. Gone are the days where I would wake sweating and screaming on this very sofa as I tried to escape the horrors that chose to visit me at night.

The nightmares are a distant memory now. When I sleep I rarely dream and if I do, I can’t recall them when morning comes.

Except when I dream of *her*.

When Dana Scully visits my subconscious at night, I remember ever detail. She burned herself on me a long time ago.

She hasn’t moved, and doesn’t even stir as I lay the blanket over her. I’m careful in my movements. Fussing with the covering so that is just right. Not so close to her face that it will irritate her, but tucked around her tightly enough to keep her warm as she sleeps. I allow my hand to linger for just a few seconds, resting against the smooth lines of her leg, feeling her through the blanket when all I really want to do is to curl myself around her.

I reluctantly tear my eyes away from her face, and conscious of my every movement, rise up off the sofa.

I don’t want to leave her, but I am afraid of what will happen if I stay. An internal battle is raging inside of me, and I wish with all my heart that she was awake, that she would tell me what I should be doing.

I sensed a need in her tonight. A need for closeness, for me to reach out to her in much the same way she was reaching out to me. But the moment passed. When she next awakens it will be morning. Tonight will be just one more thing for her to file away behind those walls. I doubt we’ll even mention the things we spoke of ever again. And it hurts me to think of that..

But, she is sleeping now, and I take comfort from the fact that she trusts me enough to fall asleep next to me. It’s a small comfort, but it is enough.

It has to be.

So, I cross the room lightly, wincing as my foot connects with a creaky floor board I never noticed before. In the silence it seems as loud as an explosion, and I twist my head towards her, certain that it must have woken her.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to discover that she hasn’t moved. The blanket is where I left it. Pulled up to her chin, covering her completely.

I sigh, the sound ragged and alien to my ears and I reach to flick off the lights in the room. Immediately, the shadows consume everything within and now I can barely see her. Her face is cast in a bluish light that emanates from the fish tank a few feet away from her, lending her skin a softness that literally takes my breath away.

She is so beautiful and I can’t leave her. I can’t leave her to wake up alone. Not like this.

I leave the lights off and before I can change my mind - before good sense once more steals me from her - I cross back over to the sofa. I look down at her for a few moments, still battling with myself, and then finally, I lower myself down beside her.

I am closer now, closer to her than I have ever been in my life and as she shifts slightly it seems the most natural thing in the world to wrap my arms around her and pull her towards me.

She doesn’t prevent me, and though I know that my actions have woken her, she doesn’t open her eyes as she nestles against my chest like a kitten. She doesn’t move as I press my lips against the crown of her head, not even when I trail my fingertips lightly to trace a path along her face and down her neck. She remains still, relaxed, accepting of me as I hold her against me.

And then I feel it.

The palm of her hand as it steals up to press against my heart. Tentatively allowing herself to become a part of me.

I never imagined that two people could be so close, and my breath catches in my throat as I hear her whispered words. Words that I have waited a lifetime for.

"Stay with me tonight Mulder."

She sounds shaky, vulnerable, and I think that perhaps she is crying. It’s hard to tell because she still hasn’t looked at me, but it doesn’t matter as I tighten my hold on her. Because now I know that whatever happens, I will never let her go.

END