Title: Axiom
Author: allimarie (cadenzathequarterhorse@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG
Category: VRA
Spoilers: Amor Fati
Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST
Summary:  Axiom: A self-evident and necessary truth, or a
proposition whose truth is so evident at first sight that
no reasoning or demonstration can make it plainer.

Disclaimer: Ownership?  I thought they were up for grabs 
these days.  ;D

Feedback: Makes a cold day warmer!
Archive: Gladly!  Please let me know so I can visit.

Author's Notes: At the end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
Los Angeles, California
October 13th, 1999
11:36 AM PST


The knock on the hotel room door came earlier than expected, 
yet later than hoped for.

Mulder rolled off the unmade bed and practically bounded over 
to open the door.  No need to look out the peephole; he would 
recognize that knock anywhere.  He met the clear blue eyes of 
his smiling partner with relief.  There was not a trace of 
wariness or tiredness about her.

"Good morning, Agent Scully," he said, stepping aside to let 
her in.

She entered casually, holding a conspicuous package in her right
hand.  "I like what you've done with the place."

Mulder surveyed the room.  It was rather a mess.  The past 
twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind - after apprehending
the serial killer yesterday afternoon, there had been hours
upon hours of L.A.P.D. song and dance and paperwork.  When they 
were finally released from their duties around 6:00 AM that 
morning, Mulder had crashed.  They had agreed to rest and meet 
up later for Mulder's birthday brunch before catching an 
evening flight.  He turned his attention back to the wrapped 
present she held.  "So, uh...that for me?"  

Scully met his playful gaze.  "Good things come to those who 
wait, Mulder."

"Is that a promise?"

She gave him a patented exasperated look.  "Aren't you hungry?"

Mulder looked at her meaningfully.  "Ravenous."

She held his serious gaze without appearing affected.  "Do 
you want the hotel buffet again," she monitored 
his disdainful expression, "or somewhere else?"

"Anywhere else!"

Scully grinned.  She shared his opinion, but had wanted to 
appear to leave the decision to him.  "Good.  Because some 
of the guys were talking this morning about a diner that 
happens to be just down the block.  A diner, Mulder, that 
serves build-your-own omelets!"

He eyed her suspiciously.  "And what's in it for you, 
Agent Tofutti?"

"What do you suppose could possibly improve my contentment 
beyond watching you clog your arteries on your 38th 
birthday?  And a renowned fruit-platter, of course."

Mulder laughed out loud and snagged his keys and wallet.

~         *     *     *     *     *     *     *          ~

Shady Palm Diner
12:23 PM PST

"I believe we have a winner here, Scully."  He spoke through a 
mouthful of loaded omelet and nodded vigorously at her.

Scully speared a strawberry with her fork and waved it at his
near-clean plate.  "One would think this is your last supper."

"Think it'll be followed by great suffering?  Remind me later
to take an Alka-Seltzer."  He grabbed her hand in midair and bit 
the strawberry off her fork.  

She narrowed her eyes at him and swooped down unexpectedly with 
her fork, pilfering his last bite.

"Scully, no fair.  I was saving that."  He despondently 
attempted to scrape the remnants on his plate into another 
bite and looked up at her with a full-on pout.  "On my 
birthday, too."

Scully grinned shamelessly and he laughed.  "Speaking of 
birthdays..."  She placed his gift on the table and patted it.

Mulder studied her face as he reached over to grab some 
pineapple and melon.  She looked a little self-conscious to 
his keen eye.  "Is it ticking?"

"Ha ha.  Open it."

Mulder pushed his plate aside and set the present in front of 
him.  "Let me tell you, there had better be another omelet 
in here..."

Scully reached out and stopped his hand as it started to tear 
into the paper.  "Wait, there's a card."

Aware of her hand resting on his, Mulder met her gaze over the 
table.  He watched her smile unconcernedly and withdraw 
her hand.  He slipped the envelope out from under the ribbon 
and tore it open.

<To my friend, on your birthday.> Friend.  He glanced at her 
and scanned the inside of the card.  Standard birthday order. 
Signed, Dana Scully.  Friend. "Friend?"  The word was out before 
he could stop himself.  He searched her face for some 
acknowledgement of her own cowardice.

She looked back at him, bewildered.  What did he want from 
her?  As she stared into his eyes, she slowly began 
to comprehend the question swirling just below the 
surface.  Why bring this up now?  Just when everything 
had been going so well, why did he need to push the 
issue?  She broke away from his gaze to look at her 
hands.

Mulder regarded her lowered head and waited for her to 
start telling the truth.  It had been months since she 
had come to him in his hospital bed, her words begging 
him to hold on while every other part of her proclaimed 
her love for him.  Months of waiting for her to mouth the 
words that were implied in every look, touch, and sentence 
between them.  Months of silent disappointment.  Sighing 
inwardly, he felt the corners of his mouth tighten to match 
the constriction around his heart.  "Well, Scully..."  He 
reached again for the gift.

"Mulder."  She stood up quickly and joined him on his side of 
the booth.  Pressing his hands in hers, she looked him straight 
in the eye.  Mulder felt his heart begin to pound.  "They don't 
make cards that say 'my touchstone,' either."

His own words mocked him as her sincere gaze broke his heart.

She smiled to lighten the mood, pretending that she didn't 
see the disappointment in his face.  "Now open it!"
    
Mulder didn't care what was in the box.  He already knew it 
didn't contain what he really wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5:12 PM PST
Continental Flight 0274

Mulder sat as deeply as possible in the uncomfortable seat.  
He was in a better mood now that they were on the way home. 
After eating, they had gone to the La Brea tar pits and 
had a fun time.  The morning's disappointment didn't hurt 
so much once it had been added to the small but growing 
store, and he had been able to enjoy himself.  The appearance 
of rain, however, had muted Scully's spirits.  "Looks like 
we're going to be in for a rough ride."

Scully turned her head and looked at her partner like he was 
a fly that kept buzzing a little too close to her ear.  In fact, 
he rather thought that was the impression he was supposed to get.

Undeterred, Mulder flashed her with a wider grin and continued.  
"No, really, it looks a little questionable out there."

Scully was still doing her best impression of looking at him 
without seeing him.  "Thank you, Mulder, for pointing out the 
obvious, but I think I'm going to put my faith in the pilot's 
instincts on this one."

Mulder shrugged even as the tone sounded: please fasten your 
safety belts and turn off any electronic devices.  The plane 
began its taxi to the runway.  He looked past his partner's 
intense presence to glimpse the outside.  The roiling grey clouds
presented him with an attitude he decided he best make peace 
with; no use pissing off the rain gods.  Not when they were 
stuck in a 747 for five hours.  He settled back in his seat 
and gave his fingers an experimental roll over the briefcase 
in his lap.  

Scully responded unconsciously to the sound with a slight 
shift in her seat.  She appeared to be settled quite 
comfortably with a book in her lap.  Mulder sniffed loudly.  

This time she spared him a brief glance, reactionary, as if she 
didn't realize she had allowed him to distract her until after 
she had already shown it.  He thought he observed self-reproof 
in her posture as she turned back to her reading.  Mulder 
smirked just a little.  He glanced around for something, 
*anything,* that might divert his attention for the duration of 
the flight.  Inevitably, his gaze fell again on his self-contained 
little partner.  She was the very image of serenity.  

"Sculleee....  Are you going to read that book the whole time?"  

Scully closed her eyes and sat motionlessly for a moment as if 
composing herself.  Finally she drew in a deep breath and turned 
to face him, every slow movement calculated to inspire 
trepidation.  Mulder met her icy stare with masochism as his only 
defense.  After all, negative attention from her was better than 
no attention at all.  

Justified by his reasoning or just insane, he wasn't sure, but he 
stuck out his chin and defied her reprimand with his eyes even as 
she opened her mouth to speak.  "Mulder--"  She hesitated as she 
took in his pathetic countenance.  She sighed softly in defeat 
and closed her mouth again.  She pursed her lips, glanced down at 
his lap, and looked back into his expectant face.  "Mulder."

"Yes?"  Mulder's halo was blinding.  

She addressed him sternly, as if he were a small child.  "Are you 
trying to drive me insane?"  Unconsciously she invaded his 
personal space.  "Because if you are, I recommend you do it soon.  
*Soon,* Mulder, as in before I have a chance to access my weapon."  
She fixed him with a look that was almost sultry in its menace 
and leaned in so they almost brushed noses.  "Do you read me, 
partner?"  

Mulder regarded her silently for a moment before breaking out with 
a half-relieved grin disguised as flippancy.  As casually as he 
could, he leaned away from her intoxicating nearness.  Though he 
would like to think otherwise, they both knew her weapons against 
him were as acute as his against her; their personal game was at
a long-standing stalemate.  Nevertheless,  feints by one side or 
the other often proved entertaining.  "Loud and clear."

Scully continued to look at him in reconciled expectation.  
"Well?"

Mulder's sheepish grin deepened by a crease or two, and he 
indicated her book with his eyes.  "Whatcha reading?"

Scully blinked.  She regarded the book in her lap as if startled 
by its presence, then turned her eyes back to meet his unwavering
gaze.  She frowned a little, opened her mouth, shut it.  Resigned 
herself to the conversation.  "A book, Mulder."  She picked it up
without looking at it and waved it a little.  "A poetry book."

The dogged innocence fell off Mulder's face as it was replaced by 
astonishment which transformed quickly into utter delight.  
"*Poetry,* Scully?"

Scully drew her lips into a thin line and narrowed her eyes in a 
subtle movement that bespoke her lack of amusement.  Disregarding 
her reaction, Mulder blundered on.

"Poetry, as in 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"  His 
mocking tone modified into something almost remote as he 
continued, "Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough 
winds do shake the darling buds of May..."  His words died out 
as it was Scully's turn to regard him in amazement.  

She hadn't been aware that he could recite Shakespearean 
sonnets.  

Mulder easily deciphered her reaction and quickly ushered the 
conversation into a territory with better footing,  
reestablishing his taunting grin.  "Poetry?  Scully, how 
girly!  How very Harlequin Romance of you!"

Scully recovered from her shock as he had intended her to, and 
peered at him in disbelief.  "For your information, Mulder--"

"You know, I never pigeon-holed you for a bodice-ripping kinda 
gal, but now that I think of it..."  His eyes took on a faraway 
look.

Scully punched his arm, but her amusement showed through.  "Not
that kind of poetry, Mulder."  

His mock-dreamy gaze floated down to intercept her stare.  She 
was holding her bottom lip between her teeth, battling with the 
grin that had already claimed her eyes.  He smiled a genuine 
smile.  "No, not that kind of poetry," he acceded.  She allowed 
her own warm smile to break through.  Mulder became swiftly 
aware of how close they were sitting.  "What kind of poetry, 
then, is worthy of your...worthy...attention?"

Scully quirked her lips as she allowed his ironic compliment to 
roll off her back.  "Modern poetry."  She said it as curtly 
as possible; as impenetrable a shield as she had ever needed.  
"Auden, Eliot, Plath, Frost, Hass...."

"...Larry, Curly, and Moe."  He said it as if he held a 
revelation.  Scully ignored him.  "Auden, then.  Eliot.  Hass?"

"Twentieth century poets, Mulder.  Quite a departure from 
'Roses are red; Violets are blue.'"  She eyed him speculatively.

Sensing the direction of her thoughts, he hastily continued 
to interrogate her.  Besides, he was genuinely curious as to what 
kind of poetry held fascination for his left-brained partner.  
"Poetry, though?  What can a poem teach you that a good medical 
journal can't one-up?"

Scully scrutinized Mulder for a moment, trying to gauge his level 
of seriousness.  "Well, you're the psychologist, Mulder.  You 
figure it out.  JAMA can only go so far to help a physician in 
dealing with a terminal patient; the understanding of the 
neurological reason behind some feelings do not replace pure 
human empathy.  There are some things that are best explained 
without getting into details."

Mulder was shocked to hear Scully so easily speak words that 
seemed to contradict her personal canon.  He prodded her with 
a nod.

"Besides, Mulder, the study of human nature is a deserving pursuit
any way you look at it."

"So that's how you view poetry, then...as a study of human 
nature?"

"Well...yeah.  What would you call it?"

"Oh, I don't know....mangled attempts at making a point through 
complicated language?"  His eyes sparkled in the merest hint of 
a joke.

Scully wrinkled her nose at him.  "You can't mean that."

"Well..."  Maybe not.  "I guess it never held enough interest for
me to really form an opinion."

"So you've dismissed it, then, without a fair trial."

Mulder chewed his bottom lip and studied the airplane upholstery.
Damn.  She might have a point.  He looked back at her and searched
her clear blue eyes.  "It's girly stuff, Scully!"  It was a lame 
excuse and he knew it.

Scully's eyes glinted triumphantly.  "So girly that you've 
memorized a Shakespearean sonnet?"  

Double damn.  So he hadn't been able to distract her from that 
realization.  "You have to understand, I went to Oxford!  There 
was a class...we had to memorize sonnets, yes.  So what?"

"Sonnets, Mulder?  Plural?"  There was a definite mischievous 
lilt to her tone.  

"Some," he said with finality.  "But my point is, Scully, that I 
have failed to find insight in the convoluted phrasings of some 
love-sick sucker trying to woo his way into some woman's bed."

Scully arched her eyebrow.  "Did it work for you?" she asked 
with careful mildness.

He was caught off-guard and didn't know how to respond, so he 
grinned in a non-committal way and looked away; it was answer 
enough.  He turned and met her eyes again, denying himself any 
words of defense, but she seemed content to let it pass, a minor 
victory won at the expense of his pride.  Another black mark 
against him, he thought with a mixture of amusement and regret.

"Dickens, Eliot, Frost...these names are not foreign to you, I 
know."

Mulder conceded with a nod.

"So you know, it's often not what's said in a poem, but *how* 
it's said, that matters.  And what's unsaid..."  Scully seemed 
to drift into some reverie.

"Hass," Mulder cut in.  "You said 'Hass' before, and I swear 
I'm unfamiliar with that one."

Her face lit up a little.  "Robert Hass.  One of my favorites.  
You know, he was Poet Laureate of the U.S. from '95 to '97."

Mulder listened patiently, only vaguely aware of the fact that 
his knee was pressing against her thigh and her left hand was 
dangling inches above his lap.

"It's about language, Mulder.  Ever noticed how the simplest 
concept is the one hardest to explain?"

Mulder grinned.  "Why is the sky blue?"

Scully smiled patronizingly and lifted a brow.  "Axioms, Mulder.  
I'm talking about axioms."

"Ooh, Scully, I love it when you talk math."

"Except I'm not talking math, Mulder.  I'm talking basic 
truths - something I thought you were rather fluent in."

Mulder made a slight mental adjustment when he realized with 
some surprise that somehow, this subject was important to her.
"Give me an example."

"Well, to stick to the point, take language.  All words are 
symbols."

Mulder was a little confused as to what the point actually was,
but he was more than willing to find out.  "Like 'chair' 
connotes something that you sit on, not because it *is* a 
chair, but because as speakers of the English language, we 
have agreed to recognize the relationship between the word
and the object."

"Yes.  Simple enough: the word conjures the idea of the object.  
But then it gets complicated, because 'chair' has so many 
possible meanings that no one thing can ever really correspond
to it.  Therefore, there really is no such thing as a chair."

"Stop.  I know a Kodak moment when I'm in one."

Scully smiled indulgently.  "There is nothing radical in what I'm
saying, Mulder.  Sorry to disappoint."

"Au contraire, Agent Scully!  As you yourself have recently 
pointed out, it's often not *what* you say, but *how* you say 
it."  He gave her a steady look and waggled his eyebrows.

Scully disengaged a little, sitting back and turning to look
out the window.  After a moment, she turned back and said in 
textbook tone, "Words dissolve the meaning of a universal 
truth."

Mulder scooted a little closer to her, desperate to recapture 
the unaccountable mood that had sprung up between them and 
then just as unaccountably fled.   "Words dissolve the meaning 
of a universal truth," he echoed.  "So what?"

"So, some things are so basic that you can't define them."

"Example?"

"Linguistically speaking, take 'the.'"

"'The?'  You want me to define 'the?'"

She held his gaze and nodded slowly, increasingly triumphant 
even as she issued the challenge.  

"Eh...it's the, uh-"

"You can't use 'the' to define 'the.'"  

Mulder glared at her.  "It's a way to specify...what you are 
talking about.  Or something."

Scully smirked.  "Exactly.  You know what it means, you 
recognize its intrinsic truth, but you cannot easily put it 
into words.  It defies explanation."  She sighed a little and 
leaned closer to him, resting her hand casually on his knee.  
"This shortcoming of language is only a reflection of that 
same problem one encounters in life."

Mulder sensed that Scully was trying to say something, but her 
subtlety was beyond him.  "Example?" he again prompted.  

"Things that are universal and true can only lose significance 
in attempts to define them..."  She seemed to flounder.

"Like what?"

"Like...truth.  Honesty.  Faith..."

"Love?"

The word hit Scully like a bullet, and as she looked at him in 
shock, he saw fear and apprehension in her eyes.  Bingo.  "Love, 
Scully, is the truest and most universal thing around."

Scully collected herself.  "Love, Mulder, most definitely defies 
definition.  Love is the perfect example.  Any attempt to 
paraphrase or replicate or explain it falls short of the 
real thing."

Mulder's awareness of her lips, her heat, her hand, and their 
close proximity only increased his passion.  "What about proof? 
How can we know of the existence of love without some sign 
of proof?"

Scully softened slightly.  "Proof, Mulder?  Since when have you 
required proof?"

"Since when have you decided to withhold it?"

Scully's lips parted in shock as all pretext was dropped.  "Love 
does not require proof."  She shook her head slowly.

"I'm saying it does."  He looked at her intensely.

"Love," she began, looking into his eyes, "exists whether or not 
it is expressed.  Love cannot be made greater than it is by 
talking about it, nor can it be made less than it is by failing 
to do so.  Love...is."  She suddenly withdrew her gaze, but not 
before Mulder had recognized the acknowledgement in her eyes.  
"It comes down to faith."

"I want to believe," he whispered.

She looked up at him involuntarily, and saw the pain she had 
caused him, the pain she was causing him and the pain she would 
continue to cause him.  "It's an axiom, Mulder.  It exists whether 
you believe it or not."

He searched her face for the truth of what she was offering.  
Maybe she couldn't say the words.  Maybe it was enough to know 
that she loved him.  He would take what he could get.  For now.  
"Your kind of poetry sure involves a lot of suffering."  
He said it lightly, to signal his acceptance.

Scully half-grunted and looked thoughtful.  "Wait till we get 
to the metaphor."  She squeezed his knee and withdrew her hand, 
awarding him briefly with a tender smile.

Mulder smiled and shook his head in perplexity.  He'd worry about 
that later.  Today was his birthday and all in all, it had turned 
out better than he'd expected.

Fin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Notes: This poor fic had a difficult childhood.  I 
started it a very long time ago, and forgot about it.  I found 
it accidentally while looking through some old stuff...and 
decided to try to salvage it.  After much re-working, I came 
to the conclusion...that my original concept was too ambitious, 
and that a sequel would be necessary to incorporate all my 
original elements.  A sequel...may be forthcoming. ;)

I really love the poetry of Robert Hass, and my ideas in this 
fic come solely from my meditations on his work.  I think there 
is so much in language that can be applied to life in general, 
basically, that studying it in the way Mr. Hass has done can 
lead to clarity in many areas.  (Watch me talk out of my ass!)
Really, though, I recommend you go straight to the source and 
read his stuff, rather than taking my word for it (or relying 
on my convoluted attempts to summarize).

Many thanks to my betas, Lisa and Mel for their words of 
encouragement (and for putting up with my impatience ;D)!!
By the way...after much debate, I decided *not* to reveal 
what the birthday present was until the sequel.  :-0

The definition in the summary comes from good ol' Webster 
himself.  ;D