In Absentia III - Zigged/Zagged
by QofMush
Date: Sun, 24 May 98 15:27:00 CDT 

Disclaimer: Most of the characters included within belong
to the Fox Network, the creative people over at 1013,
Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. No
infringement is intended.
  
Classification: MSR
Rating: PG
Time line: Mid Season Five
Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name stays attached. 
Feedback: Wouldn't miss it for the world -
QofMush@aol.com  
Summary: Does absence make the heart grow fonder or smarter?


Acknowledgements: As with everything I write, this wouldn't see the light of
day without Sherrie and Jill.  Words cannot express how much you both help me.


Dedication: This one is for the Screamers, especially jeni. Thanks for all the
hand-holding, support and laughs.  Special mention goes to Amanda, who made In
Absentia something of a crusade.


***********************
Mulder has a big nose.


It's not big in the sense that it detracts in any way from the otherwise sheer
beauty of his face.  But, like any nose with a tendency to be larger than
normal, it sometimes gets in the way.


Like the first time he tried to kiss me.  Oh, I say that like we're long time
lovers romantically reflecting back on our first kiss.  Truth is, this
happened about five hours ago and it was neither very romantic nor really
qualified as a kiss.


We stood in that airport terminal overjoyed to see each other.  I think Mulder
was overcome with surprise that I was actually there.  He recovered quickly.


There was that moment, the two of us standing there, that will be frozen in
time. We've all had them.  Time seems to stand still (don't tell Mulder) and
you know something momentous is about to happen. I wanted that something to
happen.  So did Mulder.


However, in a rare, but strangely fitting statement to our partnership, we
both zigged when one of us should have zagged.  That's when I realized that
Mulder has a large nose. It's difficult to overlook when it smashes directly
into yours.


Ironic isn't it?  We finally believe the same thing, want the same thing, and
are entirely ineffective at achieving it.  Luckily, we were both moving
tentatively and the bump didn't hurt that much.


We both laughed nervously, then genuinely, and the moment was gone.


Mulder hugged me to him, exaggeratedly spun me around while making some
comment about what a nice girl like me was doing in a dump like this, and we
were back in business.


Except Mulder wouldn't stop touching me.


At first I thought it was just the usual Gentleman Mulder, his hand taking its
rightful place at the small of my back as we walked to the baggage claim.


Then, after we collected his luggage and headed toward my car, he slung his
arm around my shoulders.  All the way around.  Like a boyfriend in high school
would do;  those long, magic fingers gently massaging my shoulder as we walked
through the parking lot.


We got in the car and Mulder refrained from making his typical driving joke.
He did, however, find every excuse to touch my shoulder, run his fingers down
my arm, or glance his hand on my knee while I drove.  The few times I looked
questioningly at him, he feigned innocence and kept up his litany of questions
about San Francisco.  All while touching me.  If I had killed us by driving
off the road, he most certainly would have been to blame.


Now, keep in mind, we're still chatting like Mulder and Scully always do.
He's lobbing wisecracks and I'm returning serve.


The touching was an added development to our dynamic.


Not that I minded.


Too soon, I pulled up in front of his hotel.  Part of me really wanted to tell
him to forget the hotel - he could stay on my couch - or, wherever.  There was
no point in rushing things.


I left him to check in and promised him I'd pick him up for dinner in a few
hours.


"Okay, Scully.  I'll be waiting.  But don't think a fancy dinner buys you
anything.  I'm not that cheap," he said, waggling his eyebrows as he got out
of the car.


"Who said I'm buying?"


********************


I've analyzed the events of this morning (all while digging through my closet
trying to find *something* to wear) and I'm still no closer to understanding
what Mulder's thinking or feeling.  Not that I've ever been very close.  I
know as well as anyone how his mind works - I couldn't even begin to guess
what's in his heart.  Plus, I still don't know exactly what I want.  I've
thought about it, analyzed it, and come to the conclusion that to start a
relationship with Mulder would fly in the face of all logic.


Fuck logic.


I love him.


That simple fact decided, I arrive at the hotel to find Mulder waiting outside
for me. 


Oh, God.  He's beautiful.  


In one definite respect, Mulder is a charming paradox. Meticulous is not a
word one usually reserves for him - the man regularly forgets what day it is,
lives like a slob, and has a filing system only he understands.


But, oh my, can he dress.


Tonight is no exception.  My "date" - I let the word float around my head to
see if it sounds okay - is dressed all in black, from his shiny oxfords, dress
slacks, cashmere turtleneck and blazer.


Whoo boy.


I get out of the car and playfully open the door for him.  From the look on
his face, the hours I just spent in my closet have paid off.


I too, am all in black.  A simple dress, long sleeves and a boat neck, with a
tight bodice and flared skirt that lands just above my knees.  I've replaced
my functional and boring pumps with a pair of strappy Manolo Blahniks I had to
buy one day while trying to cure my homesickness by shopping.  It didn't work,
but I love the shoes.


We get to the restaurant and Mulder's doing that touching thing again. While I
give my name to the hostess, Mulder brings his hand to the nape of my neck,
his thumb gently rubbing over the scar covering the implant.  I should be
self-conscious, but I'm not.  Mulder knows.  If he notices the gooseflesh his
tender ministrations have caused, he gives nothing away.


Seated perpendicular at a window table looking into the inky darkness of the
SF Bay sipping a wonderful Chardonnay Mulder insisted we order, I can honestly
say I've never felt more content, or more anxious.


Something's coming.


Then Mulder tries to pull away.


"So, Scully.  I have a preliminary theory about this case."


No way, G-Man.  I'm not talking about work.  You aren't going to stop
something you've started.  Well, I helped start it.  But you're still not
stopping it.


"Mulder, I don't want to talk about work.  It's Saturday.  I haven't seen you
for three months.  Surely, we can come up with "something" to amuse ourselves,
" and I lean forward and treat him with my sauciest grin.  I've almost
forgotten I have one of those.  It feels good to use it on him.


I watch his hazel eyes widen as the implications of what I've said sink in.


Gotcha, Mulder.  Two can play at this game.


Emboldened by the glass of wine, I continue to turn tables on my favorite
flirt and read my menu outloud, musing about what on the menu could satisfy my
cravings.


I time the mention of my cravings to perfectly coincide with Mulder's casual
sip of wine. It gives me an excuse to rub his back innocently to stop his
choking.


"Are you okay?  Sometimes it goes down the wrong pipe."


At this point, I think he's had enough, so I steer our conversation back to
neutral territory.  We play catch up.


I don't remember what we ate, I'm just happy to be here with him.  God, that
sounds sappy.  Too bad.


Too soon, our dinner is over.  We walk slowly along the wharf - dawdling at
the tacky tourist shops.  Mulder grabs my hand to jokingly drag me into the
Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum and then conveniently forgets to release it
when we resume our stroll.


Not for the first time this evening do I find myself thinking at how strange,
yet right, this feels.  I've worked side by side with this man for years, but
now, I could care less about righting the wrongs of the world.  He's my best
friend, and I happen to be in love with him.


I'm fairly certain he feels the same way.


Our fingers lace together and I watch the smile that lurks around the corners
of his mouth.  It's not the smart-ass smirk the rest of the world gets to see,
it's a gentle, warm, smile that tells me he's happy.


Funny, I never thought I'd see my Mulder happy.


It's been a long, strange trip.


Again, I find myself wishing for the ability to freeze time. I know he's here
for a case. I know that Monday, we have to go to work as FBI Agents and try
and bring a killer to justice. And, I am certain we will resume our roles as
partners as seamlessly as we always have.  I have no doubt in my mind that
whatever may happen between the two of us personally, we'll find a way to
still work together as well as we always have.


Because I'm not willing to wait anymore.


I've missed him.


We stroll slowly to the edge of a pier to give Mulder a better view of the
Golden Gate Bridge.  That's what I tell him, anyway.  Truth is, it also
provides us with some privacy from the hordes of tourists out enjoying the
unseasonably warm evening.


Mulder, as usual, knows what I'm thinking.


This time, when he lowers his head to mine, I know which way to zig.


*********************************


I've forgotten how to kiss.


So much for that riding a bike adage.


Considering I've spent hours fantasizing about it, you'd think when the
opportunity to kiss Dana Scully presented itself, I'd get it right.


I've never been able to go to my left.


I still can't believe she was there.  Waiting.  For me.  No one - and I mean
no one - has ever done that for me.  She met me at the airport because she
wanted to.


I won't go into the implications of that.


And she wanted me to kiss her.  She was nervous, undecided, but willing to go
with it if I went for it.  By now, I'm an expert at reading when Scully's
trying to decide whether or not to go with it.  When I can press, and when I
have to back away.


Now was the time to press.


Until we both leaned the same way.  Laughable really, if I wasn't so
disappointed.  My damned nose is too big.


Ah, well.  I'm nothing if not persistent.  A missed moment is regrettable, but
I set out to prove it was more than just a moment of temporary insanity.  It
wasn't on my part, anyway.


We fell back on our old standby - laughter.  Hey, it's gotten me through every
uncomfortable moment in my life - why should I stop now?


I couldn't stop touching her.  I still couldn't believe she was here.  In
front of me.


Even after we got my luggage, I refused to let go.  I've spent my life
believing in the intangible; yet in this respect, I needed tactile proof that
she was here.  I picked up my garment bag and slung my free arm over her
shoulder.


It felt right.  Frightfully right.


Scully has a cool new car.  Good to see she's using that raise wisely.  I was
dying to drive it, but I knew that wouldn't go over well.  The memory of being
called a "big macho man" still stings.  I settled for enjoying the scenery
both inside and outside the car.  Maybe if I behaved, she'd let me drive it
later.


Scully dropped me off in front of a much nicer hotel than I'm used to staying
in, telling me she'd pick me up later for dinner.  I covered my disappointment
with another joke.


I wished we could have spent the afternoon together, but I don't dare say
that.  I don't want to push my luck.  She's only asking for a few hours.  I
guess I'll live.


Besides, maybe she's already tired of me.  Naked male insecurity is always so
attractive.


Okay, so now I'm in my hotel room.  I'm checked in, unpacked, and I've
retrieved  my E-mail and my voice mail.  I don't bother checking the home
answering machine.  I've just seen the only person who ever leaves a message
there.


I miss her already.


I thought I realized how much I missed her when we were separated by a
continent.   But seeing her so briefly again and knowing we're in the same
city only exacerbates the pain.


One learns to live without someone.  Sadly, I know this better than most.
Constant reminders aside, you cope with the transition from having someone in
your daily presence to not.  And you deal with it the best you can.  Because
you must.  To survive.


But seeing her again negates all that.


I realize I don't want to deal with it.  I don't have to cope with it.  Why
should I?  I'm a single, available male.  She's available.  She's the only
person on the planet who knows what a whackjob I am, and she loves me anyway.


Well, I think she loves me.  She definitely cares.


I love her.


Am I the biggest fool going if I don't take advantage of this?


Don't answer that.


I decide to take a swim in the fancy rooftop swimming pool to work off some of
my nervous energy.


Funny how your body responds when you decide your destiny.  I have to
physically restrain myself from running through the halls proclaiming words of
love.  Somehow, I don't think bailing me out of the looneybin again is what
Scully had in mind for the evening.


*************


Scully picks me up right on time.


Oh, God.  She's beautiful.


Where on Earth has she been hiding that dress?  And those shoes?


I try to stop myself from checking her out like a hormone-driven construction
worker, but I can't help it.


Words.  Put thoughts into words.  Tell her.


She's playfully  holding the door for me.  Mischievous is a nice look on her.
A new goal pops into my head - make Scully smile more.


As I get into the car, I lean down and softly kiss her cheek.


"You look beautiful."


Once I'm inside the car, she closes the door, but I think I hear the whispered
words, "So do you."


Score one for Mulder.


We arrive at a romantic  restaurant right on the water.  Scully must have
taken me at my word that I wanted cioppino.


Of its own free will, my hand softly lands on the nape of her neck and my
thumb encounters the scar.  I can't help but caress it, hoping it doesn't make
her uncomfortable.  To me, that chip is her life.  It reaffirms our bond.


We order wine and a temporary silence descends on us.


I panic.


Maybe this has all been in my head.  Maybe I've just concocted this whole
romance out of loneliness and my true love for this woman.


Maybe it's unrequited.


Step back, Mulder.  


"So, Scully.  I have a preliminary theory about this case."


I've never been so happy to be wrong.


My first thought is that Scully has been replaced by a pod-person.  Then, I
realize that this is just another facet of Scully - one she hides well
underneath her professional veneer.  It's sexy as hell.  So is the smile I'm
treated to when she tells me she doesn't want to talk about work.


Mental note: Do something to get *that* smile again.


Mental note #2: Never drink wine when Scully's reading the menu aloud.
Luckily, my doctor is both my cause and my cure.  She rubs my back and
innocently talks about it going down the wrong pipe or something.  A quick
glance at her face tells me she knows *exactly* what happened.  And she likes
it.


So, we talk.  About nothing.  At first it's strange.  We've spent time talking
about other parts of our lives, but usually as related to a case.  Tonight we
share anecdotes just because.


We finish dinner, but I'm not willing to let her go just yet.  She got her few
hours this afternoon - I'm a selfish man.  I suggest a walk down the wharf.


We stop at a few souvenir shops and I offer to buy her an "I Got Crabs in SF"
teeshirt.  She declines.  I'll come back later and buy one for Frohike.  He'll
love it.


I can't resist a jab and try to drag her into one of those Believe it or Not
Museums. Ironically,  I'm sure at least one of our cases is in there
somewhere.


As we stroll down the street hand in hand, it's easy to pretend we're on
vacation.  We're just two people who've met by happenstance and fallen in
love.  Happens every day, right?


The complications of our work and our present geographical obstacles fade into
the ether when I look down at the beautiful woman beside me.


She knows me.  Better than I know myself.  She's passed every protective
shield, silly obstacle and childish deflection I've thrown up at her.


I know I'm not worthy of her.  This is not a self-esteem issue (well, maybe a
little) but just fact.  She deserves far better than Spooky Mulder.  But,
she's a smart woman who seems to have made her own choice.  Far be it for me
to question her judgement in this matter.


We wander out to the edge of a semi-deserted pier because Scully wants to show
me the Golden Gate Bridge.  It's a lovely site, a perfect view, but I'm beyond
caring about anything but her and what I want to happen.


I turn her around slowly and look down at her.  In the darkness, her eyes are
partially hidden, but I can see enough of a gleam in them to know she wants
what I do.


We both chuckle a little self-consciously, possibly worried that we're going
to make the same mistake and introduce our noses again.


Not this time.


I cradle her face and, smiling, lower my head to hers.


This time, she zigs and I zag.


THE END


Authors Notes Again: Aren't you tired of me?  This is truly the end of the
story.  Mulder and Scully were both waaay to distracted to keep telling me
what went on the rest of the evening in great detail, but from what I can
tell, it was all good, baybeee!  So, I left them perfectly silhouetted against
the Golden Gate Bridge, locked in a romantic embrace.  Fade to Black.


Thank you so much for making it this far.