From: akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
      
   TITLE:  Mutually Assured Destruction   
   AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan   
   EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
   DISTRIBUTION:  Anywhere.  Just let me know.   
      
   RATING:  PG-13 (Language)   
   CATEGORIES:  SR   
   KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance   
   SPOILERS:  Triangle, but surely you've already seen it.   
      
   SUMMARY:  Scully thinks "I love you" is a shitty thing to say.  Mulder   
   disagrees.  Denouement.   
      
   Disclaimer:  If I owned them, I'd live in Malibu, which I don't.   
   Mulder and Scully belong to some combination of Chris Carter, Ten   
   Thirteen, Fox, and The Man.   
      
   ---------------   
      
   "Oh, brother."  It was the first response that came to mind after   
   Mulder's little declaration of doped-up love.  How else do you respond   
   to a sap bomb like that?  "Oh, Fox, I love you, too"?  Not likely.   
      
   She rolled her eyes, turned on her heel, and walked out.  She was sure   
   he still had that dippy look on his face as he lay propped on one arm   
   and watching her go.  And how was she supposed to believe that look?   
   she wondered as she strode down the hall and felt the color  rising up   
   her throat.  The look that said he felt brave and good for being so   
   clever and sweet, and how about just falling into these puppy dog eyes   
   of mine, Scully?  God knew it had worked before.  That was the   
   problem.  It had worked - like a conjurer's trick, or mesmerism.  I'll   
   crook my finger like this, and you cluck like a chicken.  I'll stare   
   at you soulfully, and you fall into my bed for a while.   
      
   Her heels clicked a tattoo of annoyance on the linoleum.  All right,   
   that wasn't really fair, she conceded.  She had certainly played a   
   role in their comings and goings (so to speak).  A giggle flared   
   briefly and immaturely in her brain, but anger quickly replaced it.   
   She wasn't sure yet if it was for switching the rules on her mid-game,   
   making her feel foolish, or some other sin she hadn't discovered yet.   
    He had crossed the line that they had never admitted but always known   
   existed.  "Scully...I love you."  What a shitty thing to say.   
      
   A few days later he was out of the hospital and fully recovered,   
   although undeniably acting weird.  The first day he'd been boyish,   
   full of smiles and humor and a million reasons why he had to brush his   
   fingers against her.  She met his enthusiasm with a rigid silence.   
   The second day he was thoughtful and uncertain, his jokes strained,   
   his touches no less frequent.  She met his indecision with a slight   
   frown between her eyebrows.  The third day he was grave and silent,   
   and he kept watching her the way he had back in the cancer days, when   
   he spent every spare moment looking for nosebleeds.  She welcomed this   
   as a step in the right direction.   
      
   The fourth night he showed up at her house.  Shit.  He'd been staring   
   at her all day.  She could feel the intensity of his gaze across the   
   room, boring into the top of her head, which she kept studiously bent   
   over a file.  Once, when she couldn't avoid meeting his eyes, she had   
   found them hot and sea-colored, a sure sign of trouble to come.  She   
   sighed as she pulled open the front door.  She really wasn't up to this.   
      
   "Hey, Scully," he smiled.  "Is this a bad time?"   
      
   "Well, if you can deal with the house party, I guess we'll manage,"   
   she replied, gesturing at the empty room and surprised by how tart and   
   tired that had sounded.  "You want anything?"   
      
   "No, thanks."   
      
   She sat down on the couch, pulling her legs up under her, and he sat   
   down across from her on the coffee table.  She hated it when he did   
   that.  It wasn't a Barcalounger.  She didn't sit  on his coffee table.   
    And he always sat right in front of her, so that his knees brushed   
   hers. Space invader.  "I just wanted to thank you," he said.   
      
   She tried to decide if this was a sincere, if totally unique,   
   expression of gratitude or if it was another new twist in his strategy   
   to do whatever the hell it was he was trying to do.   "For what?" she   
   asked cautiously.   
      
   "For saving my ass.  Again."  He quirked a small smile at her.   
   "Skinner told me what you did.  Nobody else would have.  Thank you."   
      
   She looked at him a long moment.  She didn't have the energy for this.   
    She felt like the flag in the middle of a tug of war rope.  The   
   problem is, the flag gets muddy no matter who wins.  She swallowed   
   another sigh and let her eyes slide away from him.  "I'd go to the   
   ends of the earth for you, Mulder.  You know that."  Oh, wait, she   
   thought.  I already have.   
      
   "Scully, what I said in the hospital..."  She felt him staring at her,   
   but she refused to meet his gaze.  "Shit," he muttered, dropping his   
   head into his hands.  "Nothing's changed."   
      
   Now she turned and looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed.  "What did   
   you expect to happen?"   
      
   "I don't know," he replied, and immediately contradicted himself, his   
   eyes sea-green and stormy, and his voice low.  "I thought you might   
   believe me."   
      
   A new artesian spring of fury bubbled up inside her.  Where the hell   
   did he get off?  She kept her voice controlled and tight.  "You know,   
   you've got a nice smile, Mulder, but it's not a magic wand.  You can't   
   just flash it at me and expect everything to be all right."   
      
   "This is such bullshit," he hissed, standing up abruptly and striding   
   over to stare out the window.  He leaned his forehead against the cool   
   glass for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.   
   When he turned back to look at her his eyes were blazing.  "I give up,   
   Scully.  I thought I got it, I thought I understood where we were, but   
   I don't have a fucking clue what you want."   
      
   She felt a shiver crawl up her spine.  Mulder rarely swore in her   
   presence, and he never used anything starting with f unless he really   
   wanted to get her attention.  Well, he had it. "Why is this always   
   about you?  Why do you get to decide?  Don't I have a say in this?   
   I'm not a toy for you to take out and play with when you're bored or   
   lonely or feel like you should be congratulated, and then put back on   
   the shelf when it's time to get serious again."   
      
   "Don't," he whispered.  "Don't you dare."  He was suddenly standing   
   very close to her, and his voice was low and dangerous.  "This," he   
   said, gesturing between them, "has never been in my hands, and you   
   know it.  You ended it, Scully.  I never wanted that.  You say when,   
   you say if, you pull away."   
      
   She looked up at him, wishing for the umpteenth time that she had a   
   stool or something so that she could look him straight in the eye.   
   "What is it you want, Mulder?"   
      
   "I want us to stop fucking around," he answered ruthlessly.  "I want   
   us to stop acting like we've got all the time in the world."   
      
   He didn't move any closer, but she suddenly felt crowded,   
   claustrophobic, like he was sucking away all her air.  Bastard, she   
   thought, but her heart wasn't really in it.   
      
   "Do you think I don't remember, Scully?  How your skin feels, those   
   little patches of freckles on your shoulders, how you like to be   
   touched, how we fit together perfectly when I  tuck you under my chin   
   and wrap myself around you, how you taste, how your breath feels   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)