From: bfat@probedbyaliens.com   
      
   title:  Separation Anxiety   
      
   author:  bfat   
      
   email:  bfat@probedbyaliens.com   
      
   distribution:  i'll hit ephemeral and gossamer on my own.  anywhere else is   
   fine.   
      
   rating:  G   
      
   category:  VR   
      
   keywords:  M/S UST, MSR   
      
   spoilers:  various episodes throughout the series.  nothing after season 6   
   though.   
      
   summary:  Who you gonna call?   
      
   disclaimer:  sue this!   
      
   notes:  i had a few minutes before class started, and i thought i would write   
   a little something, since it's been so long.  this has had no beta so all   
   mistakes are my fault.  please tell me what you think.  :)   
      
   ~*~   
      
   There were times when he thought about calling her, when the phone would find   
   its way into his hand without him realizing it.  His thumb would rub across   
   the buttons and he would stare at something in the room that reminded him of   
   her: a candid picture    
   of them together, a book he'd borrowed from her, the pen she left on his   
   coffee table the last time she'd been at his apartment.  He would stare and   
   rub at the numbers, debating, thinking of her.  Would she be annoyed?  Glad to   
   hear from him?  He would    
   find out if he would just dial.   
      
   In the end, he always put the phone back on the cradle, always sighed and   
   settled for what was safe.  And after a while, the need to talk to her would   
   pass.  He would find something to eat in his apartment, maybe do some work,   
   and go to sleep on his    
   couch.   
      
   But when she was far from him, if something sent them in different directions   
   for whatever reason, he couldn't help himself.  Their separation was tangible   
   to him, and he couldn't stop himself from dialing her number, couldn't resist   
   the temptation of    
   another few sentences with her, no matter how annoyed it made her.  As soon as   
   they hung up, as soon as he heard the 'click,' it was all he could do not to   
   call her again.  It was his greatest test of will, seeing how long he could   
   wait before he finaly    
   broke down and dialed her number again.  He could always find some reason to   
   call her, even if he had to make it up.   
      
   It was years ago that he first discovered his inability to resist calling when   
   they were apart.  He had been in Miller's Grove and Scully safe at home at her   
   own apartment.  It surprised him at first, his seemingly dire compulsion to   
   call her.  He felt    
   naked without her, unwhole.  Her voice was all that kept him from losing all   
   confidence in his work.   
      
   When she went on vacation, years later, he felt that same itch in his fingers,   
   that almost desperate desire to interact with her, to know where she was and   
   what she was doing.  He had been in the office for less than two hours when he   
   picked up the phone    
   and dialed.  Anything to hear her voice again, to not feel so severed.  He let   
   her think it was boredom, possessiveness, overprotectiveness, but never the   
   truth of his terrible weakness without her.   
      
   Even when the X-Files had been shut down, when they had been assigned to other   
   jobs, they had been together.  Their desks were mere feet apart, and he never   
   had  reason to feel lonely.  But when she was chosen for an assignment without   
   him...   
      
   He couldn't help it.   
      
   "How's that X-File?"   
      
   "Mulder, it's not an X-File."   
      
   And he smiled when she said it, even though he could hear the irritation in   
   her voice.   
      
   When she was shot by the man that was supposed to be protecting her, it was as   
   if every suspicion and fear he'd ever felt had come true.  He took it as a   
   sign, a second warning.  The first time the X-Files had been shut down and   
   they had been separated,    
   she'd been taken for four weeks.  He'd nearly lost himself, and her.  Now, for   
   something awful to happen to her again, the second time they'd been   
   separated...  He couldn't look at it as a coincidence.  He didn't believe in   
   them.   
      
   Being away from Scully went against something inside him on a primal level.    
   It was like trying to walk into fire or eating mashed potatoes without gravy.    
   He just couldn't do it.   
      
   Some time after the incident with Payton Ritter, he found he didn't have to do   
   it.  He found that he wasn't the only one who suffered from separation   
   anxiety, that a lonely Scully was almost as desparate as he.  She confessed   
   this to him late one night    
   with the aid of sleep depravation and jet lag.  They were sprawled out across   
   a motel bed, a pile of legal pads and papers between them.  She looked over at   
   him sleepily and reached her hand out to curl warm fingers around his own.   
      
   "I don't really mind when you call me," she said.  "I miss you when you're   
   gone."   
      
   Mulder had been startled.  As far as he knew, they were discussing exit wounds   
   and the liklihood of finding ectoplasm in the splatter pattern.  He looked up   
   from his notes and saw that she was nearly asleep.   
      
   "I do too, Scully."   
      
   She nodded, squeezed his hand.  Her eyes were closed.   
      
   "No more ghost bullets, Mulder.  I'm tired."   
      
   He smiled and pulled his hand from hers.  "Okay."  He was packing up his notes   
   when she spoke again.   
      
   "Mulder?"   
      
   "Hmm?"   
      
   "I... never mind."  She shook her head.  "It's nothing."   
      
   Mulder moved the stack of papers from the bed to the night table and put a   
   hand on his partner's shoulder.  He leaned down and kissed her forehead.    
   "G'night, Scully."   
      
   Her eyes opened as he pulled back from her and he watched them carefully.  Her   
   hand came up to touch his forearm.   
      
   She whispered, "Good night, Mulder."   
      
   There was love there, in her eyes, and also fear.  He understood completely.    
   It was him, staring at her forgotten bracelet or her legal pad on his coffee   
   table, clutching the phone and desperate to tell her that he loved her, that   
   she should come over    
   just so he wouldn't be alone.  It was himself he was looking at, reflected   
   back at him.  He smiled at her, bent his head to kiss her lips just once, and   
   moved to walk into his own room.   
      
   In the doorway, he turned to look at her.  She was watching him, her head   
   still propped against her arm.   
      
   "Tomorrow, Scully," he said.  "Ghost bullets."   
      
   She was still smiling as he closed the door behind him.  He thought maybe he   
   would call her, once he got into his own room.   
      
      
   fin   
      
   ~*~   
      
   good?  bad?  pile of steaming excriment?  splentabulous?  "I've read better"?    
   let me know.   
      
   bfat@probedbyaliens.com   
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)