From: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
      
   Title: Spectrum   
   Author: the idiosyncratic stanwyck   
   Email: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
   Category/Keywords: AU, MSR, A (not too much)   
   Rating: NC-17   
   Summary: A woman meets a man who opens her eyes to a vast,   
   unexpected spectrum of beautiful, terrifying possibilities.   
   Author's note: Please excuse the time lapse between the last section   
   and this one; I've been having major technical difficulties. I hope   
   you'll think this chapter was worth the wait.   
      
   Chapter 11: Shades of Gray   
      
   "The more you know, the harder it is to take decisive action.   
   Once you become informed, you start seeing complexities   
   and shades of gray. You realize that nothing is as clear   
   and simple as it first appears." - Bill Watterson   
      
   **   
      
   They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but like   
   those words, a photograph can tell a lie.   
      
   Dana and John's wedding photos were in black and white. At   
   the time, her mother had chided her and Missy had scoffed,   
   but Dana had remained adamant. Black and white, she'd   
   insisted, was timeless and classy.   
      
   "Just think," she'd teased her mom, "you'll look like a   
   movie star in all the pictures."   
      
   Melissa had rolled her eyes in that my-little-sister-is-so-   
   predictable way that had always infuriated Scully. "Black   
   and white. Typical, Dana. Someday," she predicted, four   
   years older and sophisticated and oh-so-worldly wise,   
   "you'll realize they're all just shades of gray."   
      
   Sighing, Dana traced her fingertip over the image of her own   
   smiling face, the finish of the photograph cool and smooth.   
   She and John looked amazingly young and innocent, their   
   faces almost cherubic. While not overweight, she was   
   certainly plump, her curves exaggerated by the baby fat her   
   figure had still supported. It had been so many years since   
   she'd seen John without a beard that he looked like an   
   imposter, some benign young man who had stepped into her   
   best friend's spit-shined black loafers for that all-   
   important long ago day.   
      
   She turned the pages slowly, examining each smiling face   
   with a sharp eye, looking for any clue of inner turmoil. No   
   matter how closely she scrutinized their faces, nothing   
   revealed itself, no shadow, no hint of strife or deceit.   
   She and John looked happy, ordinary, and disgustingly all-   
   American. There was Maggie in her shiny silk, shoulder-   
   padded suit - it had been fuschia - and Melissa with her   
   teased, puffy eighties bangs, looking like something out of   
   a Wham! Video. Dana chuckled and flipped to the next page.   
      
   An eight by ten of John and herself arm in arm stared back   
   at her. She narrowed her eyes, and her face became an   
   indistinct blur above the white expanse of her wedding   
   gown. She tried to remember how she had felt on her wedding   
   day. The photos told the story of a happy union. Had she   
   been happy, excited? She'd been pledging herself to a man   
   whom she loved.Had she felt eager to begin a new chapter   
   in her life, or had she been gripped by restless nerves?   
   It was strange that she couldn't remember, and now she had   
   only these photos as evidence. At the time she thought   
   she'd been happy, but in retrospect, it was a sad day,   
   the first step on a journey of struggling and self-doubt.   
   Neither black nor white, only shades of gray.   
      
   Scully closed her wedding album with a snap. She couldn't   
   explain exactly what had possessed her to drag it out of   
   the dusty recesses of a bottom cupboard; perhaps she needed   
   to remind herself that she had a knack for entering into   
   disastrous relationships, and the most spectacular of her   
   failures was enshrined within these pages.   
      
   Her relationship with John had always been odd, but he had   
   been her first love - her only love. And if she fell in   
   love with her new best friend? She couldn't explain it, but   
   Mulder instinctively knew and understood things about her   
   that not even John had discovered, and John had known her   
   since childhood. When their relationship failed - and it   
   inevitably would, with her as one of the players - when all   
   their pretty air castles burned down and they were left   
   with ashes and bitterness and the impossibility of ever   
   being as close and natural as they were today, could she   
   handle it?   
      
   No. And there was her rational answer: Pick up the phone.   
   Call Mulder, and tell him this was all a horrible mistake.   
      
   Mulder, with his big hands and long legs and full lips, who   
   could make her boil with a single word or chuckle; Mulder,   
   who tasted like gourmet coffee and cherries and whose   
   remembered hardness pressed intimately against her had   
   moisture flowing between her legs, lubricating, seeping   
   into the crotch of her panties. She groaned and closed her   
   eyes, restlessly shifting her thighs.   
      
   She did pick up the phone, and she did call Mulder.   
      
   And she invited him to take her out to dinner on Friday   
   night.   
      
   **   
      
   This time, Mulder was early.   
      
   The restaurant Scully had suggested was a bistro, vaguely   
   French in flavor, that was perennially popular with the   
   uppercrust crowd and newly en vogue among the young and   
   trendy. It was more elegant and much more pricey than their   
   usual fare - a definite date restaurant.   
      
   This was, by his calculation, their second date. The   
   thought made him want an antacid, something to go plop-   
   plop-fizz-fizz in his water glass. It also made him feel   
   more tingly and hopeful than he had since his senior prom.   
      
   She'd called him from her cell phone in the car to tell him   
   that she was running late; Sophia's mom had picked Chloe up   
   for the ritual Friday night sleepover, but she was twenty   
   minutes behind, so could he hold their table?, and she'd be   
   there just as soon as she could. The warm burgundy of her   
   voice made his insides clench.   
      
   Mulder was a bit surprised when the hostess noted that   
   Scully had asked that they be seated in the garden; it was   
   no warmer than thirty degrees, at a generous estimate. So   
   he followed the young woman through the restaurant to the   
   back patio with some trepidation, and discovered that the   
   terraced portico was enclosed with a translucent sheet of   
   heavy plastic and comfortably heated. The stars glittered   
   overhead, their brilliant flames suffering little from   
   having to compete with the city lights for visibility.   
      
   He ordered a scotch on the rocks and an extra-dirty martini   
   to be delivered when his dinner companion arrived, slipped   
   the small bunch of flowers he had brought into the vase on   
   the table, and settled back to enjoy the atmosphere if his   
   nerves would permit. Soft piano music tinkled out from the   
   bar via hidden speakers. A short, squat candle flickered in   
   the center of the delicate wrought-iron table. The small   
   patio accommodated only five tables, spaced as far apart as   
   possible to provide maximum privacy for the diners.   
      
   She arrived in a light cloud of perfume, not the one she   
   usually wore but something richer, spicier. Scully had left   
   her coat inside and was nothing short of stunning in a   
   simple, sleeveless black dress with a peacock blue stole   
   tossed around her shoulders and big silver hoops swinging   
   from her earlobes. She had dried her hair straight, taming   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)