From: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
      
   Title: Spectrum   
   Author: the idiosyncratic stanwyck   
   Email: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com   
   Category/Keywords: AU, MSR, A   
   Rating: NC-17   
   Summary: A woman meets a man who opens her eyes to a vast,   
   unexpected spectrum of beautiful, terrifying possibilities.   
   *Notes at end.   
      
   Chapter 19: Gold   
      
   "The day she came, I'm freezing that frame... 'How did it   
   go so fast?' you'll say as we are looking back, and then   
   we'll understand: we held gold dust in our hands." - Tori   
   Amos   
      
   **   
      
   Scully knew it was April when the rain started and didn't   
   stop. The trouble with living in the city was that there   
   wasn't much green space where the showers could bring   
   flowers, so the best she could hope for was a humid,   
   slightly depressing drizzle.   
      
   She looked out the window at the nighttime streets, black   
   and rain-slicked. Mulder was out there, in his car,   
   traveling toward her. She glanced at her watch. 7:49. He'd   
   said around eight. She pushed her sleeves up and tugged   
   them down again. Chloe was sprawled on the couch,   
   ostensibly watching TV, but really keeping an eye on Dana   
   and sticking close to the nexus of any possible drama.   
      
   Scully straightened the magazines on the bar and ran over   
   the mental list of things she wanted to say, as if she were   
   preparing to give a lecture. The chiming of the doorbell   
   actually caught her off guard.   
      
   Mulder was dressed nicely, tan slacks and a dress shirt   
   with a burgundy striped tie. She suddenly remembered that   
   he'd had a dinner at George Washington tonight, and   
   wondered if he'd left early to meet her. He didn't say   
   anything, but looked steadily at her, and she forced   
   herself to meet his gaze. Her stomach was tied into a   
   thousand of the intricate sailor's knots her father had   
   taught her how to make.   
      
   "Oh. Hey." Chloe's gaze flicked toward the vicinity of   
   Mulder's chest and back to the TV, her guarded tone and   
   eyes giving away as little as did Dana's.   
      
   "Clo, can you go to your room, please?" Dana requested, her   
   voice carefully neutral, her eyes fixed on her daughter's   
   profile, which was eerily backlit by the blue glow of the   
   screen.   
      
   "This is my favorite show."   
      
   "Chloe, go to your room. Just for a little while."   
      
   The girl looked over her shoulder. "Aunt Dana, I'm watch -"   
   Her small jaw snapped shut when she took in her aunt's   
   rigid pose. The remote control smacked the glass surface of   
   the coffee table, sneakers simultaneously thudding against   
   the sofa cushions as Chloe bounded over the back, shoving   
   past Mulder. "Whatever."   
      
   The bedroom door closed with a muted snick. Scully stared   
   vacantly over the top of the television, her thoughts   
   clicking with the unyielding rapidity of a stopwatch. The   
   muscles in her arm burned when she retrieved the remote and   
   aimed it at the screen. A thin, smiling blonde froze and   
   dissipated mid-word.   
      
   The tension in the apartment ratcheted up a notch. Dana   
   rocked to her heels, her hands rising to hug her stomach.   
   "Thank you for coming." She sounded and looked as if she   
   were anticipating a root canal without the benefit of   
   Novocain.   
      
   Mulder dragged the sole of one loafer through the lush pile   
   of the Oriental rug, bringing his toe to rest behind the   
   opposite heel. "I was in the neighborhood." He sat down   
   gingerly on the edge of the armchair. He was waiting,   
   giving her the floor.   
      
   Dana was hypersensitive to his presence and her   
   surroundings; her skin felt tight, hot, and stretched over   
   her sharp bones. She sat carefully on the sofa, welcoming   
   the soft, downy envelope of the cushions. Her tongue curled   
   against the roof of her mouth in a futile effort to ease   
   her aching throat.   
      
   Words and fragments of thoughts blazed across her mind's eye   
   as if they were printed on giant cue cards. The font would   
   be called something like Cosmic Ultra Bold.   
      
   "Remember when we went to the museum, Mulder?" she asked   
   suddenly. "You taught me how to look at the paintings, how   
   to understand the colors. I've been thinking a lot about   
   that - about color."   
      
   He waited for Dana to continue, but she seemed disinclined   
   to do so. She'd realized that she was doing it again,   
   dancing all around the subject she really wanted to broach.   
   With a hint of interest Mulder prodded again, "Color?"   
      
   She tilted her head to rest her chin on steepled fingers.   
   "Each of us is surrounded by colors from the moment we open   
   our eyes at birth until they are closed by death. Color   
   symbolism is an integral part of our language - we see red,   
   feel blue, are green with envy. Colors influence our moods   
   and even our health. Red provokes anger; black induces   
   melancholy. But how much of the color we attribute to our   
   environment is an illusion, merely a fabrication of the   
   unconscious mind? Do we add color to the world like a child   
   with Tempera paints? Science offers no solid answers.   
      
   "Do you know how the human eye works, Mulder? The rods and   
   cones within our eyes distinguish varying wavelengths of   
   light, and the brain transforms those wavelengths into   
   electrochemical signals. We interpret those signals as   
   colors. Longer wavelengths look red; the shortest visible   
   to the human eye are blue. Bees can see ultraviolet light,   
   but they are incapable of experiencing red. Did you know   
   that?"   
      
   She didn't expect or wait for a reply. "2300 years ago   
   Plato advanced the idea that color vision was a result of   
   rays that shot out from the eyes toward objects. But I   
   prefer Galen's theory. He believed that rays produced by   
   our eyes empowered the surrounding air to transport   
   miniscule images of objects to the eye. He thought a spirit   
   moving between the eyes and the brain interpreted those   
   images, creating color. Goethe studied the interplay of   
   color and shadow - so you see the link between color and   
   poetry is one of long standing."   
      
   "I'm not a scientist, Scully. Or a poet."   
      
   She chuckled dryly. "Obviously, neither am I. I sound like   
   Some kind of goddamned encyclopedia, and I'm not saying -   
   I can't -" She sighed heavily and gestured vaguely. "But -   
   But my point is that we don't really see colors. We see   
   light. Absorption and reflection. Things that appear black   
   absorb light from all wavelengths. White is the absence   
   of color. Blankness. Sterility.   
      
   "As part of the vision process, the brain eliminates or   
   ignores certain conflicting or confusing impulses, so   
   everything we see involves a certain level of distortion.   
   How do I know what my mind is distorting? How do I know   
   that my mind isn't blocking out too much?"   
      
   Her voice had risen to a fever pitch, her agitation   
   obvious. Mulder's expression remained blank and he slouched   
   more deeply into the sofa. "I guess you don't. Scully, are   
   you going somewhere with this?"   
      
   Her smooth features twitched ruefully at his flippancy. She   
   knew his patience was wearing thin. Her hand drifted up to   
   pinch the bridge of her nose in her habitual gesture of   
   discomfort and frustration. "I'm trying to, Mulder."   
      
   A driving bass beat drifted down the hall and starkly   
   delineated the complexities of their tangled relationship   
   from Chloe's preteen existence. The glowing green face of   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)