From: arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au   
      
   TITLE:     Imagine That.   
   AUTHOR:    arcadianfalls   
   E-MAIL:    arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au   
   SPOILERS:  Do we have to do this anymore? :) Most season 7 episodes.   
   RATING:    PG, I suppose.. Despite the topic, it's actually very clean   
   :)   
   SUMMARY:   Behind the scenes of season seven: the evolution of a   
   physical relationship.   
   ARCHIVING: Yes please. Smaller archives please e-mail first.   
   NOTE:      In Requiem, Scully seems amazed but not disturbed by the   
   news of her pregnancy. Ignoring the silly Season 8/9 version, this is   
   what I imagine the real back-story to be. This might be best read in   
   consultation with a Season Seven episode guide.   
      
      
   Imagine That   
   by arcadianfalls   
   arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au   
      
      
      
   MULDER   
      
   It began with a kiss. Well, no, it started long before that night.   
   Somewhere between that first moment I realised I could trust her, and   
   the time I realised I wanted nobody else. But the kiss - it really had   
   me sweating. It was the first real move. The first   
   putting-it-all-on-the-line moment. Not just those few brief seconds,   
   but the longer ones that followed, trying to read her face, her   
   posture. The smile helped, but didn't allay all fears. There was a   
   glow, yes, but trepidation, too. Apprehension. Something that said she   
   didn't quite have the same faith as I did that it would work, and it   
   was that sliver of doubt that had my stomach twisting itself into a   
   knot.   
      
   I dropped her home. Walked her to her door, not even thinking about it   
   although usually I just dropped her at the kerb. She hadn't invited me   
   up - rather, I knew she was probably heading straight to bed. I was ok   
   with that. I just felt called, by whatever primitive instinct it is   
   that drives men to acts of gallantry and foolishness in the name of   
   love, to walk her right to her door. So I did.   
      
   She turned the key in the lock, pushed it open, paused to face me. A   
   small smile. Scully can talk back to hulking 6 foot cons, fend off   
   anyone who challenges her authority with icy ease and stare FBI   
   directors in the eye, but when it comes to letting those real feelings   
   out, she's the epitome of self-consciousness. Nothing will clam her up   
   quicker that the threat of rising emotions. I don't know why. Sure, a   
   lot of stuff has happened in her life that does make it difficult to   
   smile sometimes - I could write a book on it. But it's more than that.   
   It's like she's afraid to let anyone see that inner self - the woman,   
   the daughter. I see a little, but not enough.   
   That small smile: I'm glad to be home, I'm glad you're ok. A flicker of   
   something else, part-apprehension, part-gratitude perhaps for what is   
   definitely my favourite memory for the new year.   
   She touched my arm lightly. "Goodnight, Mulder."   
      
   "Goodnight, Scully." I'd already considered and rejected all the   
   possibilities: goodbye hug, kiss on the cheek, another on the lips? No.   
   It was too soon to follow that up, I didn't want to rush it. Didn't   
   want to scare her. I'd made that first move, she had to make the next   
   one.   
      
   I touched her side, a gentle nudge toward the door. "Get some sleep.   
   I'll talk to you tomorrow."   
      
      
   We hung out. We worked together. She restored an old habit of picking   
   up coffee for us both on her way in - real coffee, not the awful   
   instant stuff we suffer through the rest of the day. I tried to   
   surreptitiously develop the habit of taking her out to as many meals as   
   I could, all under the cover of work, of course. I struggled every   
   night with the desire to call her, wanting to hear her voice, but not   
   wanting to deprive her of sleep, or to get my ass kicked for doing so.   
   I openly doubled my efforts in making her laugh, making her smile. It   
   was no doubt that we were firmer friends and stronger partners than   
   ever, more relaxed in each others' company. I was happy about that. She   
   was happier. But. No mention of that New Years Eve kiss. Not even   
   casual allusions to it. It was as though the step forward that I had   
   agonised over had not happened at all.   
   But Scully was happier.   
   I swallowed my pride and my disappointment - and, my God, it was   
   disappointment like I'd never quite felt before - and I accepted that   
   she had decided, in her wisdom, that it was a risk she wasn't ready to   
   take, and that was the end of it.   
      
      
   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>   
      
   SCULLY   
      
   I couldn't bring myself to mention it. Not because I was ashamed or   
   because I regretted what had happened, but because there were no words   
   that quite described that moment, that night.   
   I wasn't sure what it meant. Damn Mulder, always being so cryptic. This   
   year had been one of growing closer, of an increased intimacy between   
   us. I didn't know if he was waiting on me, or if it was just a   
   singular, disconnected event for him, something that had happened, a   
   traditional New Years kiss that didn't mean anything, didn't hold any   
   promises. Sometimes I sensed a disappointment from him and wondered if   
   it was connected, if I should have pursued it, but other times, when I   
   caught myself remembering the moment or thinking about him in that way,   
   I chided myself for my girlishness. I wasn't sixteen any more. Neither   
   was Mulder. Surely if he was serious, he would make another move, show   
   his hand more clearly.   
      
   It did get to me, though. I did become that sixteen year old, unable to   
   explain why suddenly everything seemed brighter, my load seemed   
   lighter. A channel had been opened between us, and I felt us inch a   
   little closer in our ease and familiarity with each other. He seemed   
   keen to put the effort in. I enjoyed the closeness, too. It always   
   seemed so natural, so comfortable. I found myself idly imagining   
   scenarios, sometimes. Replaying that kiss in my mind. Trying to   
   remember how it had felt, tasted. Never with any intention of acting on   
   it, but it was a pleasant daydream. It made me wonder, especially on   
   those long car trips and hours in the office where I would steal   
   glances at him.   
      
   The case with the teenagers was an odd turning point for us. Our first   
   case out since New Years Eve, maybe it was the flashbacks to   
   adolescence but the air between us was electric.   
   Old? Slow and poky? I didn't feel it. Though it felt an age since my   
   own high school days, I felt young and alive. I was enjoying whatever   
   it was that was happening between us.   
      
   Back in our motel for the night, he followed me into my room out of   
   habit, tossing himself into the armchair and flicking the TV channels.   
      
   I kicked off my heels and climbed onto the bed, rubbing my toes. New   
   shoes. I watched Mulder for a moment, thinking over our day.   
   "Would you ever go back?" I pondered aloud.   
      
   "To high school? God, no." He flashed me a grin. "I'd sooner face that   
   flukeman thing again."   
      
   I smiled. "Was it that bad?"   
      
   "Bad? No. But, you know... Complicated."   
      
   "Girls?"   
      
   A chuckle. "Yeah, something like that." He tossed down the remote and   
   climbed up onto the bed, stretching out alongside me. "What about you?"   
      
   "High school? I survived it."   
      
   "Not your thing, huh? What about boys?"   
      
   "At a Catholic girls school?"   
      
   "Aha."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)