Title: Quiet

By Willa (adwilla@yahoo.com)

Rating: PG

Category: MSR

Spoilers: No, thank you.

Summary: Scully gets sick of playing games with Mulder.

Disclaimer: If I owned Mulder and Scully they could 
come out and play whenever they wanted to. But I don't. 

"F" is for feedback, it's good enough for me. Please 
send some to zweerink@gvi.net

Author's notes: I first wrote this story to cheer up 
some depressed shippers, but when I was finished I 
couldn't believe it was mine. Anyone who knows me is 
well aware I am never this optimistic. A special woo 
hoo goes to Amanda, who taught me to seek out the 
sappiness inside myself, and to Susan who let me send 
my story to her when she was working on her own stuff. 
And I have to mention the Havenites who got me started 
on this in the first place: hettie, danamulder, 
Sabrina, Just Wondering and ASAC.

Quiet

February 11, 1999


Scully sat curled loosely in the corner of her over-
stuffed couch, leaning heavily on the armrest, a book 
propped up on her knees. Her white terry cloth robe had 
fallen open to reveal her pale legs and small feet, 
toenails painted a delicate shell pink. The book was 
one she had started and forgotten months ago, before 
Diana Fowley showed up in her life, before she was 
stolen away to Antarctica, before Mulder told her he 
loved her. She'd had trouble getting into it then, and 
she wasn't doing any better now. Looking down, she 
realized she'd read the same page dozens of times. And 
she still didn't know what it said.

Sighing loudly, she stretched her legs out, reaching 
down to smooth the worn terry cloth over them. She knew 
why she was distracted. Mulder. These days she thought 
of little else, and she was remotely both scared and 
ashamed this was the case. They spent every week day 
together, often dragging out the work days just to be 
together a little longer. Both of them knew this was 
the case, and it was acknowledged each day with a small 
smile as five o'clock came and went. No words were ever 
spoken. And Scully was tired of it.

She was tired of stopping herself every time tender 
words threatened to spill out between her lips. It 
wasn't that she sat at her desk every day, biting her 
lip to keep from saying "I love you." That wasn't the 
case. It was the small, intimate gestures she was 
afraid to let go of. All the times she wanted to say "I 
need you to stay with me." All the times she needed him 
to hold her. Sometimes she wanted so badly to lean back 
into the hand pressed intimately against her back. She 
could be in his arms with just a simple twist. "I love 
you" was a small thing, really, next to admitting that 
she needed him by her side every waking moment, and 
wanted him beside her in sleeping ones as well.

Saturdays were lonely for her. She was used to getting 
up at the crack of dawn, so sleeping in wasn't usually 
an option. But waking up alone, rattling around her 
apartment, cooking breakfast for one, depressed her. 
And she found herself picturing Mulder there with her, 
hearing his husky voice low in her ear as she awoke. 

She never thought it would take this long for her and 
Mulder to open up. But the longer they danced around 
their feelings, the harder it became. He knows I love 
him, Scully thought often, so I don't need to actually 
say the words. In fact, she was scared the words would 
open up wounds she wasn't prepared to deal with. Fox 
Mulder was a man who didn't know how to let someone 
love him, and Scully felt she got by with it only 
because they never verbally admitted that's what she 
felt for him. Without the words, Mulder could pretend 
it was something else. He would name it pity, he would 
name it friendship or compassion, but he would never 
name it love. His heart wouldn't allow that.

The thwack of her novel as it fell unnoticed to the 
floor startled Scully back to her lonely, quiet living 
room. "This is ridiculous," she said out loud. Placing 
the book on the coffee table, she stood up and started 
for her bedroom. At least one of them was going to 
behave like an adult.

*-*-*-*-*-

Mulder didn't hear the soft tapping on his door above 
the sound of the television, which he was absently 
watching as he flipped through the channels. It was 
11:30 already, but he hadn't moved from his make-shift 
bed since coming abruptly awake some four hours 
earlier. Sometimes he prayed he could get back to sleep 
after waking from another predictable nightmare. And 
sometimes he prayed he would never have to sleep again. 
Either way, television always seemed to comfort him. 
When Scully wasn't around to do the job herself.

He was alarmed to notice the sound of someone jiggling 
a key in his front door. He quickly muted the 
television and crossed to the entry hall. The door 
opened as wide as the safety chain would allow to 
reveal his partner, standing somewhat shyly in the 
hall. She was dressed casually in jeans and running 
shoes, a bright blue fleece jacket swallowing her small 
frame. Her hair was styled the same way she always wore 
it, though it looked softer, less severe.

"Hey," she said softly, hesitantly looking up into his 
confused face. "Are you going to let me in?"

Mulder realized he had forgotten to undo the chain in 
his surprise, and hurried to usher her inside. "What's 
going on, Scully? Did something happen? Is everything 
okay?"

Scully chuckled at his automatic leap to the conclusion 
something was wrong if she visited him outside of work. 
When were they going to get past this?

"You know what, Mulder? Sometimes my apartment gets too 
quiet...like this morning. And I realize that no matter 
what music I put on the stereo, no matter what's on TV, 
I will not be able to banish the quietness. And 
sometimes, I can't stand the quiet."

She stopped her explanation and looked up at him 
expectantly. She could tell by the way his forehead 
crinkled slightly and his head tilted to the left, he 
wasn't getting it. It's too quiet with one person. It's 
too quiet without you, she was thinking. But his mind-
reading powers always seemed to fail when it came to 
her personal thoughts.

"It's too quiet with one person," she said out loud, 
wondering how he would react. Her eyes tried to catch 
and hold his, but they skittered off to the far side of 
the room. She sighed.

"Whatcha watching? Anything good?" she asked to ease 
some of the tension in the room. Now that she was here, 
the speech she had prepared in the car seemed silly. 
And Mulder wasn't having any of it anyway.

"Why did you really come here, Scully?" He turned away 
from her and walked over to the couch, flopping heavily 
down on its leather surface. Something wasn't sitting 
well with him, and he couldn't quite put a finger on 
it. Perhaps that was what was bothering him most of 
all--his normally see-through partner was suddenly not 
making any sense. He tensed a little as he felt her 
weight joining his on the sofa. He could smell her. 
Even though they weren't touching, he could feel the 
warmth of her body. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, 
he would imagine the feel of her in his arms; an 
experience he didn't have nearly enough. He'd lost 
track of how many nights she was the last thing on his 
mind before sleep finally claimed him.

"Mulder, I've spent my entire life waiting for someone 
to make me feel like this. And I'm tired of ignoring 
it." There. It was out. She'd said it, and now she held 
her breath waiting for his response.

Mulder felt the air rush out of his lungs. This was why 
she had been so distracted lately. She had met someone. 
He knew it would happen sooner or later, and he knew it 
was the best thing for her. But he didn't know how he 
would survive when someone took her out of his life. No 
one would allow his lover to put herself in danger the 
way he and Scully always did. No one would let her 
spend so much time wrapped up in a neurotic nut like 
him. This would be it. She would leave. 

"When did all this happen, Scully? When did you have 
time to meet this Mr. Right?" His voice sounded hoarse 
and strangely small as the words came out. He couldn't 
look at her, knowing she would read the plea in his 
eyes: Don't go. Not now. Not ever. Stay with me. 

"Mulder?" She didn't understand what he was asking. He 
knew she loved him. They'd just never said it. Surely 
he couldn't think she was talking about anyone else. 
His face betrayed nothing. Placing her palms on either 
side of her legs, she slid over next to him until their 
thighs were touching from hip to knee. She felt him try 
to escape, but he was wedged between her and the end of 
the couch with nowhere to go. Please, Scully, he 
thought. Please don't touch me. Don't let me feel you 
against me. Not after this.

Scully reached her hand up and slowly turned him to 
face her. She saw fear. Not a tentative, let's-take-it-
slow emotion, but a raw, frantic one. And she knew what 
he was thinking. He was so insecure, he wouldn't allow 
himself to jump to the logical conclusion: she meant 
him. 

"I meant you, Mulder," she said, barely above a 
whisper. "Why do you always do this to yourself? To us? 
Why can't you just accept it?

For the second time that day, Fox Mulder was stunned. 
Him? Somewhere along the way he must have missed 
something, because the woman he loved had just told 
him, more or less, that she reciprocated his feelings. 
It was not a position he was used to being in. 

She saw it finally sink in, and Scully reveled in the 
way his face relaxed and his eyes widened as he looked 
at her. And when the feeling reached his mouth--the 
beautiful mouth she spent so much time contemplating--
her heart skipped a beat and she found herself smiling 
in return.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Mulder, I want you to stop pretending that nothing 
exists between us. We both know it always has. We both 
know it always will. And we both know we'll be much 
happier just admitting that." 

"Okay," he responded. And it was Scully's turn to be 
shocked. Never, in six years, had Mulder ever agreed 
with her on anything so quickly. She found herself 
suddenly not knowing what to do next. 

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"I've always wanted to kiss you. I never thought 
you'd..." Mulder sounded so insecure, Scully almost 
couldn't stop herself from laughing. Surely he knew, 
after everything they'd been through, that he didn't 
have to ask permission? Her answer was to snuggle 
deeper into his side and she looked up at him with 
sparkling eyes.

"You're too close," he murmured. "I want to see you." 

With that he slid off the couch onto his knees on the 
floor, coming to rest in front of her. He brought both 
hands up to cup her face gently, and then simply gazed 
at her. He saw her lips part slightly, and her tongue 
sneak out to wet them. He saw her eyes flutter, and her 
breathing deepen. And he saw that she loved him. And he 
let himself believe it.

Slowly he leaned forward, his nose brushing against 
hers as he angled her face slightly to the right. The 
first touch was barely a touch at all. The second was 
more firm, but equally brief. But when Mulder felt her 
small hands come up to tangle in his hair he surged 
into her, bringing her torso flush against his. He 
devoured her soft lips, pulling the bottom one into his 
mouth and teasing it with his tongue. She sighed into 
him and pressed closer.

Moments later they broke apart, and Mulder joined 
Scully again on the couch, pulling her jacket off and 
throwing it onto a nearby chair. He sank back into the 
cushions and pulled her into his arms, allowing one 
hand to burrow into her hair.

"It's much less quiet this way, don't you think?" she 
asked him. Mulder smiled. 

---

end