Title : If I Were You
Author : Shawne
E-Mail : shawne@shawnex.freeservers.com
URL : http://www.shawnex.freeservers.com
Rating : PG-13 (for language)
Category: VRA
Spoilers : post-ep for "Triangle"
Keywords : M/S UST
Summary : The inevitable explosion...
Archive : With these headers attached, sure. And I'd like to know where this
story ends up too, if that's OK. :)
Disclaimers : I can only dream/wish/hope. In the meantime, Mulder and Scully
would *still* belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. <sigh>

Author's Notes : I've taken such a long hiatus from the XFic world that I've
almost (though not quite!) forgotten how this works. Will be insanely busy
over the next few months, so this might be my last post for some time. This
was written in a fit of inspiration from a song by Collin Raye, "If I Were
You", although it's not a songfic. Lyrics are available on my website, as
are my other stories (URL above).

Thanks must go out to Toniann, for beta-reading and encouragement, for
spotting and (most importantly) pointing out flaws, for giving me incredible
fic to (beta-)read... :)

=======================================================

Nine twenty-five isn't too late for a nine o'clock meeting, is it?

So I got up this morning and threw my alarm clock out the window, sue me.
So I finally got up at ten to eight and still didn't bother to check the
time till it was five minutes later. So Scully's going to beat me up and
throw my head into a meat grinder.

Big deal.

Right?

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, damn.

Why the hell do elevators crawl up the shafts like giant slugs only when
I'm late? It seems to be happening very often recently, ever since we got
landed on Kersh's slave detail. The more I need to be punctual, the more
every single animate and inanimate thing in the J. Edgar Hoover building
conspires against my being on time.

Open. Open, open, open, I chant to myself, hammering my fingers in a tight
staccato rhythm against the door. Susan - is that Susan? - from Accounting
shoots me a weird look, and Jack... or maybe that's Joe... well, whoever the
guy next to me is... inches away and gives me that "it's the creepy basement
guy" frown.

Aren't I just lovable?

Sighing loudly, I stuff my restless hand into the pocket of my suit jacket,
and start tapping my foot instead. Three floors left... two...

God, I'm hungry. When was breakfast? Oh right... I decided it was best not
to risk eating today, not after I almost killed myself with the toxic milk I
found in the refrigerator six weeks after I'd bought it.

One floor more, come on, come on...

I think I've started humming to myself, muttering out loud, and I glance
quickly around me. OK, good, no one's taking any notice of me. Or maybe
everyone's just given up on ever seeing me act normal.

This is a meeting I shouldn't be missing. And it's a meeting I shouldn't be
dumping on Scully's entirely innocent shoulders. She shouldn't have to sit
through it alone, especially since I'm the one at fault. As always.

Finally, the doors slide open, excruciatingly slowly, and I leap out into
the corridor.

Today is my first official day back at work since I was released from the
hospital. I would have returned the day after I was released, if I'd had
anything to say about it. I'm not the type who likes to kick up my heels and
just take a breather after almost drowning.

Oh no, I want to be back where the action is.

Unfortunately, I didn't have anything to say about it, as I soon discovered
when Scully drove me home. She had taken the liberty of securing two days'
sick leave for me, and had impressed on me, most gently, that she would
personally remove my intestines if I didn't stay home and rest.

Figuring that I might need most of my internal organs intact over the
course of my natural life, I'd reluctantly complied. And had thus spent the
next two days lying in front of my TV, half-comatose, waiting only for her
voice at the end of the day, calling me from her cell phone to say she'd be
right over to check up on me.

I'm not kidding here.

I waited the entire day just for her call. Literally, actually, and
seriously. I would flip through the daytime soaps (Days Of Our Lives has
never been so intriguing!), watch Nickolodeon (Batman rules!), eat yogurt on
bread (so healthy!)... then, when she called, I would leap up, pull my
fingers through my hair, brush my teeth and put on some decent clothes...
all for her.

My feet race down the hall, in as straight a line as possible. The shortest
distance between two points, and all that crap. And I definitely need to get
to Kersh's office fast. So I shove people out of my way with nothing more
than a cursory apology or dark, challenging look.

This probably isn't improving my reputation any.

Nine twenty-seven. Oh, fuck, I am twenty-seven minutes late. I'm supposed
to get my ass drop-kicked by Kersh today. This is definitely not a good way
to start the meeting.

I pull the closed door to his office open, and dart into the waiting room.
My imagination zips ahead at full speed, and I momentarily envision the
guillotine set up before Kersh's secretary's desk, blade sharp and thirsting
for my blood. I can almost smell the hostile tension in the room, and brace
myself for the inevitable explosion.

There's no guillotine, as far as I can see.

"Scully?"

She is sitting, quite calmly, on the couch, leafing through her report.
Oops. Now is not the time to get a morning erection.

Even though she has, frankly, never looked hotter.

"Hey, Mulder," she says, and closes the manila folder she is holding. A
tiny smile duels bravely with the corners of her mouth and wins, while her
eyes stare blandly at me, beautiful as always.

"It's nine.." I check my watch. "...nine twenty-nine, Scully. What gives?
Has the meeting been cancelled?"

"Actually, no, Mulder," she informs me innocently, and pats the empty space
next to her on the couch. "You're early."

"Early?" I hastily glance at my watch again, and bring it to my ear. It's
ticking dutifully, as it was when i checked it this morning. I look around
the room, and the wall clock tells the same time. "But the meeting... you
told me it was at nine!"

She doesn't say anything, simply declaring war on the smile again, but
losing pathetically. I drop down next to her, and study her side profile.

Special Agent Dana Scully is smirking.

Scully is actually smirking.

Well, I'll be damned. She made a fool out of me.

"You lied," I hiss, mock angrily, and lightly pinch her hand, which is
lying on the sofa cushion between us. "The meeting starts at nine-thirty,
doesn't it? You got me here under false pretences!"

"But I got you here on time," she replies immediately, and barely
suppresses a mischievous grin. "And that's what counts, isn't it?"

"I nearly had a heart attack," I whisper fiercely, and I swear, Scully
almost giggles at that. "You know that I haven't spoken to Kersh since I
took off the last time. He's going to lynch me for not going through
'official channels' again."

"Precisely," she responds, and turns her blue eyes on me. "This meeting's
important, Mulder, and I have no intention of being yelled at without you
around to take most of the blame."

I open my mouth to protest the truth, but she cuts me off. "As you
rightfully should."

Oh well, no argument there. I'm the one who dashed off into the Bermuda
Triangle without telling her anything. I'm the one who brought Kersh's wrath
upon our heads, and I'm the one who always gets Scully into these huge
messes.

"As I rightfully should," I agree obediently, and sigh. "Like I said,
Scully, so many times before, I'm sorry about ditching you."

"Again," she reminds me, somewhat shrewishly. "Ditching me again."

"Right, right. How can I forget that part?"

This is getting awkward, even though she's smiling, and I breathe a sigh of
relief when Kersh's secretary suddenly interrupts our quiet conversation.
"Assistant Director Kersh will see you now."

I get to my feet, and pull my jacket straight. Scully takes the hand I
offer her, and stands. She doesn't need to, because she looks perfect in my
eyes, but she brushes down her skirt and fiddles with her hair anyway.

We haven't actually spoken about what happened. Before, during, after the
ditch. Whatever. I think she's just been glad that I'm still alive, and not
literally soaking up the sun and sea anymore. And she doesn't think there's
anything to say, I suppose. I heard about something interesting, a potential
X-file, and went my merry way, as I am wont to do. I was injured, also
standard procedure, and I spouted some nonsense at her while at the
hospital.

Or so she thinks. She thinks I was on drugs. It wasn't standard procedure,
what I told her, but...

"Hey, wake up." She nudges me, and I snap back into her world. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I mutter, and tug my fingers through my hair
nervously. I glance at her, and my chest aches, for the briefest of seconds.

She sighs, and the ache miraculously disappears. Does she know what I was
thinking? Are we going to talk about it now? Hopefully, I watch her open her
mouth to speak, her hand moving up gracefully to... to what? To grab mine?
To brush against my face as she whispers those three words back to me? To...

"Mulder, tie." She points, instead, at my clumsily-knotted tie. "Hurry up."

I stare at her in dejected bewilderment, and she groans. "Don't space out
on me now, Mulder, OK? Now is not a good time for that."

Quickly, her hands find the area just below my neck, and she gently,
efficiently, tightens my tie. My throat dries up, and I realise I can't
breathe normally.

I don't want to breathe normally.

That felt so natural. Maybe it sounds chauvinistic, foolish, or just plain
soppy of me. But this is what I want to wake up to in the mornings. A
smiling, lovely Scully, caring for me, making sure I'm neat and ready for
the day ahead... my partner in life, as well as in work.

Fat chance that'll ever happen.

Numbly, I trail after her as she marches decisively into Kersh's office,
and over to his desk. She greets him politely, and I mumble something that I
hope passes for the English language.

"Sit down, agents," is the first and only thing I hear Kersh say for the
next five minutes. After I obey, taking a seat next to Scully, I somehow
manage to tune him and his nagging drone out completely.

Instead, I watch the woman next to me out of the corner of my eye, watching
how strength and pride and love and kindness is one in this woman, how her
beauty is made up of all those things, how my world can be contained so
perfectly in another human being.

I told her the truth that night, three and a half days ago. The three words
that always hang on my tongue when I'm around her... they finally came
loose, slipped out, became reality. Such simple words, and she didn't...
couldn't say them back.

Kersh starts waving his arms around as he launches into his mandatory
"responsible agents of the federal government" speech, and I throw him a
series of perfunctory nods. My attention remains on one person.

Scully.

She isn't looking at me, of course. Her eyes are trained respectfully on
Kersh, though I'm sure respect is the last thing on her mind right now. He
directs a question at the both of us, and looking over at me, she makes the
right observation that I am in no fit state to give a reasonable answer.

So she starts talking, explaining my actions and her own, putting forth our
story in sensible, calm tones. I can't hear a word of what she's saying, I
only watch her lips, and they move and move, so beautifully, yet so
uselessly.

Why can she say so many things, speak so eloquently, talk so much... when
she can't say the one thing that matters? When she can't feel it?

I know for a fact that Scully loves me. Even a dead man would know that she
doesn't threaten just anyone with disemboweling simply to get them to stay
at home. She doesn't straighten other men's ties either, and she doesn't
call them when they're home sick to make sure they're OK. She cares for me.
She loves me.

But that isn't enough.

I told her, point blank, "I love you." So honest, so true, for once, and it
felt wonderful to let her know that. To not have to pretend I didn't, and by
doing so, lie to her, by default.

Could I have been any more specific?

I. Love. You.

It didn't just mean I loved her. Of course it didn't. I meant that I was in
love with her.

"Agent Mulder, could you be more specific?" Kersh's gravelly voice digs
into my thoughts, and I frown instinctively. The last thing I want to do
right now is kiss this man's ass so he won't kick mine.

But I don't see that I have much of a choice.

"I fully support Agent Scully's version of events, sir," I tell him, and
refuse to look over at her, not even to acknowledge her tiny nod of triumph.
"However, I must add that there was some merit to the case I was
researching. I felt it necessary to go out there personally."

"And so you did... eventually... find this ship, the Queen Anne, along the
Plantagenet coast?" Kersh's eyebrows are performing their usual aerobics,
and I idly think, not for the first time, that he should be grateful for one
thing in being my supervisor -- no one else gives his eyebrows the vigorous
workouts I do.

"Yes, sir," I reply, and lapse into silence. Scully picks up where I left
off, skilfully apologising to Kersh and subtly persuading him into letting
us off.

She wouldn't do this for any other friend, because the love she has for me
is different. It's unique, and it was built with six years of lies and
darkness and hurting and hate. She loves me, because she must, because no
one else does, because she wants to protect me.

I am in love with her, so in love I feel like sweeping her up and giving
her the kiss of a lifetime. Right here, right now... in front of an
assistant director of the FBI who would have us both immediately suspended
for sexual misconduct not befitting two agents of the federal government. I
am that much in love with her.

But she is not in love with me. She could be, I know, if she wants to be.
If she dares to be. But Scully's afraid, just as I am. The only difference
is that her fear comes out in the form of denial, in the form of forced
indifference, in the form of pretence.

I've stopped denying it. Why can't she?

"Alright, thank you, agents," Kersh growls grumpily, signing off on
Scully's neatly-typed report. "I won't be mentioning this any further, if
only you will both consent to operating strictly within FBI regulations in
the future."

"Thank you, sir," Scully says smoothly, never once agreeing to his veiled
threat. She gives him some other non-important details about my rescue,
dancing further and further away from the original subject. I admire her,
momentarily, but the anger that has been building up inside me quells the
admiration near instantaneously.

Anger. That's right, anger.

Logically, I have absolutely no right to be angry at her. She risked her
career, again, for me. I dashed away, recklessly, and as usual, she came
after me, never giving up. I told her I loved her, I meant that I was in
love with her... and she has her own inalienable right not to reciprocate.

But that doesn't count for anything.

I only know that, right now, I'm angry. Angry that she can love me, yet
cannot allow herself to be in love with me. Angry that she not only refuses
her feelings, but that she also tries to explain mine away with drugs.

Her hand brushes intentionally against mine, and I realise she is standing.
The meeting is over, thank God. I jump to my feet as well, and nod awkwardly
at Kersh. He stares at me, dark brown eyes cutting into me with a startling
intensity, and nods back.

"I'd like to see you participate more actively in our future meetings,
Agent Mulder," he says in his smug self-assured way, and I mumble an answer
which essentially means "Fuck off, jerk", but which passes for "Yes, sir".

Scully is already halfway to the door, and I almost run after her. She
pulls the door open, and strides through it... if a short person can be said
to stride.

"That went rather well, Mulder," she comments, turning to look at me as she
leads me out to the elevator. "Don't you think so?"

I avoid her eyes, those eyes, the eyes which speak of the wrong kind of
love. "Mmm," I sigh non-committally, and follow her into the empty elevator.

"Though really, Mulder, next time I'd appreciate your actually being awake
during the meeting." She pushes the button for the basement, and I know she
is smiling. To her, everything is fine, the way it was before I said those
three words, the way it was before the meeting. We're still kidding around,
bantering, playing games.

"I could do with a little less sarcasm, Scully," I snap vindictively, and
half-turn my back on her. A small click, the sound of high heel meeting
metal, tells me that she has reeled from my rebuff, stepping away without
thinking.

"What?" she asks, shocked.

"Forget it," I snarl, and bolt out of the elevator as the doors slide open.
"It's not important."

If I talk to her now, I might lose my cool. And that's the last thing I
want to do. I just need time, some distance, anything but Scully. It's
amazing that one meeting was all it took for my mood to change so
drastically, but it did.

I've always known this, on some subconscious level. I've always known that
Scully loves me, but not in the way I want her to, not even in the way she
wants to, deep down. She won't let herself fall for me, not completely, and
I have always known that. It never mattered, I think, because I didn't allow
myself to fall for her either.

Not until I fell into that hard sea, so black and choppy and unrelenting,
dropping away from someone who looked so much like Scully my heart ached
when she touched me. And just before I hit the painful water, I remember
thinking that if I woke up, if I ever woke up to see Scully's face, I
wouldn't pretend any longer.

So I didn't. And for me, those three words were irrevocable. They made it
real, what I felt for her, what I wanted to and needed to feel for her. What
I now need for her to feel as well.

"Mulder, what's going on?" She comes straight after me into the office, as
I knew she would, and makes my thoughts all the more bitter. All the more
confused.

All the more angry.

"Nothing."

The one word hangs, solid and thick, between us, and I sink down onto my
chair. She has no clue how to react, no idea why I'm behaving this way. I
almost sympathise with her, pity her for having to put up with me, but steel
myself instead.

"Is it something I said? Was it that crack in the elevator?" She studies my
face worriedly, which I in turn keep studiously blank.

What can I tell her? No, Scully, it wasn't something you said. It's
something you've never said. Can't say. Won't say. Whatever.

"Mulder?" she probes gently, and takes a hesitant step towards me. She's
trying to get closer to me, to understand what's going on. And like the
asshole I am, I push my chair back a little so the distance between us gapes
even wider.

Her forehead furrows slightly in frustration, but she doesn't give up. She
walks around the desk and over to me, even as I back myself completely and
literally into the corner.

"Are you OK? Maybe you shouldn't have come in this morning." She passes a
practiced doctor's hand over my forehead, and I flinch away from her, as if
her touch burns. Burns instead of heals.

Rejected, her hand is frozen in mid-air for a brief moment, but renews its
attempts to reach for me almost immediately. She runs her fingers through my
hair as she leans over and checks my eyes, and I close them. Not because I
don't want her to look into them, but because I'm afraid of what she'll
learn if she does.

And yet, Scully keeps trying. Her hand travels softly across my face,
coming to rest on my left cheek. She strokes the purpling bruise there, as
if by doing so, she can make me better, make me talk to her, make me forget
the pain that isn't in my face but in my heart.

Her fingers feel so right where they are. So perfect, so natural. I almost
give in, allow her to smooth my annoyance away, almost tell her that
nothing's wrong. Smile, pretend, act, like I have been for too long now.

But I don't. I won't, not anymore. Grabbing her by the wrist, I pull my
aching face away from her, away from her concern. Away from the concern that
can never become love. "I'm fine, Scully," I growl, and she steps back,
half-scared. "I don't need you to baby me. I don't need to tell you how I
feel every minute of the day. And I sure as hell don't need to tell you why
I feel. "

The moment after I say those words, I want to die. They needed saying, and
they would probably have been said eventually. But she doesn't deserve this.
Much as I want to blame her, I can't. And now I've said all the wrong
things, at the wrong time. As always.

Folding her arms across her chest defensively, she retreats into herself,
operating from the fortress she's built inside. Suddenly, she looks small,
and tired, and not beautiful and radiant as she did a short half-hour ago.

"God, Mulder, what do you want from me?" Her mouth is twisted into a tight
scowl, and she looks hurt, sad.

She should be. She has a right to be. I hurt her, again, for no reason that
she can see. We were having fun with each other before the meeting, and to
her, the meeting went well. What I'm doing... it's unexpected. Totally. Just
out of the blue, I lost control, lost my head... and lost my heart along
with it.

"Isn't what I do enough, Mulder?" she asks wistfully, almost pitifully. "I
cover for you, watch out for you, risk my damn career for you... what more
do you want?"

If this woman was anyone else but Dana Scully, her eyes would be filled
with tears. But this is Scully, so her eyes are clear, strong, proud... and
pained.

Do you want the truth, Scully? Do you want to know that the only thing I
want is the one thing you don't? You're afraid of falling too far, Scully,
and I'm afraid I won't be around to catch you if you do.

The truth... I sigh, heavily, and look at her face, thin and determined and
lovely. Her shoulders, shaking slightly with repressed emotion, and her
eyes...

"Nothing, Scully," I whisper, at last, swinging my gaze away from her, down
to my desk. "Nothing more. It's enough. It's more than enough."

A long pause hovers between us, until it is chased away when she suddenly
exhales. I look up, and I know she knows I'm lying.

She's hurt, offended by my odd behaviour, bewildered, flustered. But most
of all, she knows I'm lying.

And in a moment of eerie premonition, she stares right into my eyes,
fearlessly, and I feel as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"What would you do, Mulder?" she finally asks, quietly, firmly. "What would
you do if you were me?"

I break eye contact first, unable to give her any sort of answer, and she
waits.

She can never wait long enough, because I don't intend to tell her what I
don't want to say. At last, she sighs, and leaves silently, without another
word.

As the door closes behind her, sliding slowly shut, I look up, hoping she
will come back. The tears hiding in my eyes finally creep out into the
daylight, and I make no effort to blink them away.

She really is gone.

"If I were you, Scully..." I begin out loud, to no one who matters. I take
a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut, and feel hot wetness slide down my
cheeks. "If I were you, Scully, I'd fall in love with me."

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Hey, if you've read this far, you might as well drop me a note and tell me
what you think. <vbg> I'm contactable 24/7 at
shawne@shawnex.freeservers.com... feel free to invade my inbox!!

Added October 12, 1999