Title: Knowledge
Author: Oracle
Classification: V 
Rated: PG-13
Key Words: Mulder/Scully UST
Spoilers: None 
Disclaimer: Chris Carter created Mulder and Scully - I'm just taking 
them for a spin.
Archive: Gossamer, please. Email me before archiving elsewhere. I 
don't see why I'd refuse.
Summary: Does she hope for something to happen, or know that 
something will happen? 

Comments: Thanks again to ArtemisX5, who found time to beta this story
even with 12-hour shifts at work! Artemis, this story would have
sucked without you. Thankyou so much :)
  
Oh, BTW, there's a theory that nothing is inevitable, except human
choice and death. That theory inspired this story.


---------------------------------------------------

"...everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, lights, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me."

- Pablo Neruda, 'If You Forget Me'



Scully wakes up sweating, in late autumn. The sky is metallic, bleak,
and there are dead leaves clinging to the trees and rotting on the
sidewalk.  She sees this from her window while eating a strawberry
poptart and pulling on stockings. There is a disturbing quality to
this day, she can tell already. A restrained thunderstorm that might
never break.

Brushing her teeth with one hand, lining her eyes with the other. The
mirror is smudged and needs to be wiped clean, but she doesn't have
time. This morning there is a meeting with Skinner, and she will be
punctual, as always. Her lipstick next, a red that's brighter than
usual. She thinks today's weather will require bright things.

The top she has chosen is bright too, but a different kind of bright -
a white, stark bright. She covers it up with her black suit jacket and
trench coat, and tucks it into her black skirt. She wears black often
- not in mourning, but because she feels it suits her best. Also, it
is professional, but more than that, it is clear-cut, it is simple and
true, and it cannot be mistaken for anything else but black.

The bag and shoes by the door, she slips on the latter, picks up the
former, and then she is gone from her apartment.

Scully smiles because she is not really leaving her home. She is going
to her home. Mulder will be late today, he always is. He'll arrive
half an hour late, she predicts. He'll walk in with a mumbled apology
and slide his coat over the empty chair beside her.

She decides to walk for a while before hailing a cab.  The air tastes
sour and clamps on her skin, heavy and electric. Her heels slice into
the leaves, her tongue slides across her teeth, she bites her lower
lip.

She considers her dream during this two-minute stroll.  Another dream
that has mussed her hair and made her sweat. These dreams are
dangerous, she thinks, reckless. They are too steamy for this time of
year;  they are hot, fever dreams. They belong to summer.

"Taxi!"

A cab up to the curb beside her. Inside it is dark and cramped, and
smells like cigar ash. The driver probably sits in this cab, she
thinks, in the wee small hours of the morning, smoking cigars. She
wonders, when do cab drivers sleep? She figures they must alternate,
there must be shifts. No one can drive without sleep. Except Mulder,
but he doesn't count. His insomnia is more a personality trait than an
illness.

It's strange how she accepts it now. Accepts him now.

As she pays the cab driver, Scully wonders when she started mentally
referring to her workplace as 'home'.  She realises that she already
knows why. It isn't hard to figure out; she doesn't need Mulder's
psychology degree. The day is bleak but seeing her partner will make
her smile, even if it's only inwardly.

He has taken to greeting her by kissing her cheek, pretending these
kisses are casual gestures. Kisses from him used to barely exist to
her - it seemed he gave them grudgingly. Now he can't make them seem
casual, no matter how hard he tries. Each kiss lingers longer than the
last.

Scully walks into the Hoover building, nodding to the security guard.
She is smiling, thinking of how she will spend Friday evening with
Mulder. She's been doing this for a while now, whenever she can. They
eat out and watch a movie. Something else that would be casual, if
they hadn't spent so long doing almost nothing together but work.

It's almost too strange for her to handle, yet somehow not strange
enough. Something is shifting inside her - perhaps inside both of
them. She is sometimes afraid to hope, but more often afraid to stop
hoping.

This morning she questions the difference between hope and knowledge.
Does she hope for something to happen, or know that something will
happen?

She is still smiling as the elevator slides up the building, now
thinking of how she'll be spending Saturday with him, and Sunday too.
They have chosen a trivial case, one where no one has been hurt and no
one will. A case in Maine, by the beach. She wonders if it is a
present from Mulder - an apology for interrupting her last vacation.
Now she gets to spend a weekend with him as a constant interruption.

Her smile widens when she sees he is waiting for her in the corridor,
early for once. He's holding two styrofoam coffee cups. He smiles too,
and weaves towards her through the morning crowd of people.

As he hands her the coffee he leans forward a little.

For a second Scully thinks - oh my God, he is...he's going to kiss me
in front of all these people.

She imagines the heads turning, the shocked whispers.

Suddenly she wants him to kiss her. She wants him to push her against
the wall and bruise her mouth with his. She wants to make love with
him, right here in the crowded corridor. Right now.

But then he straightens, and she tries not to look dissapointed.

He gives her a grim look - his 'oh shit, not another pointless
meeting' look. But she's not fooled, she knows that he's really
smiling. His eyes are smiling.

Scully is surprised to realise they're both happy. Neither of them had
expected to feel like this again.

"Come on Scully," says Mulder, "time to face the inevitable."

The inevitable can mean so many things.

Today, she thinks, I'll take him out to lunch.

--------------------------------------------------

Please send feedback to apollostemple@yahoo.com