"Doorways"

Wrote this one a while back--right after "Pusher," I think.  
It is my response to an issue we discussed on the 
newsgroup and which I think it may behoove CC to 
consider as well.  Let me know if you agree.

The characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 
Ten-Thirteen Productions, FOX Broadcasting, and Gillian 
Anderson, David Duchovny, and Mitch Pileggi, who 
deserve at least as much credit as CC does for the successes 
of _The X-Files_ (and less of the responsibility for its 
failures, IMO).  This story, however, as well as the universe 
in which it occurs, is mine.

***************************
"Doorways"
by JulietttXF@aol.com
***************************

It had been going on long enough, he thought.  Things had 
gradually settled back to normal ("normal" of course being 
a relative term for them) and their relationship was now 
more or less what it had been before the fiasco in New 
Mexico that had nearly cost him his life and both of them 
their jobs.  Before the misunderstanding over the Kryder 
case, their awful bickering in Comity, the close calls with 
insanity during the gargoyle case, and then the moment he 
had almost shot her. . . .  He shuddered again, remembering 
that last one.  Hearing Pusher's voice in his ears, in his 
brain, drowning out all will of his own, everything but her 
voice telling him to fight it and her pleading blue eyes 
staring back at him over the barrel of his gun for the first 
time since that time in the Arctic.

He felt that now, at last, they were back on track.  Where 
they ought to be.  More or less.  As for the "more" -- well, 
he wasn't yet ready to face those feelings that came to him 
unbidden at times, and he didn't think she was, either.  It 
was there, though, in the air and the unspoken things 
between them, and his hand still remembered the pressure 
of her fingers twining with his at the end of the case as they 
stood watching Pusher in his hospital bed.  That brief 
caress had been like nothing she had ever given him before, 
and it had been something more than a simple hand 
squeeze to tell him things were all right.  There had been 
something else there, something that had been echoed in 
her words when she declared that she didn't think they 
should waste any more time there.  Again, he got the faint 
impression that she meant more than what she said.

As to the "less" -- he chewed his lip for a moment, then a 
slow smile spread across his face and he picked up the 
phone and dialled.  

It was hard to keep the grin off his face the rest of the day.

Dana Scully wondered what had gotten into her partner.  
From time to time she caught him looking at her with an 
indescribable look in his eyes.  No, it wasn't so much that it 
was indescribable as that his expression kept changing, 
each look more charged than the last, and she had no idea 
why.  He looked at her hopefully, then warily, then 
amusedly, and in between he seemed insufferably pleased 
about something.  At first she thought he had gotten them 
assigned to a new case, one that he knew she would hate, 
but as the week wore on nothing that would explain his 
attitude revealed itself.  She had finally decided that he had 
a new love interest (a *new* love interest?  That was a 
laugh.  As far as she knew, Mulder' social life was as dead 
as her own, lately.  One certainly couldn't count the likes of 
Bambi the Bug Doctor or Detective White -- she had finally 
accepted his protests that nothing had happened in the 
latter case.  Not that it was really any of her concern, of 
course, but what she had seen in that Comity hotel room 
had looked -- well, unprofessional) and was analyzing her 
mixed emotions with a combination of interest and 
reluctance when Thursday rolled around and Skinner poked 
his head out of his office as she walked by and asked to 
speak with her for a moment.

Mentally running through a list of what could possibly be 
wrong now, she passed into his office silently and took a 
seat.  When he wanted to speak with her alone it usually 
had something to do with Mulder and it was never good.

Walter Skinner eyed the younger woman seated before him 
and immediately realized that she had no idea why she was 
here.  He sighed silently.

"Agent Scully, have you seen Agent Mulder today?"

"No, sir -- I got a call early this morning to perform an 
autopsy for V.C. and just got in."  Her eyes narrowed.  "Is 
something wrong, sir?"  Dumb question.  Of course 
something was wrong -- else she wouldn't be sitting here 
feeling like a kid who had been sent to the principal's office 
for something one of her friends had done.

"When you see Agent Mulder, I'd like to speak with both of 
you, please."

She sat, staring at him for a moment.  He was basically 
telling her to go fetch Mulder and bring him back -- but 
why?  Normally he just picked up the phone and issued a 
summons.  Something was up here.  It sounded as though 
he wanted her out of his office, at least temporarily.  As 
unobstrusively as she could, she sniffed.

Skinner stifled a smile.  The past three years with Mulder 
had had a definite effect upon Dana Scully.  Whether that 
effect was fortunate or not depended on your point of view.

"Agent Scully?"  It was a command as much as a question.

"Yes, sir."  She rose and left his office without another 
word.  Skinner sank back into his seat, laced his fingers 
before him on the desk, and this time he permitted himself 
a faint smile.

Scully rubbed her forehead between her eyes on the way 
down to the basement in the elevator.  She was of two 
minds about Mulder this morning.  She wanted to see him,

<always>

to find out what was in store for them before heading back 
to Skinner's office.  Another part of her wanted to throttle 
him for whatever he had done to break their current run of 
good luck.  Since Skinner had been shot an uneasy truce 
had been in force between the A.D. and his sometimes 
wayward agents.

The elevator doors slid open and she exited with a sigh.  As 
she approached the door to the room that housed the 
X-files -- and one Fox Mulder -- her footsteps flagged.

After just a brief time of working with him she had begun 
to see herself as his partner.  She no longer knocked on the 
door, waited for him to answer the phone every time, asked 
his permission before rummaging in his desk for what she 
needed.  She knew about his secret stash of videos and kept 
a spare pair of reading glasses in the top drawer of the 
desk.  The professional equivalent of keeping a toothbrush 
at a man's apartment, she thought with a faint, quizzical 
smile that reflected her bemusement at the personal turn 
her analogies had taken today.  Mulder had even scavenged 
through the Bureau despository and found a chair that 
suited her smaller frame.

<I just wasn't sure your little feet could reach the pedals.>

She grinned.  That had really stung at the time, but she now 
recognized the remark for what it was -- a meaningless stab 
in response to her "macho man" comment.  That was the 
first, last, and only time either of them had taken a pot shot 
at one another's gender identity.  She knew that he 
preferred to drive because when they were assigned a car 
with a bench seat his legs grew cramped easily when she 
pulled it forward close enough to the steering wheel to suit 
her, and he had absolutely no qualms about letting her 
drive when their car had bucket seats.  Then, too, she fell 
asleep in the car more easily than he, probably due to the 
habit of grabbing sleep as a precious commodity whenever 
and wherever she could during her medical residency.  That 
arrangement just made more sense for them, and once they 
had gotten far enough away from Comity and whatever it 
was that had made them act so nastily toward one another, 
she had begun to see that.

Whatever was wrong this time, they could work that out, 
too.  Unless. . . .

She pushed that thought out of her mind and quickened her 
pace.

At the door she stopped again, stunned.  Stared, her eyes 
wide.  Then, taking a deep breath, she swung the door 
open.

He spun his chair around and rose to greet her, his hand 
outstretched.

"Agent Scully.  I'm Fox Mulder.  I've been looking forward 
to working with you -- I've heard a lot about you."

His eyes crinkled when he smiled at her like that, and she 
felt an answering smile cross her own face as she took his 
large hand in her own smaller one.  This -- *this* was 
where she belonged -- had always belonged since that very 
first meeting.

And he knew it, too -- he had blazoned that fact for all to 
see.

On the door to the X-files office was a plain black sign that 
said in white letters, "Fox Mulder."

And beneath it, another, newer sign: "Dana Scully, M.D."


*End*