Bring Me Some Wine
by Christine Leigh

Summary: Season four - Scully POV.  Set after the end
of "Small Potatoes."  Scully writes in her journal.
Rating: G
Category: V, A
Keywords: M/S
Spoilers: "Small Potatoes"
Disclaimer: All characters are the products of Chris Carter. They
also belong to Ten-Thirteen Productions and the Fox Network. No
copyright infringement intended. 
Archiving: If you would like to archive anywhere, I'd  appreciate a
quick note first. 
Email: Feedback is always welcome, leighchristine@hotmail.com


May 1996

Mulder, I want to start this entry by saying that if you ever read any
more of this, that by that time I hope you know how much you
meant to me while I lived.  Whatever happens in the coming
months, your being here during this time has made it tolerable.  No
other person could have done for me what you have by just existing,
and if I am to die soon, I hope that I will have found the courage to
tell you that before.

Mulder, you certainly are no Eddie Van Blundht. I realize
the question you asked today as we were leaving him
was rhetorical, but I also know that somewhere inside you, that
you actually do feel the lesser man compared to him, and that is
so wrong.  Whenever I hear the sarcasm and irony in your words as
I did today, I sometimes want to scream.  I mean that literally, just
stand in the middle of the office or wherever we are, and yell louder
than I ever have.  I don't know what it would do for you, but I think
it might free me of some of the frustration I feel in not being able to
say the things that I want to say to you.  In short order these would
be that you are the most attractive, desirable man I have ever
known, that I love you, and that if you were to show up on my
doorstep any night with a bottle of wine, I wouldn't turn you away.

Mulder, the night Eddie came knocking on my door I was surprised,
and somewhat shocked, frankly.  Soon, though, for the first time
since my cancer was diagnosed I was able to forget about it.  I was
so happy to be sitting there sharing wine and conversation.  Do you
know how many times I'd envisioned us like this?  More than you'd
ever guess, I'm certain.  When I first started thinking about us this
way, it was as friends.  That changed, though, on that night in the
hospital after Penny died.  So when Eddie leaned in to kiss me, I
was ready.  I had let go of all my stupid fears and I was going
to meet you.  That was the most frustrating, embarrassing, moment,
and yet, also a deliriously happy one. Will that moment ever go
away?  Do I want it to?  No, I don't think I do, despite my
embarrassment.  Or perhaps I'm presuming too much.  No - my
heart tells me that cannot be, and I pray *your* heart is a patient
one.  Mulder, this is my problem:  I don't know how to bridge the
gap between us. On one side there is my love for you and on the
other is what?  Dare I say what I hope is waiting?  I've never known
how to make the crossing and then Eddie of all people provided a
space where that could start to happen.  I hold on fiercely to what I
saw in your eyes that night at the hospital, and yet I am still unable
to move forward.  Forward.  Even before becoming ill that was a
loaded word, and now it is a dreaded one.  Will there ever be a
day when there is no dread in thinking of the future?  I pray for
it, but am not feeling anything.

Mulder, I feel when I am with you.  Good, bad, everything.  Even
when we are just sitting there in the office, each in our own corner
working and not speaking.  Those days it is especially difficult for
me to leave.  When I arrive home I'll take a bath, bundle up in my
robe, and attempt to eat something.  Then I'll read or watch
television, but that doesn't last more than half an hour. Mostly I sit
here and try to make sense of what has been handed me.  Then I'll
go to bed and to sleep that, mercifully, comes soon these nights. I
prefer mornings to evenings; mornings you are nearer.

I've rambled on long enough for now, and what I've written tonight
I hope you do not have the opportunity to read anytime soon.  If you
should, however, please know that I don't blame you for anything.
That you were in my life is what mattered the most to me, above all
other loves. Whether it ends in the coming months or many years
from now, that will have been the most precious thing.

Mulder, bring me some wine.


- end  -