On the Edge by Susan E-mail: touchstone98@tx.rr.com Classification: fill-in-the-blanks vignette Spoiler: I Want to Believe, brief references to various episodes from the series Archive: No archive without permission. Disclaimer: On paper, these characters aren't mine. In my head, they are. Author's notes: After I came home from the movie yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Although there were parts of the movie I thought could've been better, I was fascinated with the new dynamic of their relationship. I found it to be complicated and heartbreaking, yet beautifully raw and intimate, and as a result, this story poured out of me.:) It starts three months after they go on the run at the end of The Truth and ends near the beginning of the movie when Scully tells Mulder that the FBI needs his help. Summary: What was life like for Mulder and Scully over the past six years? Maybe something like this... ~~~~ "I think it's got character," he says, taking in the outside view of the house for the second time. She takes a step forward, her hands on her hips. "It's got something, Mulder," she replies, a slight smile passing over her lips. "I'm just not sure what." He moves in behind her, slips his arms underneath hers. "Scully, I know it's not your dream house, but it'll be *our* house," he whispers, his breath tickling her ear. "And that's good enough for me." She leans back against him, laces her fingers through his. "Then it's good enough for me." ~~~~ Neither of them can sleep, that first night. It feels strange to be in a bed that isn't in a motel, to be in a place that belongs to them and not someone else. And yet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. "Maybe if I pretend there's a big red sign flashing outside the window that says "Vacancy" I can fall asleep," he says, wrapping his warm body around hers. "And maybe there's something else we can do instead," she suggests, wiggling out of his hold and rolling over to face him. She kisses him then, planting a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. "I like the way you think, Scully," he mumbles as he nibbles on her ear, on the curve of her neck. ~~~~ He turns the smallest bedroom in the house into his office. Fills the walls with newspaper clippings and magazine articles. Orders a new "I Want to Believe" poster online and hangs it on the wall in front of the desk he bought at a garage sale. Two weeks later, he remembers. He runs to the closet, pulls out the duffel bag he used for the past three months when they were still on the run. Unzips the pouch on the inside lining and digs out the photo of Samantha he stuffed in there. He traces the outline of her face with his finger, then closes his eyes, and thinks back to the night in the woods when he held her in his arms. She's dead now, he knows, and yet a part of him misses her more than ever. He sticks her photo up on the wall along with all the other articles, then sits back down in his chair and turns on his computer. He has work to do. ~~~~ She goes to the library every other day. Sits at the computer. Reads online articles about advances in pediatric care and genetic research. Sometimes she's there for hours, pouring over every article she can. Sometimes she finds herself wandering over to the section of the library where the children's books are. William can probably understand books better now, she thinks, and she wonders what it would be like to snuggle in bed with him, her on one side, Mulder on the other, making up silly voices as he reads one Dr. Seuss book after another. ~~~~ "So, what movie do you want to watch tonight?" he asks, setting the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table and handing her a beer. She takes the cap off her bottle, takes a drink, puts her feet up on the table. "I hope you put butter on this." He smiles. "Living on the edge again tonight?" he teases. "That's two times in a row now, Scully. Next thing you know, you'll be sprinkling salt on your popcorn." "You never know." She puts the bottle in her mouth, tilts her head back, takes another drink. "Sometimes being on the edge is a good thing." "Sometimes," he says, taking the familiar movie out of its case and popping it in the VCR the previous owners left behind. "Caddyshack again, Mulder?" she playfully whines after hearing the first few chords of the theme song. "It's a classic, and you know it." He sits down beside her then, pops the top on his own beer, takes a swig. "It has its charm." "And so do you, Scully," he says, tenderly kissing her cheek. She sets her beer down on the table, rests her head against his shoulder. "You're not so bad yourself." Sometimes when the nights are like this, when they're safely tucked away in their own little world, he feels like nothing can touch them. And sometimes he gets so damn tired of living on the edge, he thinks, sliding his hand into hers and wishing he could give her more than a bowl of buttered popcorn. ~~~~ The spring after they move in, they decide to plant a garden. The next day she buys some tomato plants, green beans, and fertilizer at the Home Depot ten miles away, along with a packet of tulip seeds. She's always liked tulips and how the sun is able to shine right through their delicate petals, and she knows just the spot for them on the west side of the house. That afternoon, she watches through the window as he prepares a large patch of ground in the backyard and a small one by the side of the house. "You know, you could take off that sweaty shirt, Mulder. It looks soaked," she suggests, setting down a glass of lemonade on the patio table. "I could, but then I wouldn't be able to do this," he says, suddenly pulling her into a tight embrace and rubbing his wet shirt against her dry one. "Mulder, what are you doing?" "Hugging my woman," he replies, his day old stubble scratching against her cheek. "Your woman?" she retorts, though her protest is weak at best. He loosens his hold on her, picks up the glass of lemonade, and takes a drink. "Well, you are, aren't you?" She rolls her eyes and tries not to smile. "Shut up, Mulder." Yeah, she's my woman all right, he thinks as he heads around the side of the house. And he's going to give her the most beautiful tulips she's ever seen. ~~~~ On the nights when he can't sleep, he goes out to the front porch. Sometimes he looks up at the stars and thinks about what They did to him, how They strapped him down and cut him open, how They took away a part of him he'll never get back. Other times he thinks of a conversation they had years ago about how stars are old souls traveling through time as starlight, looking for homes. Sometimes the only thing he can think about is how much she's lost because of him. And it is on those nights that he thinks of his son. ~~~~ Three years have passed, and she's restless. She wants to be a doctor again, and though he'll miss having her around, he wants her to be one too. They spend the next few hours looking up the names of all the medical clinics and hospitals within a twenty mile radius of their house, and she picks five of them. Three weeks later, she's a doctor on staff at the Our Lady of Sorrow Hospital. She leaves the house at 8:00 every morning, comes home ten hours later, exhausted, but satisfied that she's able to make a difference in other people's lives again. And yet she can't stop worrying about him. He says he has plenty of things to do to keep himself busy and that he's okay with the life they have now, but how much longer will it be before he's lured back into the darkness? ~~~~ "You're thinking about William, aren't you?" he says, rolling over on his side and draping his arm across her hip. Her body instantly tenses beneath his touch, and he moves his hand up to her shoulder, squeezes it. "It was his birthday today," she whispers. "I know." "And we weren't there," she adds, reaching up to pull his arm back down around her, pressing herself even deeper into the curve of his body. "I know." There's nothing else to say. ~~~~ He misses being at the FBI. He doesn't miss the bureaucratic bullshit, the boring budget meetings, writing up endless case file reports. He misses driving in the car with her, listening to her prattle on about how he can't dispute the science. He misses watching her slice and dice a victim and know almost instantly how they died. He misses last minute flights and crappy motels, takeout pizza and late night calls to her apartment. He misses standing in front of the screen in his office, gradually showing her the pieces of yet another puzzle on a series of slides he's spent hours preparing. But most of all, he misses the constant movement. She once asked him why he always had to be chasing the next big thing, why he simply couldn't stay still. At the time he told her that if he stopped moving, he wouldn't know what he was missing. And though he loves her more than he ever thought he could love anyone, he hates that there's a world out there he's missing. ~~~~ The moment she walks in the door, he knows that something's changed. He can feel it. When he turns around, he sees fear in her eyes, feels a surge of adrenaline rush through his veins as she tells him what she knows. The FBI is desperate to find an agent who disappeared under mysterious circumstances and says they'll drop all charges against him if he comes back to help them find her. He knows almost immediately the answer she wants him to give, just as he knows what his own answer will be when the time comes. But how can he possibly go back to that life without her? Six hours later, they're on a helicopter headed to Washington. ~end~ Thank you for reading. possibilities http://possibilities.bravehost.com/