TITLE: Six Inch Valley
AUTHOR: Michelle Kiefer
E-MAIL: Msk1024@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION: Archive if you'd like.
Please let me know where.
SPOILERS: Milagro
RATING: PG
CONTENT: MSR
CLASSIFICATION: V
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to
Chris Carter, Ten-thirteen, and the
X-Files.
COMMENTS: I know the world didn't need
another Milagro post-ep, but I had this
in my head, and it wanted to come out. 
Grateful thanks to Kestabrook, Laine and 
all the folks at Crystalship for their support.
FEEDBACK: Always welcome.

Six Inch Valley (01 of 01)
by Michelle Kiefer

I never wanted to fall in love. Falling
in love means being out of control.
Falling in love is messy. Falling in love
is absolutely not on my agenda. I need
control in my life, and I need to live my
life in an orderly fashion. Falling in
love with my partner would, of course, be
completely out of the question.

Yet I stand here looking at a woman in
the mirror who is clearly in love. "Agent
Scully is already in love." Despite my
best efforts at resisting, I appear to be
showing all the telltale signs. My eyes
are bright, my skin is flushed, and my
heart beats in my chest like a jackhammer
when I just think about  him. I put my
hand over my breast and feel the steady
beating, and I am amazed that I show no
evidence beyond some bruising of the
trauma of last night.

I still haven't sorted it all out. I will
need a lot of time to come up with a
rational explanation for how I could be
soaked in what will undoubtedly turn out
to be my own blood, and yet I have no
open wounds. I must admit that I am very
good with rational explanations.

I look down at the borrowed T-shirt and
flannel pajama bottoms. I am absolutely
swimming in them. The shirt hangs down to
my knees, and the pajama bottoms are
stuffed into the tops of the thickest
pair of socks Mulder owns because my feet
were freezing last night. They balloon
out like harem pants, and I look quite
silly. 

I was shocky and exhausted last night
after whatever the hell happened to me.
It was apparent that Mulder was
frightened and wanted me to go to
the hospital, but I couldn't bear the
thought of a night in a hospital bed, and
I was sure there was nothing a hospital
could do for me. I was too tired and
shivering with cold to go anywhere. 
Though I probably would have denied it at
the time, the only thing I wanted was to
be with Mulder. That was all I needed.

So after tea laced with copious amounts
of sugar and brandy, I steeled myself to
clean up. I don't remember much after
that because I was so drained that I
could barely keep awake. I remember
wondering yet again "when did Mulder get
a bed?" as he pulled back the covers for
me to climb in. I asked him to please lie
down with me until I fell asleep, but I
dropped off so fast I have no idea if he
stayed all night or if he got up and
finished the night on the sofa. I woke up
to the sound of the shower running. I
rolled over and found myself now looking
at a mirror on the ceiling. Will wonders
never cease?

My mind drifts back to the words Padgett
had written in the jail cell. When the
officer delivered them to me, all I could
think about was that another murder was
taking place. Padgett described in lurid
detail how the young girl had remained
grief-stricken at the grave of her
boyfriend, unable to comprehend the depth
of his love. Now the words haunt me--
"To have love was to carry a vessel that
could be lost or stolen or worse, spilled
blood red on the ground." He may have
been writing about that girl, but I think
he was speaking directly to, me and it
worries and confuses me.

I can hear Mulder moving around the
kitchen. The clinking of dishes and the
sound of the refrigerator door closing
tell this crack investigator that Mulder
is making breakfast. The scent of coffee
draws me like a magnet. Mulder is setting
dishes on the table, wearing jeans and a
sweatshirt; his feet are bare. My
emotions must really be raw, because he
looks so beautiful that I find tears are
in my eyes.

The running shoes kicked off by the door
signal me that he's been out for his run
before he showered. On the table, I spot
a wax paper bag from the bakery around
the corner. He hears me as I enter the
kitchen and greets me.

"Good morning, sunshine. For a while
there I thought you were going to sleep
the day away." He sounds a little
hesitant. I think he is afraid that I
will pull away, that I will rebuild the
walls around my heart, complete with
extra mortar. Somehow, this morning I
find myself out of building materials.

I cross to the table and finger the
folded over top of the bakery bag. The
paper makes crinkly sounds. When I speak,
my voice sounds hoarse. Maybe it is
filled with emotion; maybe it is strained
because I was screaming last night.

"If there is a pecan carrot muffin in
this bag, it could be love." I can't
believe how nervous I am with a person I
have spent time with almost every day for
more than six years. I wonder if my ears
are turning red. They used to do that
when I was very embarrassed, as if red
hair wasn't enough of a trial for a
child. 

"Must be fate." He opens the bag and
produces a muffin as large as a baby's
head, and proudly indicates the pecan
studded top and lumpy orangy-brown
surface. He puts the muffin on my plate
and pours me some coffee. He repeats the
process with his own plate and cup, and
we both sit down at the table.

I break tiny pieces off the muffin,
eating slowly. I sip coffee and keep
my eyes on my plate. The flippant courage
I had a minute ago has deserted me.

"So, would this mean that Padgett knew
what he was talking about?" His voice
strives for casual disinterest as he asks
this question, but fails completely. I
can hear the need, and I want so much to
put him out of that misery, but it is not
easy. I feel like I am standing on 
Connecticut Avenue, naked.

"Well, he was nothing if not observant."
I can't believe I am going the noncommittal route. I am such a coward.

"Why can't you even say the words?" The
question comes out almost in a whisper. I
look up to see his eyes on me. 

"This--it's not easy for me." I stammer. 
"I've never found it easy to talk about
my feelings. The last few years...it's
been just about impossible." I suddenly
find the crumbs from my muffin
fascinating and roll them around with the
tip of my finger.

"Mulder, after I was returned...after the
initial exhilaration of being alive...I
had the strangest sensation of emptiness. 
It felt like something that used to be
there was gone; like something important
was missing, and it wasn't just my
memories. Then when I was diagnosed with
cancer, I felt like huge pieces of me
were fading away--like I was being
hollowed out. By the time I found Emily
and lost her, all within a matter of
days, I felt like all that was left of me
was a shell. There's a line in a Bruce
Springsteen song--'got a six inch valley
through the middle of my soul'. I heard
that line on the radio one day, and my
hands shook so badly I spilled a cup of
coffee. I guess everybody needs a theme
song." I didn't mean for that last bit to
come out so bitter. I don't really feel
bitter anymore.

A look of pain crosses his face as he
speaks with a voice tinged with tears. "I
never knew. You always seemed so strong."
His hand covers mine, stilling the muffin
demolition.

"I never wanted you to know. You were
consumed with guilt over what happened; I
couldn't tell you. It's ironic--I
probably hurt you worse by pushing you
away than I would have with the truth.
Mulder, I know you've wanted more from
me. I knew in my heart that the drugs
weren't doing the talking in the hospital
last winter...that you meant what you
said. But I was afraid there wasn't
enough of me left to give you what you
needed, what you deserved."  

His face twists into a grimace. I turn my
hand to clasp his and give it a squeeze.
He needs to know this. "You deserve to be
loved...I was afraid that I would end up
hurting you, and that would have killed
me." 

He traces little circles on the palm of
my hand. I look into his eyes and see
such acceptance that I feel strengthened
to go on with my confession.

"I made a discovery last night." This
prompts a flash of curiosity in those
amazing eyes.

"That's why you're in the FBI--detective
work." Well, at least I can see the ghost
of a smile cross his features.

"Well, I've been a pretty poor detective;
this was pretty obvious. Mulder, last
night, after all the pain and the blood
and the fear, I felt like the emptiness
would swallow me up. But the most amazing
thing happened. When you held me, that
valley in my soul got a little smaller. I
felt just a little less empty."  

I take his hand and bring it to my lips,
placing a kiss in the center of his palm.
I have decided to go for broke here.
"I've been a fool...I've cut myself off
from the very thing that could heal me."

He pulls me out of my chair and onto his
lap. I feel slightly ridiculous; every
time I've ever sat on a guy's lap, I've
felt like I was visiting Santa. But I
lean into him as he pulls me against his
chest. One hand is stroking  my hair, and
the other grips my waist. I forget all
about Santa.

"Anytime you want a dose of the Mulder
Wonder Drug, all you have to do is ask."  

With my ear against it, I can hear his
voice rumble in his chest. The words are
teasing, but I know he is serious in the
offer. "I'm a little afraid to ask how
this miracle drug is administered." I've
slipped my arms around his middle, and I
squeeze gently.

"I think if I say 'injection' you're
gonna hit me, so I would suggest a
topical application to start."

I push myself back a little so I can look
into his eyes. I know we are going to
kiss now, and I want to mark this moment
in my memory. I want to remember the way
his shoulders feel under my hands and the
way his shirt smells clean from the
laundry detergent. I listen to the sound
of his neighbor vacuuming her rug and the
whine of a siren outside the window. I
try to memorize it all. I lean forward
and bring my lips to his--just a tiny
butterfly wing touch. He smiles and pulls
me to him tighter. This kiss is deeper
and then deeper still.

I pull back now as I know I'm not up to
much more than a few kisses today. But I
know that things are going to be changing
and soon. I smile, and it feels strange
because I am so very out of practice. I
think that is going to change soon, too.

End "Six Inch Valley" (01 of 01)