Title: Georgetown Author: DM E-mail: unruhe1121@hotmail.com Feedback: It's how we're paid. . . can this also count as my disclaimer??? Rating: G Category: V, R Key words: Mulder/Scully Romance Spoilers: Rain King, SR 819, and a tiny one for Tooms. Disclaimer: Okay, just to cover my tracks. . . Not mine; they belong to 1013 Productions, FOX, and most importantly, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. Summary: "I'm wrong." I take her still wet and soapy hands into mine and look directly into her eyes. "Six years isn't rushing anything." Notes: This is a sequel to my last fic, "Kroner." Reading it would be helpful in understanding this story, but it's not necessary. However, I'd love it if you would! It may be found here: http://www.geocities.com/dmldr42/Kroner.html Also, I've decided to make this a running series of stand-alone vignettes that weave this story line through the remaining episodes. So, if you enjoyed this one, please let me know! And, last but certainly not least, many thanks to Carol for the beta! All of my other stories may be found at my website: http://www.geocities.com/dmldr42 Georgetown By DM I thought once we had the "talk" she would hold back, put up her usual wall to protect herself. I thought it would be the same old story, but she keeps me guessing. The remainder of the flight, while turbulent, was surprisingly pleasant. We didn't speak much, but a comfortable silence fell between us. Our landing was smooth and as my hand settles in its usual spot on the small of her back, I'm soaring higher than a hot air balloon. Judging by the way I feel right now, maybe our time is sooner than I'd expected. "Why not now, Mulder?" Her voice shatters the silence. Well, not this soon. I'm wide-eyed, yes. But cool enough to remain. . . well, cool. "What?" My voice cracks. Sometimes telling myself I'm cool doesn't always work. She stops, allows a tiny sigh to escape those beautiful lips of hers and looks up at me. Directly into my eyes. She pauses and I can practically see her brain working. Her mouth opens, ready to speak but at the last moment she thinks better and begins walking again. "Let's go home, Mulder." She leaves me standing there and the first thing out of my mouth is: "your place or mine?" It's pathetic and adolescent and even though her head is turned, I know her eyes are rolling. I better stop or there's no hope for me. Now. . . or in the future. The ride home is quiet. Quiet like a hospital morgue. It's deafeningly quiet. I'm anxious and I can't tell if she is too, or if it's just me. It's probably just me. Scully never breaks a sweat. I have to remember not to fidget. She doesn't like that. I need to look cool. Calm. This drive is taking forever. Somebody's picked up Georgetown and moved it miles away. Ten years later we finally pull up in front of her building. My fingers tap the steering wheel and I steal a quick glance at her. She busies herself, gathering her belongings and for a split second, I begin to wonder if she even remembers I'm here. "Come on up, Mulder." She finally speaks and is out of the car before I can say anything. And who am I to argue? She's already inside when I get to her door but she's left it open for me. I hear her in the kitchen. "Something to drink, Mulder?" "Iced tea?" "All out." We're off to a stellar start. "Root beer?" she emerges from the kitchen and hands me a bottle of diet IBC, already opened. I take a long drink and my throat constricts as the carbonation rushes its way down. "Good." I wince. And she's already two steps ahead. "I don't think I want to wait, Mulder." She's using that detached, `I'm in the middle of an autopsy' voice and I'm thrown for a loop yet again. Forget being cool; it ain't working today. "Scully, I-" "I was thinking about it on the plane. Why wait? What good would it do?" "We have-" She interrupts, seemingly on a hard roll now. "A job to do. I know that. A life long quest to find the truth." She sounds tired, worn out as she sinks down onto the couch. She sighs and leans forward, her hands clasp together, her chin now resting on top of them. Out of all the fantasies I've had concerning this moment, it's never gone down like this. "But that's just it," she continues, "a life long quest. Our work, do you see an end, Mulder?" I stare at her, mouth open. Never once did I imagine my level- headed, scientific partner using her talents as a rational thinker in regard to our. . well, our romantic relationship. I glance away as her words sink in. Do I see an end? My honest answer is, "no." "So why wait if there's no end?" She's asking for my input and here's the tricky part- I don't know if I have the right answer. I know what I want, but what I want isn't always the road best traveled. Just ask my partner. So I take the easy way out. "Don't you want to wait?" She just looks at me. "Stupid question." I look away. I feel deflated. I could say, `let's do it.' I could, for lack of a better phrase, throw caution to the wind and be with this woman, but I have a sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach that she'll end up regretting this. I don't want her to regret this I feel her get up and by the time I look over at her, she's gone. I'm not handling this very well and I'm the first one to admit it. If I had friends, I'd be chastised for letting her walk away just now. I take a deep breath and stand. I have to find her. I have to fix this. She's in the kitchen, hands resting on the edge of the sink, head bowed. She looks like I feel. "Scully?" She stiffens immediately and busies herself by washing a dish I'm positive is already clean. "I'm sorry, Mulder. You're right. It's not the right time." That's not what I said. I didn't say that. I walk right over to her, stand right behind her, wanting to make contact, but hold back because she's still talking. "I don't know what I was thinking. Actually, I'm exhausted so I'm not thinking. I-" And that's when she turns around. And, I'm right there. Right in front of her. She's startled, her face flushes and her eyes go wide. "You don't have to apologize," I begin. She averts her eyes, letting them rest on my chest. "*I* need to apologize." I lean in closer and reach around her to turn off the water she left running. I can feel her exhale and this feeling I can't quite describe shoots through my entire body. If I had to find a word, I'd say it's possibly anticipation. But, it's stronger. More emotional. "I think you know that I want this now. I just couldn't rush you, Scully." "You're right. We shouldn't-" "But I was wrong." "I don't think-" "I'm wrong." I take her still wet and soapy hands into mine and look directly into her eyes. "Six years isn't rushing anything." She's stuck for words and I know this because I've memorized just about every facial expression she has. I don't see this one often, but I have it catalogued in my memory. I keep talking, hoping she'll help me out sooner or later. "Six years, Scully." She clears her throat and takes a moment to just look at me. My best guess is she's trying to make sure I'm being honest with her. I should be offended that she'd even think of questioning my integrity, but it wouldn't be like her to react on impulse alone. She's incredibly thorough, always searching all possible avenues before. . . Suddenly it hits me. I've been incredibly unfair and just plain stupid tonight. I spend time memorizing and categorizing her expressions and forget to realize that I know this woman and she wouldn't be doing this if she weren't absolutely sure that this is what she wants. "Well, when you say it like that." I just look at her, not quite understanding. I have to think about the last thing I said and suddenly I can't remember anything. I've had an epiphany and my mind has become void of thought all together. All I can do is apologize. "I'm sorry, Scully." There's no explanation to excuse my behavior. One thing about her that I absolutely love is her ability to read my mind, to know me more completely than any other person ever has. I could learn a lesson or two from her. I need to work on repaying the compliment. She realizes I've recognized my error and decides to let it slide. If the situation were reversed, I wonder if I'd let her off the hook quite as quickly. I've humiliated her, questioned her rational thinking, and here she is smiling up at me, accepting me back, willing to forgive and forget. I love this woman. There. I've said it. I love her. Before I realize it our faces are mere inches apart. I don't know who moved first, or if we acted together, but that doesn't really matter right now. She's breathing through her mouth and I'm close enough to feel it on my chin. We're moving at this achingly slow speed and I'm on the verge of moving in to seal the deal when. . . The phone rings. "The machine'll get it," she assures me in a deep throaty purr. The ringing is distracting. I can't concentrate, and subconsciously I stop, waiting for the ringing to cease. On the fourth ring, her machine finally answers. I'm in the middle of preparing to finally finish what we've started when her personal message ends and the voice on the other end begins speaking. "Agent Scully, this Assistant Director Skinner. I've been trying to reach Agent Mulder. . ." By this time, the mood is sufficiently lost. She's out of my embrace and answering the phone before I even realize what's happened. "Sir?" She listens for a while and eyes me with an amused expression on her face. I find it amazing that she can alternate between emotions so quickly. Like a switch, I think to myself and can't hide the smile that flirts with my lips. "He's standing right here; I'll deliver the message. . . You too, Sir." She hangs up and folds her arms across her middle, amusement lighting her already incredibly bright eyes as she looks at me. "Forget something today, Mulder?" Did I forget something? I don't think so, but then again I can't seem to remember anything right now. "You tell me." "Financial review. . . with Agent Brothers." Shoot. I look at my watch and realize I'm already an hour late. "They waited for a while and finally called Skinner because they couldn't get hold of you." I look at her, more disappointed than I've been in a long time. We're going to finish this. Not right now, but we will finish this. "Go," she says, her eyes letting me know she's disappointed too. "I'll call you later?" "Is that a question?" "No." She smiles, satisfied with my answer. "Good luck," she says as I leave her apartment. I swear this isn't over. *** The meeting finished hours ago and for whatever reason, I'm still sitting in my "area." I keep the events in Scully's apartment fresh in my mind by running them over and over again until I memorize every detail. I'm afraid I wasn't much help to Agent Brothers. It's dark, everyone has gone home and I'm sitting here throwing pencils in the ceiling, delaying what could be one of the best moments of my life. I don't know why, but the longer I wait, the harder it becomes to pick up the phone and call her. I look at the clock and realize it's past 10pm. She must think I've forgotten to call, or worse. . . that I'm avoiding her. Then, something catches my attention. Skinner is here. It's late and he's never here after hours unless there's a good reason for it. I follow him to his office and our visit is short. It looks like I *will* be calling Scully tonight, but it won't result in the type of visit I'd been envisioning all evening. I leave the room to call her. She answers on the second ring. "Scully, it's me." I can hear relief echoing throughout her words, "I began to think you'd forgotten my number." "Never." It kills me to do this. "Can you come down here, to the office?" "To the office?" "Skinner's sick and he won't let me call the hospital." "What are his symptoms?" "Nothing. He says he's fine." There is silence on the other line long enough to let me know she's hesitating. "I'll be right there, Mulder." I'll make it up to her, I promise myself. I swear I'll make it up to her. End.