Secret Garden by Lydia Bower Classification: S, MSR Rating: PG-13 for language Spoilers: Yep. Fourth Season up to and including Small Potatoes. Summary: A companion piece to Affinity. Continues the final scene of Small Potatoes as seen from Mulder's POV. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting--and I'd be remiss if I didn't thank UberVince for making this story possible. This is tribute and thanks. Secret Garden by Lydia Bower How did this happen anyway? I know all about the striated muscles and the abnormal hair follicles and weird vocal cords and all the other medical and scientific mumbo-jumbo that goes a long way toward explaining how Eddie Van Blundht does what he does. What I don't understand is how he managed to fool Scully for so long. We're not talking about the time it takes to get laid here--we're talking half a day and most of a night. In the car. In the basement. In Skinner's office. At Scully's. At Scully's, for Christ's sake! The bastard even managed to write a field report on the way back to DC. A report that, while not without its glaring errors, met Skinner's tight-assed approval--not to mention Scully's unspoken one. After all, she told me she skimmed it over while they were waiting to see Skinner. The man can't spell bureau, but neither one of them thought it was strange enough to merit a closer look. How the hell did this happen? That's the only reason I agreed to drive down here and see the little twit. Maybe I can get a clue as to how he was able to fool the woman I've been working with for over five years. And why isn't this bothering her? If anything, she almost seems to be enjoying my discomfort--the smug, self-confident bitch. That's not said in the heat of the moment, either. Oh, no. I've had a month for the initial rage and confusion to simmer down to a nice, slow, calm and collected boil. I can't even look her in the eye anymore. I'm afraid I'll either scream at her or break down and bawl like a baby. I will never forgot what I saw when I busted down her door. Never. No, I'm not going there. I've been there way too much the past month. I don't like it there. Of course I had to bring Scully down here to the Cumberland Reformatory with me. Why should I have all the fun? Share and share alike. We're partners, after all. We're supposed to share everything--most especially our first kiss. And I stopped that dead in its tracks. Except it wasn't me Scully was about to kiss. And she didn't know it. Did she? Why didn't she know it? I pull open the door when the guard hits the buzzer and there he is. Eddie Van Blundht. The little fuck. He's got on some goofy red hat with 'Superstar!' emblazoned on it. I pull up a chair. "Thanks for coming," he says. "What's with the hat?" "My court appointed therapist makes me wear it. She's says it's meant to bolster my self-esteem." At least I don't have that problem. I don't think I do, anyway. I don't know much of anything any more. "Does it?" I ask him. "Not really. The other inmates just beat me up and take it from me; which would be okay except every week she brings me a new one." Jesus. He'd be funny if he wasn't so pathetic. "Plus," Eddie continues, "they keep me on some kind of muscle relaxant so I can't make faces the way I used to. Did you tell them to do that?" Nope. But Scully made damn sure it was taken care of. Was she afraid of a second visit from our tail-less boy wonder? Van Blundht gets this glimmer in his eye and one eyebrow shoots up in a fascinating imitation of Scully. It brings to mind a scenario I don't even want to contemplate. "Is, uh, is Agent Scully here?" No way. He's not going to fuck me over a second time. I'll be damned if I'll let him rub my face in it. "What did you want to talk to me about, Eddie?" "I just think it's funny," he says. "I was born a loser; but you're one by choice." He's lucky there's a sheet of bulletproof glass between us. I'd love to punch him. Just once. "On what do you base that astute assessment?" And then damned if he doesn't find a way to cut right to the quick. He says, "Experience." We both know exactly what he's talking about--and it's not whatever he went through before Scully and I came into town and blew his cover. He's talking about his day as me. And, oh joy, Scully is just outside; no doubt listening and probably enthralled by our conversation. Eddie leans toward me and the glimmer in his eye is back. "You should live a little. Treat yourself. God knows I would...if I were you." Guess what? Scully heard that, too. I have to get out of here. It's interesting how quickly my anger has turned to a caustic mixture of self-doubt and melancholy. Hey, Eddie? I'd love to live a little. All I have to do is figure out how you managed to get farther with my partner in one night than I have in five years. I push out the door and shoot a quick glance at Scully--one she doesn't catch because she's been considerate enough to not face me as I come out. I don't feel a need to say anything to her as we head down the hall. Eddie pretty much said it all. I'm seriously considering going back and beating him up for his hat when she says, "I don't imagine you need to be told this, Mulder, but you're not a loser." She's trying to make me feel better. It ain't workin'. "Yeah, but I'm no Eddie Van Blundht, either...am I?" I hazard another peek at her. She's eyes straight ahead. And not a word comes out of her mouth. Tongue-tied, Scully? Or too polite to answer? And then before I can stop myself: "So, Scully... What did he have that I don't have?" The $64,000 question. Will she answer this one? And then I notice she's not next to me anymore. I glance back over my shoulder. Scully is standing stock still, just staring at me. I can't read her face. My insides are churning. But I have to know. I can't keep this up much longer. She catches up and I push through the door first as Scully trails behind me. "Well?" Are you going to answer me, Scully? We reach the car and she finally does. "It's not that simple, Mulder." Why the hell not? It's a simple question; the least I can expect from Dr. Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully is a simple answer. We get out on the road and she takes a sudden interest in the scenery flying by outside her window. I can remember every single detail of that night. I'll bet Scully can, too. We're on the outskirts of DC before another word is spoken. I just keep coming around to the same thing and it just keeps gnawing at me. I bite the inside of my cheek but it comes out anyway. "Hey, Scully. You really thought it was me that night. Right?" She heaves a weary sigh. She's probably tired of answering the same questions. No, if that were the case, she would have answered my last one. It was something new and different. "Yes, Mulder." "And you were okay with that." Jesus, I have to learn some self-control. "Yeah, Mulder. I was okay with that." Just the facts, ma'am. And then she blurts "He just came over, Mulder. With a bottle of wine. No files, no photos, no tapes to listen to. Just wine." Hell, Scully, I could have done that a long time ago. I would have if I'd known you'd have welcomed me. I always figured I needed an excuse to drop by. And I guess maybe those excuses usually ended up with us getting some work done. Okay, I'll concede that point. "He wanted to talk. Well, actually, he wanted to listen while I talked." She just said something important, Mulder. Pay attention. "About what?" I ask. Another sigh. She's good at that. "Everything. Nothing. We just talked about life." Whereas all I seem to talk about is the work. Right? I can't help it, Scully. The work is my life. So how come it doesn't seem to be enough anymore? "Well," I shoot back. "He certainly couldn't have dazzled you with his extensive knowledge of the X-Files, could he?" And I'll be damned if she doesn't smile. "So that's it? You talked?" "That's it. It's amazing what you can discover if you just take the time and make the effort, Mulder." Okay, I'll admit it. That one stings. And not just because what she said is true, either. It's because I *have* made the effort from time to time--I guess I just didn't do it right. Yeah, boost that self-esteem, Scully. I definitely need a hat like Eddie's. I think about spending the rest of the afternoon cooped up in the basement with her and it actually makes my skin crawl. I can't do it. I have to try to get my mind around this and I can't do that in close proximity to Scully. There's only a few more facts I need to get straight. We pull into the Bureau parking garage and I stop beside her car, turning to look at her head-on. Haven't done that for a while. "The fireplace. The music. Whose idea was that?" I ask her. Her eyes go soft and she says, "It was mine, Mulder." What she's just said to me suddenly clicks into place--along with all the other little pieces she's doled out to me today--and over the past month. I think I'm on my way to figuring this out. I say something to her about seeing her later and wait as she retrieves her briefcase from the backseat. I pull away and switch to auto-pilot; and it's not until I reach my apartment building that I realize where I've gone. XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The hours between dropping Scully off at the Bureau and my finally working up the courage to call her have been filled with something I rarely indulge in: introspection. Strange thing for a psychologist to say, isn't it? You'd think as a group we'd tend to spend a lot of time analyzing ourselves. Well, maybe some do; but then I've never exactly fit into the norm. I'm not really comfortable confronting my own feelings and motivations; I'm much better at picking others' apart. There are only a few things I know with any certainty when it comes to what happened a month ago, and what I saw. Much as I hate to admit it, Eddie Van Blundht had this particular "make believe I'm somebody else" game down pat. Maybe it was a heightened sense of intuition. Maybe he's just a very good student of human nature. Or maybe he's just lucky. Whatever you want to chalk it up to, he picked his conquests very carefully. With the exception of Amanda Nelligan--and that's a whole 'nother story--he selected women who were already involved in intimate relationships with men. Men they trusted and felt comfortable with. And so it stands to reason that he spotted something in the way Scully and I interacted that intrigued him enough to set his sights on her. Somehow I don't think even Eddie would be foolish enough to go after Scully disguised as me if he didn't see something there to begin with. Of course this is no revelation to me. I already know how I feel about Scully. It just pisses me off that he knew how she felt about me before I did. And that's the other thing I know for a fact. I know what I saw when I busted down her door. I saw Scully ready and willing to accept a kiss and maybe more from a man she thought was me. Which means that the idea wasn't exactly something she'd dismissed outright. Oh yeah; it was a nice, comfy, romantic moment I interrupted; no doubt about it. The empty wine bottle, the fireplace going, Al Green on the stereo. Seduction 101. And Scully fell for it--hook, line and sinker. Hell, according to her she even contributed to the little scenario I cut short. There's only one thing I'm not sure of and it's what's driving me nuts. Was she responding to me or Eddie? If it had been me that night, would she have let things go as far as they obviously did--or was she seeing something in him she liked a whole lot better than the original? Well, Mulder, what's one of the first things we learn when it comes to crime scenes? The trick is to reconstruct the scene and work your way from there. One part of my brain snatches that idea and switches into overdrive with it as I return to the analytical side of my training and ponder the other half of this equation: me. I lay myself bare and begin an emotional autopsy so thorough Scully would be proud. I'm lousy at opening up to people--I always have been. I don't like to leave myself vulnerable to the damage people can do if they have enough information about me. So I keep my mouth shut and turn a deaf ear to the bullshit that's being said about me and around me. I don't need the headaches. The down side is that an attitude like mine doesn't exactly invite those around me to open up to me either. Like I said, I don't exactly fit into the norm. There's only one exception to this rule; and she seems to be the exception to a lot of rules: Scully. I've spilled my guts to her over the years, but I now realize that we've never really talked about the mundane moments that make up the majority of our lives. But in those moments of crisis or pain or the rare times I feel a need to open up; when things just get too overwhelming and I can feel myself skating on the skinny edge of sanity, I turn to Scully. She's the only person in my life who really knows where my weak spots are; and the only person I trust enough not to use that knowledge against me. But those moments of vulnerability are rare. And when they pass I close myself up tight as a clam and resume life as I know it. Now I wonder if I taught Scully to adopt the same attitude. Is it possible she's also wondered about us? Has she spent countless nights at her place or in some anonymous motel room craving me the way I have her? Can she feel me under her skin and in her blood? Does she wake up sweaty and aroused from dreams of us together she can't seem to shake off? Judging from what I saw and what I now know, I think maybe she does. Before I've had a chance to talk myself out of it, I call her and invite her over. My hand trembles as I set the phone down. It's reached the point of all or nothing. I glance at my watch. I've barely got time to hit the store and make it back home before she gets here. God, I hope I don't screw this up. XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX Okay, so I probably went a little bit overboard when it came to recreating the scene of the crime. At least Scully seems to be taking it in stride. "Christ, Mulder. Go change your clothes." "Too much?" I ask with a sincere grin. "Yeah. Too much, Mulder." So I go change clothes and ignore the psychologist in my head who whispers to me that I've picked black because maybe that way I'll fade into the couch and become invisible. Fuck off, Mulder. The first few minutes after that are rough. You'd think we'd never been in a room alone together. And for some reason the candles and the music are beginning to get on my nerves. I feel like I'm trying to be somebody I'm not and that's the absolute last thing we need now. I sputter out some kind of apology to Scully and kill the tunes, replace them with ESPN and blow out most of the candles. The look on Scully's face as I turn back to her is encouraging. Actually, the whole package is encouraging. She needs to wear jeans more often. Especially the old, faded, knees almost blown out kind. She's got on a dark green cardigan sweater that's snug in all the right places. She's beautiful--she's always beautiful. I get a chance to tell her that after I've dragged out my letter jacket and made her try it on. She's swimming in it but it's never looked better on anyone. "Thank you, Mulder," she says and if I didn't know better, I'd say she was blushing. Nah, not my Scully. "You're welcome." I reach for her hand and can't find it. Probably has something to do with the fact that her arms end only halfway down the sleeves. I chuckle and go digging. "You make a crack about my size and I'll bust you one," she warns me. "Just as long as you don't shoot me again, Scully." It's better now. We've laughed together, had a little wine, slipped into the easy banter like slipping on a favorite sweater. I'm only a little nervous when we settle back on the couch and start to tackle the tough part. You know, the part that involves really opening up. It helps that Scully gets us started. I can concentrate on her instead of worrying what'll happen when it's my turn. She's not going to settle for less than an equal give and take. That's okay--she shouldn't have to. In the end it turns out to be a lot easier than I thought it'd be. She's a good listener, but I guess I've always known that. She encourages me with questions and little looks or a gentle touch on my arm or my hand. I'll admit I tried to bullshit my way through some of it, but she didn't put up with that for long. The idea that she knows me so well despite not knowing me at all both thrills and terrifies me. I also discover that Dana laughs a lot more than Scully does. She looks really good with a mild buzz, too. Wine-softened; strong and vulnerable all at the same time. It's a lethal combination. The time goes by quickly, effortlessly, and I'm struck by how easy this is and by how comfortable I am. I think Scully really likes me. I know that probably sounds odd, but I don't think I knew that until tonight. She's here because she wants to be. She could have gotten up and left any time she wanted--but she hasn't. Amazing. It occurs to me that this is the first time I can ever remember completely letting down my guard with her. When we're working I'm always so aware of the fine line we walk; how I have to force myself not to look at her for too long a time or get too close to her or touch her anywhere but those places deemed safe and appropriate for partners to touch each other. It's nice to sit here and watch her and think to myself how gorgeous she is or how great she smells or how much I'd like to reach out and brush the backs of my fingers across the soft peach fuzz on her cheeks. And it's okay to think these things and feel these feelings. This is not work and we are not FBI agents--not tonight. It's just me and Scully. No protocol to follow, no rules or regulations to worry about. Amazing. I could slap myself silly for not doing this a long time ago. I think about the time I've wasted and it makes me wish there was some way I could get it all back and give it to Scully. She deserves it more than anyone I know. I think about the cancer and resolutely greet the pain that goes hand and hand with the reality of it. I can't lose her; not when it looks like we've just now found our way to each other. I glance over at Scully and find her lost in her own thoughts. She looks like she's a million miles away. I reach out and lay my hand on her arm. "Hey." She looks over at me and I watch, fascinated, as her eyes grow dark and soft. There is a moment when time stops and something primal and urgent passes between us. I feel a shiver run down my spine. "Where'd you go?" I ask. "I was just..." And then she blurts, "Mulder, why are we doing this?" Her question takes me by surprise. I thought it was pretty obvious why we're doing it. And I suppose that's part of the whole problem, right there. We've both been assuming things about each other instead of asking outright. I know why *I'm* doing this; it's time to find out why Scully is. "Does it make you uncomfortable?" "No. No, not at all. I like it," she says. The swiftness of her answer leaves little doubt in my mind and gives me the opportunity I've been waiting for all night. I cut her next words short. "Scully, can we talk about that night?" She gets this panicky look on her face that's here and gone in an instant. Jesus. It occurs to me that she's been doing some play-acting of her own over the last month. In a moment of perfect clarity I realize that underneath the cool and confident facade is a woman pretty damned shaken up over what happened with Eddie and the distance it created between us. There are a million things I want to ask her about that night. But I can't. The worst thing I can do right now is put her on the spot. I do that and I'll blow it. Maybe for good. Tell her how it was for you, Mulder. Damn it, just talk to the woman! Easier said than done. Suddenly I'm scared shitless. What if the whole night has been nothing but an aberration? What if she doesn't want the same things I do? What if, instead of this night marking the beginning of something wonderful, it begins the slow the destruction of what we already have? I weigh my options in the passage of mere seconds. Do I choose the status quo and the easy way or do I go for the unknown and take that leap of faith? It's a no-brainer. "I knew what Van Blundht had in mind when he locked me up, Scully. I knew what he was going to try," I tell her. "And I knew it because he saw something we've been turning a blind eye to for a long time. I don't think he would have attempted to do what he did if he didn't think he had a chance of succeeding." Scully drops her eyes and I watch as she takes a deep breath before looking back at me. "What are you trying to say, Mulder?" Special Agent Scully has made an appearance. I can hear it in the way she asks the question. In the blink of an eye she's switched to investigator mode; patiently waiting for me to spout my latest off-the-wall theory. I find that oddly reassuring. Okay, so maybe it's a defensive posture for both of us, to slip into the old, familiar routine. But it's not entirely a bad thing--not if it moves us from point A to point B a little more comfortably. So I twist around to face her and present to her my case. "Well, just think about it, Scully. This is a man who can assume the identity of anyone he chooses. Despite the fact that what he did was reprehensible, he was able to get away with it for so long only because he came to these women in the guise of someone they trusted and cared for; women he knew wouldn't harbor any suspicions if the man they encountered was someone they felt comfortable being with in that sort of situation. Eddie Van Blundht was," and God I hate to admit this, I think to myself, "in many ways these women's fantasy lover." Okay, that sounded reasonable enough. I don't think I've said anything she can object to very strenuously. And she doesn't. But she does surprise me when she says, "You almost sound like you envy him, Mulder." You have no idea, Scully. None whatsoever. I catch her eye and hold it. I want her to know. "Only when it comes to you." She makes that little sound in her throat that's so familiar. "Mulder..." "No, just hear me out, Scully. I knew he would come to you because that's what I would have done, if I'd had the courage. It's something I should have done a long time ago," I admit. She shoots me this little half-smile that goes straight to my heart and quips, "Attempt to seduce me?" Well, yeah, that thought has crossed my mind a time or two. But that's not the real issue. "No. No. Just forget that part of it for a minute." The eyebrow arches. "Easier said than done." Scully really is a remarkable woman. I can't help but chuckle at her words. I tell her, "What I'm trying to say is that he gave you an opportunity to open up and let some of the barriers down. Allow the Dana Scully who isn't an FBI agent to come to the forefront. I envy him that." Truer words have never been spoken. Eddie wasn't completely off base when he pegged me as a loser. And, damn it, now I can't even look at her. I can't help but feel that in some very important but unexplainable way, I've let her down. Woulda coulda shoulda. "He didn't do anything you couldn't have done, Mulder." "I doubt that." She reaches out and places her hand on top of mine, telling me, "You shouldn't." I listen carefully to her declaration and there is no trace of pity in it. I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. Her pity is the one thing I couldn't accept from Scully; not without giving up any remaining sense of dignity. I turn my hand under hers and link our fingers. Her hand is dwarfed by mine. "Mulder, what almost happened that night, what you saw when you busted down my door, happened because it was what I wanted, too." I study her face, looking for clues; hoping with all my heart and soul that she wanted it for the right reasons. "And it wasn't because Eddie was being a Mulder I'd never seen before and liked better than the original. It was because he was being the Mulder I knew you could be if you'd only allow yourself." An unbelievable wave of relief washes over me. "It's hard, Scully." I try to find the words to better explain myself but those are the only ones that make it past the lump in my throat. "I know that. It is for both of us, Mulder." She goes on, explaining in perfect Scully form why this has been so hard for both of us; how we've avoided confronting our feelings for fear of destroying what we've worked so hard to build. And the whole time she's going on, while half my attention is focused on her words, the other half is thinking about how badly I want to touch her, hold her, give her everything she needs to make her happy. I pull my hand from hers and lay my arm on the back of the couch, my fingers hesitantly weaving through her hair before they come to rest on the soft and silky nape of her neck. My body echoes the shiver I feel running through her. I wait until her eyes shift to meet mine. "I honestly didn't know," I quietly tell her. "I didn't know how you'd react if I tried to cross that line. I could only hope that... I didn't know; and I was too much of a coward... ...to find out." "But you know now. Don't you?" "I think so." God, Scully, I want you. I want you. My hand cups her cheek, drops until my fingers lay against her neck. My thumb lazily traces the line of her jaw. That wonderfully soft and sensual look in her eyes is back. God. "Mulder, will you do something for me?" There isn't anything I wouldn't do, Scully. Don't you know that? "Name it," I tell her. She nervously licks her lips. "Will you... Will you kiss me?" No problem, Scully. "I thought you'd never ask." Careful, Mulder. It's taking all my restraint to keep from swooping down on her and consuming her; taking her into me so I'll never be without her. Her eyes slip shut as she leans to meet me and I oh-so-gently kiss her. Yeah. Oh yeah, this is good--beyond good. I'm in heaven. I feel her fingers in my hair and deepen the kiss. She tastes of mulled wine; spicy and sweet. I break the kiss. I want to look at her face, see what's there. Her eyes slowly come open and we grin at each other like a couple of teenagers after their first kiss. A sigh of relief leaves me. "Well, Scully. That was pretty damn remarkable." And that's like the understatement of the century. "I don't think the world came to end," she confirms. I could give a rat's ass. Let it end, just so long as she's here with me. "I don't think I would have noticed if it had. Let's try that again--just to make sure it wasn't an anomaly," I tell her. Our second kiss leaves me on the skinny edge of control. My mind slips and slides, caught between calling this to a halt before things start moving way too fast and trying to recall if I have any condoms in the apartment that aren't ancient. I pull away from her and one look in those blue eyes tells me I'm in big trouble. Control, Mulder. Get control. A shaky laughs escapes me. Her hair is tousled and I tuck a lock behind her ear. You can do this, Mulder, I tell myself. You can do the right thing. "I'm going to kick you out, Scully." Her face twists in bemusement. "What?" I stand up while it's still an option and offer her my hand. "You need to go home now." "Why?" she asks; but I'm strangely relieved when she takes my hand and allows me to lead her toward the door. "I like to savor things, Scully. No sense rushing a good thing, huh?" I think about what might have happened if this had been Eddie Van Blundht with Scully tonight. I know that he wouldn't have hesitated. But you know what? Scully deserves better than what Eddie could've given her--we both do. I guess that makes him the real loser, doesn't it? I help her on with her coat and unlock and open the door. "Besides," I tell her. "I'm no Eddie Van Blundht." Thank God. She turns and steps into my arms, holding me tightly. I nuzzle her hair and drop a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll see you in the morning, Scully," I tell her as she steps away and out the door. "G'night, Mulder." I close the door behind her and twist the deadbolt. I lay a hand flat against the door and close my eyes. If I try hard enough I can still feel her through the solid wood of the door and the distance that increases with every step she takes away from me and toward the elevator. The giddy laughter I've held in check erupts as I turn away from the door and head back to the living room. I punch a fist into the air as a single word echoes happily through the apartment. "Yeeessss!" XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The End