***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Please link to the full text of the series:
http://shannono.net/leftfield/stories/LessonsLearnedFull.txt

==========

Lessons Learned: In Too Deep
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Vignette, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST/Romance

Rated PG

Spoiler for "Milagro" 

Summary: Post-ep, Mulder first person. Second in the
series.

Thanks: To Brandon, for beta reading.

==========

Lessons Learned: In Too Deep
by shannono


If I never let her go, it will be too soon.

God, I shouldn't be enjoying this. Shouldn't feel this stirring in
my groin as my heart bleeds in sympathy with hers. I want to be
doing this only to comfort her, but I can't help myself. The spirit
is willing, but the flesh is weak.

I have never seen her like this, not once. She's cried in my arms a
time or two, but they were soft, whimpering sobs, not the great 
gasps and shudders now wracking her tiny frame. Her arms are so 
tight around me I can barely breathe. I welcome the constriction, 
the uncomfortable position we're in. Anything that helps me 
empathize with her right now.

She needs this release so much. This isn't just about whatever 
happened here. I hope she'll tell me, but I'm not going to push her
on it. This goes so much deeper than what just happened to her, 
though. It goes back months, maybe years, to all the times she's 
pushed aside her emotions and carried on as if nothing was wrong.

I knew it would happen eventually, that something would finally
shove her over the edge, and I am immeasurably grateful that I am
here to catch her. She has been my strength, my center, for so long,
and I am more than happy to be able to give something back.

Her body is pressed to mine, her face buried against my shoulder,
her arms wrapped around me as if I'm the only thing holding her
together. I cradle her against me, trying to be gentle but
invariably tightening my grip with each of her hitching sobs.

I want to say something to her, to offer words to comfort her, to
do something to heal her pain. If I concentrate, I think, I can pull
some of that pain into my own bottomless well of sorrow. I've lived 
with that kind of ache for so long that a little more won't make a 
difference.

Anything to keep her from hurting.

I can feel her heart pounding against me, strong and solid, safe 
and secure, and I relax minutely. She must feel it, because her 
arms tighten suddenly, as if she's afraid I'm going to let her go.
I pull her a little closer, reassuring her silently that I'm not
going anywhere until she says it's okay.

She's covered with blood, her blouse soaked with blotches of red,
and I want desperately to get a good look at her, to be sure her
skin is still smooth and undisturbed. I want to know if he tried
to do to her what he'd done to the others, if he'd tried to dig
her heart out of her chest.

I can't imagine what that would feel like, to have his fingers
slice right through the skin like that. Shades of Eugene Tooms, and
she so nearly became his victim, too.

I don't know how much she remembers, but she must remember enough,
from the terror I saw on her face before she buried herself against
my chest.

God, it must have been horrific, to send her into this kind of
reaction. She is so controlled, so reluctant to show her emotions
in any form, but most particularly in this way. I am afraid she will
be ashamed of herself for it. 

No. I won't allow that. She's seen me in worse shape than this, and 
I won't let her be embarrassed about it. I feel privileged that she 
isn't hiding now, and that she actually reached out for me.

I keep thinking about the things Padgett said about Scully. I've 
never really seen the connection between writing and profiling
before, but it makes sense, I suppose. A writer must know his 
characters, like a profiler must know a killer. It's simple 
observation paired with analysis, really.

But I have never tried to profile Scully. I haven't allowed it, other
than a time or two when I needed to find her, or figure out what she 
would do next. I have never, not once, made an attempt to turn on 
those skills and try to read her, not the way Padgett did. I could 
never invade her privacy that way.

Now, though, I can't help but remember what Padgett said to us at 
the jail. He was so far inside Scully's head that it frightened her,
in a way I've rarely seen. She basically said he was right, or nearly
so, with everything he'd said about her, and she was shaken to her 
core.

And then he said she couldn't fall in love.

Because she was already in love.

And he was looking directly at me when he said it.

It was a tossup which of us was more stunned. I know she loves me;
I'd have to be a much bigger idiot than I am not to realize that.
"In love," though, is an entirely different thing. It's what I've 
been trying to avoid -- unsuccessfully, for the most part. I can't 
afford it, *we* can't afford it, not now.

But I don't know if we can avoid it. Or if we really should. We're
in too deep. Trying to pull away now would likely destroy us both.

I know what will happen in a few minutes. Scully will calm down,
get herself together and push me away, draw her professional mask
back on, and that will be the end of it.

I don't know if I can let it go that way this time.

My heart speaks to hers. Please, Scully. You've let me in.

Now let me stay.

==========END==========

Feedback makes my heart go pitter-pat ... shannono@iname.com