***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

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Lessons Learned: What and When
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Story, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST-to-Romance

Rated PG

Spoiler for "Milagro"

Summary: Scully takes the lead. Continuation of the series.

Thanks: To Robbie, for the beta reading and encouragement, and
for the title! <g>

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Lessons Learned: What and When
by shannono


An ache opened somewhere deep inside me moments after Mulder left,
and it took me a few minutes to recognize it for what it was. It
had been so long since I let myself feel the things I'd felt that
day.

I was missing him already.

It was a good ache, though, not like the lingering pain in my chest.
I felt as if I should have deep bruises over my heart from that, but
my skin was clear and unblemished, like nothing at all had happened.

If only if had been true.

No. No, I don't wish that, not really. I would do almost anything 
not to have gone through the excruciating agony I did that day, 
but I can't be sorry about the results.

I felt ... free. Like a weight had been lifted from me. I was
allowing myself to experience the full range of emotions I'd held
back for so long. Terror. Worry. Longing.

Love.

As I half-sat, half-lay on the floor of Mulder's apartment, his
arms wrapped around me as I sobbed into his shoulder, everything
suddenly became so clear to me. My thoughts may have been jumbled,
and it may have taken a while for my body to react and relax
even after my mind settled a bit, but once I was calm again, I
knew there was no way I was going back to holding it all inside.

Mulder knew it, of course. Mulder knows me, better than he thinks,
better than even I realized, and certainly better than any stranger
could, no matter how much of his life he devoted to observing me.

I told Mulder that all Padgett knew about me was what he learned 
from watching me, from a distance. I didn't think that much of his
writing skills, but he certainly had a talent for observation.

But his knowledge was, for the most part, superficial. He played a
game of people-watching, believing that knowing my daily routine 
actually gave him insight into my innermost feelings. He did score 
a few direct hits, but those came by luck more than anything else. 
His interpretation of my motives was completely off-target.

I read a large part of his book, and the best description I can 
give of it is a "fictionalization" of my life. He used me as his 
central character, and a dead psychic surgeon as the villain, but 
the characterizations were his own. 

He never understood me the way he thought he did. He projected his 
own wishes and wants onto me and expected me to fall into his 
expectations.

I could almost believe he had some kind of direct influence over my
actions. But while I did do a few things during this case I didn't
fully understand at the time, in retrospect, they make sense.

That little fantasy I indulged in following the autopsy, for example.
Padgett wrote the scene as if I was picturing myself in bed with him,
and that *is* where it started from. A man offered me compliments, 
something I am entirely unused to, and I allowed myself to wonder, 
just briefly, about him. About the possibility of ... *us*. I am, 
after all, a woman, and fantasies are completely normal and acceptable.

Yes, I was ashamed and even repulsed when the images formed, as 
Padgett indicated. But that lasted only a moment. Because before I
could even see the scene clearly, the stranger's face had changed.

Into Mulder's.

In that little daydream at the morgue, as I held the milagro in my
hand, it was Mulder I was kissing, Mulder's hands that were opening
the buttons on my blouse. Mulder's body pressed against mine.

Not Padgett. Never Padgett. Padgett wrote me as embarrassed but 
aroused by my fantasy, and he was right about that. But he was dead
wrong about the object of my desire.

He was, however, right on target later. "Agent Scully is already in 
love," he said, voicing the truth I'd been trying so long to deny.

Falling in love with your partner -- it's cliched; it's dangerous;
it's just plain stupid. But love isn't something that fits into 
any simple definitions or boundaries. It develops in its own time,
in its own way, and in my case -- *our* case -- falling in love 
was as logical as it was extreme. Just like our partnership.

Loving Mulder and doing something about it, however, are two vastly
different things.

I told Mulder that there are things I could do to make myself
happier but that I simply hadn't decided to do them yet. That
wasn't entirely true. By the time I said that, I'd already decided
the what and when -- what I wanted to do to take at least one big 
step toward happiness, and when I wanted to do it.

The "when" was tonight. The "what" was actually still short of what
I thought it would take to make us truly happy. But it was certainly
moving in the right direction.

Mulder was, as I expected, still sitting in his car outside my 
apartment an hour after he supposedly left. I checked on him every
few minutes from the front window, smiling at the picture he made,
slouched in the driver's seat as if he actually believed I couldn't
see him. 

Not only could I see him clearly, but I could even see his hand 
lift to his mouth a couple of times, no doubt popping in sunflower
seeds. I'm sure he was spitting half the shells out the window and
half on the floorboards, as usual. There's a reason why we use his
car so much more than mine; I refuse to deal with the cleanup.

I did have an advantage over Mulder in this case, of course. He 
may not be entirely predictible, but sometimes he's so easy to 
read it's laughable. After our conversation, I knew Mulder would 
assume -- correctly, as it turned out -- that I'd want to be alone.
So he left, and I had my time alone.

After an hour of solitude, though, I was ready for some company. 

It was time to put him out of his misery.

I had no idea if he had his cell phone with him or not. He rarely
goes without, but things had been a little confused back at his
place, so it was possible he walked out without it. I hoped he had
it, though, because I really didn't want to have to go out and get
him.

He answered on the first ring with an uncharacteristic "Yeah?", so
obviously primed for trouble that I nearly laughed.

"You can come back up now," I said, watching out the window to see
his reaction.

As I expected, his head jerked up, and he caught sight of me
immediately. "Scully," he said, guiltily. "I ... I was just ..."

"Giving me some time alone," I finished, keeping my eyes on him.
"And I appreciate it. But I've spent some time alone. And now I 
want to spend some time with you."

I couldn't quite tell from that distance, but I wouldn't have been
surprised if his mouth had been hanging open in shock. And then I 
*could* see his mouth, because it started widening into a huge, 
sweet grin.

I couldn't help it. I can never see that particular brand of
Mulder's smile without reciprocating.

I'd surprised him, I knew. It hasn't been my style to come right
out and say I want to see him; we simply don't operate that way.
But things have been changing between us for some time now, and 
the whole experience with Padgett had given me a mighty shove in
Mulder's direction. My emotions had finally broken through the 
steel-reinforced box I'd kept them stored in for so long, and it
felt good to let them out for a change.

I just hoped it wouldn't scare him away.

It didn't seem to. Mulder didn't say another word, just ended 
the call and climbed from the car, still looking at me and
smiling. He kept up the eye contact as long as he could, until 
he disappeared around the side of the building. I waited, still
holding the phone, until I could no longer see him before turning
toward the door.

He never got a chance to knock; I had the door open by the time 
he was halfway down the hall. Once he reached the doorway, we 
simply stood and smiled at each other for several moments, before
I took his hand and pulled him inside.

I turned away from him to close the door, hesitating for only a 
moment before sliding the deadbolt and chain into place. Mulder 
was staring at me curiously when I faced his direction, but I 
smiled again and took his hand back in mine.

I walked through the apartment, leading him behind me, as I
turned off lights and generally shut the place down. I'd already
changed into shorts and a t-shirt for bed and was wrapped up in
my big terrycloth robe.

Mulder didn't question me or hesitate until I started to lead him
through my bedroom door. He balked then, again as I expected. 
"Scully ..."

Before he could say anything more, I filled him in. "This is very
simple, Mulder," I said. "I don't want to be alone, and you don't
want to leave me alone. My couch is too short for you, and you 
won't let me sleep there. So we will sleep in my bed, and we will
not be uncomfortable or awkward about it."

He couldn't argue much with that, so he didn't even try, just
nodded in agreement and gave a small smile. He followed me into
the room, pushing the door shut, and then dropped my hand to strip
off his jacket, belt, shoes and watch, placing them all neatly 
atop the shirt I'd left on the chair by the door. 

He started toward the bed, but I shot him a dark look as he 
approached. He took the hint, removing his jeans as well and
adding them to the pile.

After everything, I admit I was a little surprised that we weren't
really awkward about climbing into bed together for the first time.
He lifted the covers and slipped in, then opened his arms for me, 
and I slid back against his chest without qualms. 

His hands settled in safely, the right stretched out across the
pillows and the left on my waist, and we shifted for only a few
moments before finding the right spot. My right hand came up 
almost without my knowledge to rest atop his at my waist, and he 
automatically twined our fingers together. His thumb came to
rest on the inside of my wrist, where he could feel my heartbeat.

Then he let out a great sigh, his warm breath ruffling through my
hair, and murmured a "g'night, Scully," sounding half-asleep already.

I smiled as I closed my eyes.

Maybe this will be easier than we thought.

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

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