Sent: Friday, July 28, 2000

Title: Help
Author: Nadine :)
Email: (Yeah, please feed me back!!:)
Archive: Pleeze!! Just lemme know ok?
Category: V; episodic; UST; Scully POV
Spoilers: Drive
Rating: Well, since the story is clean and I haven't written down my
thoughts about Mulder while I watched that ep, it'd be no more than a
PG, or maybe PG-13.
Summary: After Crump's death, Scully watches Mulder drown in
Disclaimer: No, still the surf dude's, you know the drill.

Help (1/1)

It's over.

Patrick Crump is dead, and Mulder walks past me without a word, without
a single look even.

I don't blame him. He has been through a lot over the past hours, has
risked so much, has hoped, oh how he has hoped-- and now he

Or that's what he's telling himself. Logically he knows it is not his
fault, but the ever- accusing half of his soul which I've come to
believe is rooted deep in the essence of him, reminds him over and over
that he could have driven just a bit faster, could have reacted more
quickly, and the man would still be alive, the investigation not being
aborted without a result as it most likely will now.

And Mulder will be left with nothing but his guilt.

I sigh. I'm sorry for him. I'm sorry for my partner, my best friend
and-- well, my best friend. Any thoughts beyond that don't seem
appropriate right now.

I turn and look at him, standing just a few feet away, staring into
nothingness. Even from behind, his whole pose expresses a great deal of
self-disdain. Watching how he takes off his tie, folding it in his hand
without even looking, I think the next thing he's going to do is run up
and jump into the ocean, but that thought lasts only for a split second.

For I know he'd never do that. No, he'll willingly live through all
this, even stay awake at night if necessary, to accuse himself every
waking minute. That's his understanding of self-punishment.

My heart sinks at the thought, and all I want to do right now is to hug
him, tell him it isn't his fault, that he did everything he could,
comfort him. But is this the right moment? Would he accept it? Would he
know what I'm saying, or could I possibly just make it worse?

With all that on my mind, the second thoughts not nearly as strong as
the one primal urge, the California sun relentlessly shining down on me,
making my skin feeling burnt, I begin to walk up to him, seeing him not
moving as I reach him, but knowing he senses me.

As I am standing behind him, I don't hesitate before reaching out and
wrapping my arms around his waist, moving close to him, my belly coming
to rest against his butt, once again reminding me of how small I am
beside him.

And I just stay like that. *We* stay like that; I can smell him, sweaty
and exhausted through his clothing, feel him relax against me, his
breathing changing, and I contently sense his acceptance, his
appreciation. I close my eyes and tighten my hold of him, not caring
about the looks of the officers around us. They can look if they want--
it's been a while since I stopped caring about displaying the intimacy
between us in public, since I stopped being afraid of this kind of
sexuality that we have. I only know this is right, this is helping him--
and me.

We stay like that for a while, just him and me, before we leave for D.C.


Like it? Hope you do!! :)