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From: gyrfalcon@delphi.com (Gerri Oliver)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: "Running" - Repost
Date: 14 Feb 1995 06:06:44 GMT
Organization: Delphi Internet Services Corporation
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Message-ID: <9502140103592.DLITE.gyrfalcon@delphi.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: bos1e.delphi.com
X-To: Gerri Oliver <gyrfalcon@delphi.com>

This is the sequel to "Alone" and the second in a trilogy by Phenyx one of
the talented writers of the E-Mail X-Creative Club of AOL. Please all
commments to her. There have been many requests for the first two parts,
and so I'm reposting them and posting the finale with them. The story is
available at ftp.                                        G.             
****************************************************************************
This story is the second part in a three part series.  Part one was titled
"Alone" so you may want to find that story and read it first.  It does
contain some important info. This second part is written all in Mulder's
point of view ( "Alone" was written from Scully's viewpoint).  Again, I
reiterate that by no means do I want Mulder and Scully to actually consumate
anything on the show.  But, hey, this is my story and I'm the author and
this is such a FUN topic to write about, I just couldn't resist.  So, read
on fellow Philes and enjoy!  E-mail me with your comments, concerns etc.

And as always... These characters are based on those created by Chris Carter
and Ten Thirteen productions.  They are used without permission.
No infringement of copyrights is intended. (yadda yadda yadda)

"RUNNING"
By Michele Blankenship
AKA Phenyx@aol.com
(12/27/94)

Saturday 3:45 pm.

  The man was running. His long arms and legs were pumping at a comfortable
speed. His shoes slapped against the concrete sidewalks with systematic
regularity. He wasn't sure how long he'd been running but he vaguely
realized that he would have to stop soon for water. His shadow was growing
longer. Sweat was now trickling down his face and his shirt had gotten wet.
He would dehydrate if he wasn't careful.
  Fox Mulder was only half aware of his surroundings. He had found that
perfect jogging rhythm. He had finally found that point at which he no
longer thought about anything. His mind was blissfully blank. There was
nothing but the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement and the heavy
regularity of his breathing.
  When he had first left his apartmentment this morning, he had been sure
that a long jog would only be torture. He had been so hung-over that bending
down to tie his shoes had caused waves of throbbing pain to course through
his head. The now soothing sound of his footsteps on the sidewalk had been
excruciatingly loud just a few hours ago. But he had kept running anyway.
His only other option was to go home and puke his guts out. Besides,
throwing up wasn't the answer. He'd tried that when he first woke up and it
hadn't made him feel any better at all.
  After a while, to Mulder it had felt like eternity, the pain in his head
had started to fade. His stride had gotten longer and breathing became
easier. When the perspiration began to roll down his face and trickle down
his back, his mind began to fill with unwanted images.
  Mulder shook his head a bit as that last thought formed in his head. But,
it was too late. The emptiness of his mind was suddenly filled again with
the memory of that tiny coffin lying near a small open grave, and the five
strangers standing around it.....
  
  The minister had been prattling on about something or other, Fox wasn't
really paying any attention. There was no comfort in a religion that he
couldn't believe in. Mulder's attention was drawn, not to the shiny little
casket, but the two figures standing on the opposite side.
  Kenneth R. and Miranda Lorraine Mulder stood quietly next to their
daughter's grave. Kenneth had stiffled a yawn and continued to straighten
his golden cufflinks. He then raked his left hand through his thick brown
hair distractedly. This was all just a formality to him. Ken had put his
daughter's death behind him years ago. The funeral today just made
everything official.
  Fox watched his father descreetly for a few minutes. The other man had
aged a lot in the past dozen years or so. His brown hair, though still
thick, was peppered with gray. His black suit coudn't quite hide the extra
weight that his father had gained. Although Fox hadn't seen or spoken to
his father in years, Kenneth hadn't said more than a half dozen words to
Fox since they had met again in the morgue a week ago.
  Miranda Lorraine, on the other hand had been quite vocal. She had arrived
at the lab last week, giving everyone "friendly advice". To put it more
succintly, she showed up and began giving orders. She wanted the tehnician
to be gentle while drawing her blood. She wanted to be *personally* sure
that the blood samples were all marked properly. She had needed to find the
shortest, *most efficient* route from the lab to the hotel.
Yadda, yadda, yadda. 
  Even standing at the side of a grave, Miranda Lorraine was perfection
personified. Her dark hair was pulled up into a bun so tightly than Fox
couldn't tell how long it actually was. He remembered that when he was
young, her hair hung down to her waist on the rare occasions when she would
let it down. Mulder found himself wondering if her hair was really still
that dark or if she was actually dying it now. Her dress was wrinkle free
and her make-up was flawless as usual.
  Miranda Lorraine had always needed everything to be just right. Which,
Mulder supposed, was why she could never understand her son. Mulder was the
first to admit that he had never been exactly "right". He had always been
just a little different, and she just didn't know how to deal with that.  
  Now, as he watched her from across the casket, he wondered how she felt
about Sam's death. How she felt about his leaving home. Did it bother her
that Fox never called? Did she ever talk to Kenneth when she was upset? Did
she ever get upset?  
  Fox was personally still furious at Miranda Lorraine. She had made a
rather cutting remark to Scully about how "..some working women have so
little time to worry about how they look." Mulder had known that his mother
hadn't *meant* to insult Scully but she had just the same. Scully hadn't let
the comment bother her at the time, but now, at the funeral, Scully had
obviously dressed a bit more carefully than usual.
  Scully was wearing a black suit. Mulder recognized the jacket but not the
skirt. The suit probably had matching pants that Scully wore more often.
Beneath the suit she wore a lacey white blouse with a high neck that covered
her throat. Scully had also pulled her hair up but she wore hers in loose
tendrils that hung down around her face. She even wore a bit more make-up
than was her norm. Frankly, Scully looked great.
  Mulder suddenly realized that Scully had noticed his appraissal. 
  She whispered "Are you alright?"
  Mulder nodded. He then leaned close and whispered "I don't think my mother
noticed how good you look 'for a working woman'."
  Scully shrugged "I don't care about *your mother*." She had smiled
encouragingly and Mulder returned his attention to the service.  
  He doubted that he would have been able to stand the funeral service at
all if Scully hadn't been there. Even now, Mulder wasn't sure what had upset
him more, seeing Sam's pathetic little remains, or seeing his distant and
uncaring parents.  
  Scully had been his strength. She had stood beside him mutely during the
entire ordeal. Later, during the flight back to D.C., Mulder had ordered a
few drinks and Scully had let him do it. She hadn't said anything about it
until they were nearly home. Even then, she had simply offered to keep him
company. But, Mulder had wanted to be alone and try to deal with things on
his own.
  
  Mulder dragged his thoughts back to the present. He knew that he should
really stop and rest. The muscles in his calves and thighs were cramping
and begining to throb. Mulder blinked a drop of sweat from one eye then he
looked around and tried to find some clue as to his current location.  
  He realized fairly quickly that he was only a few blocks from Scully's
apartment. He had subconciously led himself here he supposed. Mulder slowed
down to a brisk walk in order to cool down a little before reaching
Scully's place. Once he got there he would ask for a glass of water and
a ride home. He knew that she would oblige him. He could always count on
Scully.  
  It wasn't until after he had reached Scully's place and knocked on the
door that he bothered to wonder if she was home. After all, today was her
day off too. She could be visiting her mother or shopping or any one of a
hundred other things. But Mulder didn't have to wonder for long, because
just a moment later, the door opened.
  "Mulder!" she exclaimed in surprise.
  Mulder leaned against the door frame and asked "Can you spare a glass
of water for a poor wandering soul?"
  "Sure," she said "Come on in."
  Mulder followed her in to the apartment, grinning.
  "You look better today." Scully noticed.
  Mulder answered "That was you who took me home last night wasn't it?
I mean, I'd be really worried if a complete stranger took me home and put
me to bed."
  Scully grinned. "It was me, you lush." She looked away suddenly.
"What do you remember?" she asked surreptitiously.
  "I vaguely remember calling you. I think I bought you a drink too. After
that, not much."
  Scully nodded her head and smiled, dropping the subject.
  "I was just about to have some dinner. Care to join me? It's just soup and
sandwiches. No big deal to fill two bowls instead of one." she shrugged.
  "If your sure that it's no trouble. I'm going to wash up a little first."
he explained as he headed toward the bathroom.
  "Please!" Scully hollered back. "The soup won't be ready for a few minutes
yet and you are a little ripe, Mulder."
  Mulder smiled ruefully at that remark. Looking at himself in the mirror,
he couldn't disagree with her. His clothing was all plastered to his body
and his hair looked greasy. He peeled off his sweat shirt and the T-shirt
beneath it, tossing them both into the corner.
  "Hey, Scully?" he yelled, "I don't suppose you've got a shirt laying
around that I could wear do you?"
  "I'll check" he heard her muffled voice from the kitchen.
  Mulder then proceeded to scrub his upper body with a washcloth. He washed
out his hair and grabbed a towel from the shelf. He felt about a hundred
times better when he left the bathroom, towel still draped over his head.
  "It isn't much," Scully said, pointing toward a shirt lying on the
counter, "but it's clean and it should fit."
  Mulder picked up the jersey she had offered and held it up to look at the
image on the front. "The Redskins?" he complained. "You don't have anything
with the Patriots on it?" he teased.
  "Picky, picky. Beggars can't be choosers, Mulder."
  On the table was a bowl filled with salad as well as a plate with
sandwiches. Scully had set two places at the table so Mulder sat down at
one of them.
  Mulder couldn't resist teasing her, "Do I want to know where you got this
jersey?" he asked with a sparkle in his eyes.
  "None of your damned business ,Mulder. Have a seat, the soup is done." 
  "That's what I thought." he smiled ruefully as he sat at the table.
  "Do you always set the table when you eat?" He asked her while she
puttered around with the soup bowls.
  "Yeah. It's habit I guess."
  "And there is nothing quite so depressing as eating a meal straight out
of the box." he added.
  The look Scully gave him in reply said about a thousand things, Mulder
just wished that he knew what those things were.
  "Here" she said, "Eat." 
  Scully leaned across him to set down a hot bowl of soup. As she did so,
she happened to pass very near Mulder. She was so close, that for a moment
he could smell her scent mixed with that of the soup. Scully always smelled
like flowers and soap and baby powder. He had become quite accustomed to the
aroma of *her* over the past year so that it was nothing new to him.
However, today the scent brought with it an image. 
  Scully had moved back to the stove and was fetching the other bowl.
As a result, she didn't see Mulder staring at her or the stunned look on
his face.
  The image that suddenly formed in Muder's mind was powerful and amazingly
vivid. In his mind he saw himself sitting on the couch in his living room.
He had been so drunk. He couldn't think straight. He needed to sleep, but
he couldn't quite get his jacket off. For some reason his left hand just
wouldn't slip out of the arm hole. Then Scully had been there. Mulder had
realized that she was scolding him but he couldn't understand why. He had
only known that she was there and that she would make everything better. He
had lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. He had felt like he was on
a boat, the slow wavering of his surroundings had been very calming. After
a few minutes he had felt Scully's cool touch on his forehead and liked it.
He had simply wanted to hold her hand, to gain some reassurance that she was
there. He had wanted to be comforted. But a moment later, everything had
changed. He realized that he was kissing her, passionately. Some small part
of his brain had protested but only briefly. He had wanted to feel her lips,
her skin, everything. He had buried his face in her hair and let his hands
roam under her shirt. He had wanted her so badly, he had groaned with need
for her. That moment in time, when he had nuzzled against her neck and
massaged the tenderness of her breast, had seemed like hours to his alcohol
sodden brain. Then, he remembered nothing. He had woken up on his couch the
next morning feeling like he'd been hit by a truck.
  Now, Scully stood in the middle of her kitchen with her bowl of soup in
one hand. She was staring at Mulder, fear and concern obvious on her face.
  "Mulder? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
  "I...I.." He stuttered. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't remember
what had happened after they had kissed.  
  Scully set her bowl down and quickly came over to Mulder's side of the
table.
  "Mulder? You're scaring me. What is wrong?" She squatted on the floor
beside his chair and put one hand on his arm.
  Her touch was soft and tantalizing on his arm. Mulder flinched away from
her and stood up abruptly. 
  "I...I have to go." he babbled in panic. "I just remembered..I just
remembered that I... have to be somewhere. I have to go, really." Then he
turned and fled.
  Scully started to go after him, he heard her call,"Wait, I'll drive you.."
  He slammed the door behind him before she could finish her sentence. He
ran full speed down the stairs and onto the street. His panic gave his feet
wings and he ran blindly down the darkening street.
  After several minutes, Mulder was forced to stop in a small park. The sun
had set and the area was now dark. He leaned against a mailbox and gasped
for air.
  He wanted to cry. He was terrified that he may have single-handedly and
in one night, destroyed the most important thing in his life. Scully's
friendship meant more to him than anything he owned or anyone else he knew.
And now it could be over.
  He just couldn't remember what had happened and the possibilities
frightened him. *She didn't say anything about *it* his mind whispered
to him. Scully wouldn't mention something like that, he knew. But she HAD
asked him what he remembered from last night and she had seemed relieved
to hear his answer.
  Could they have made love without Mulder remembering any of it?
  *I doubt that I would have forgotten something like that.* his inner
voice answered. *Unless I wanted to forget.* 
  Dana would have stopped it before they could go too far. Mulder was sure
of that.
  *She may have tried* the little voice tormented. *But I am bigger than
she is*.
  The thought that he may have forced Scully to do something against her
will hit Mulder like a fist. His overly active imagination showed him the
scene all too readily. She would have protested gently at first, afraid to
hurt him. He could have easily thrown her against the cushions and torn her
clothing away. By the time she realized that she was in serious trouble it
would have been too late, Mulder would have had her. He imagined her crying
as she gathered her clothing and left his apartment. It would be just like
Scully to not mention it either. She would try to protect him from himself
and not let on what montrous thing he had done. But Mulder knew the monsters
that dwelt in his soul and he feared them.  
  Was he capable of such a thing? he asked himself.
  Though he tried to deny it, the dark part of his personality rose up and
answered *yes*.
  Mulder held tight to a park bench while he violently emptied the meager
contents of his stomach. When the vomitting stopped on it's own, he put his
finger down his throat and retched again.
  He finally collapsed onto the bench in a heap. He was drained both
physically and emotionally. He would have to ask Scully. He simply had to
know the truth.
  *The truth will hurt* his mind told him.
  But he could not deal with NOT knowing. The uncertainty of his actions
would surely drive him mad. If Mulder had done what he feared, Scully
wouldn't press charges, not against him. But Mulder knew that he would
never be able to live with himself. Even if she forgave him, Mulder would
never be able to forgive himself.    
  Tomorrow morning, he would have a long talk with Scully. He would find
out exactly what he had done. Tonight, he would have to decide on his
options.
  Mulder, anguished and defeated, dragged his exhausted form off the bench
and sullenly began the long walk home.
  
end.


