From: ldshupe@aol.com (LDShupe)
Date: 27 May 1997 22:27:31 GMT

THE SIMPLE ACT (1/1) by Lori
Rating: PG (tiny bit of adult language)
Category: Angst/Romance (sorta)
Spoilers: Gethsemane
Summary:  The events following the fourth season finale
Disclaimer:  These are not my characters, they are the property of Chris
Carter, et al, yada, yada, yada..
Author's note:  I have never done this before, so please e-mail any and
all constructive feedback, and please be gentle.
********************************************

Dana Scully opened the closet door  in  Fox Mulder's bedroom, and  felt
her eyes immediately fill with tears.   There was something so strangely
personal about seeing his neatly organized clothes all hanging there,
business clothes on one side and casual on the other, most of them so
familiar.  She pulled his black leather coat out of the closet for a
moment and held it in her arms, cradled almost like a baby.  The lump in
her throat ached.  She put her nose to the lapel of the coat and inhaled
deeply.  It smelled of leather, and faint cologne and  of Mulder.  She
felt  suddenly self-conscious and guilty and put the coat away.  She had 
never, in four years of knowing him, seen but a quick glimpse of his
bedroom, and had certainly not looked in his closet .  Strange that they
could have shared so much of their lives, and yet not have really shared
anything.   She reached out a shaking hand and touched the fabric of his
suits.  For a federal  government worker  he had  pretty good taste in
clothing, and obviously spent some money on  both his business and casual
wardrobes.  She suspected that the way he dressed had a lot to do with how
he looked.

Fox Mulder was  gorgeous.

Tall, athletic build,  well-toned and muscular.  A boyishly handsome face
with a  strong, prominent nose, expressive hazel eyes rimmed in long dark
lashes, sensuous lips and thick, dark hair.   He dressed like a
good-looking man, it was that simple.

Scully drew in a ragged breath, and wiped a hand over her face, but the
tears continued, and she  fought the urge to sit on his  neatly made bed
and sob.  Instead, she pulled a  charcoal suit from the closet that  
looked good on him and laid it on the bed.  It was so quiet in his
apartment, and she  couldn't help but feel like an intruder.  This needed
to be done;   Mulder needed a change of clothes for tomorrow.  She lifted
his black shoes from the floor of the closet and sat them  next to the
suit, slid the closet door shut, and headed for the dresser for a shirt. 
His bureau was so typical of a man's--nothing very personal displayed in
the way of photos or knick-knacks.  Just  a brush, a small  glass dish
full of  the change that gathered in his pockets all day, and his glasses.


 Immediately, an image of Mulder on the day they met flashed into her
mind's eye.  She had walked into the basement office that she  was to
share with her new partner, the man they had sent her to report on, and he
had looked up at her from his work, those incredible eyes gazing at her
from behind those glasses.  Dana's first thought about the man in front of
her, though involuntary, had remained to this day--what a beautiful man. 

 She considered taking the glasses with her,  but decided he didn't need
them,  and instead opened  the second drawer down on the hunch it was his
shirt drawer.  She was correct, and took a  brand new white shirt from the
drawer and closed it.  After  gathering  undergarments and socks,  she
needed to find him a tie.  She smiled when she saw his tie selection, all 
neatly laid out in a drawer.  There were quite a few that were tastefully
understated, yet Mulder always seemed to select the ones that tended to be
a bit on the loud side.  She pulled a conservative tie out and matched it
against the suit, then returned it to the drawer and picked out the
burgundy tie with the busy-ish diamond pattern on it that she had seen him
wear with this suit not long ago.  This is the tie he would want.

She stood back and surveyed the wardrobe laid out in front of her, and
felt hot tears burning  at the back of her eyelids again.  How would she
make it through the next  few days?  How could he do this to her, to
himself?  Over the last 24 hours, she had manufactured an image of him in
her mind's eye  of what he had gone through, and it broke her heart.  She
saw him sitting alone in his dark apartment, tears coursing down his
cheeks,  with the  haunted look of someone whose world had been turned
upside down,   and whose one last trusted friend in that world had taken
sides against him. She  wished she could wipe away the image of him sadly
crying , alone and devastated in those moments before he made the decision
that  had shattered her world forever.  She wished there was a way to turn
back the clock; to take back the things she had said and done, and to let
him know that he meant everything in the world to her.  To tell him that
they would work together , forever if need be,  to find the truth about
his sister and his past.  Instead, she had bitterly accused him of
believing lies and that her cancer was  given to her to make him believe
these lies.  She remembered the hurt look in his eyes at that moment, and
how his voice broke when he asked her, "What did this guy say to you that
would make you believe him...?"  then his stunned silence at her cancer
accusation before he turned and walked quickly away.  Their last words to
each other were angry ones,  and this cut her to the quick.   Tomorrow,
she would say all the things she should have said, *wished* she had said
before Fox Mulder decided that life was no longer worth living, and put a
bullet in his head.

*******************

The day of Fox Mulder's funeral was a perfect spring  day in late April. 
The cherry trees were in full bloom, the sky was  a startling blue in
contrast with the puffy white clouds, and a soft, sweetly-scented breeze
blew through the trees.  As an FBI agent, the federal government handled
much of his funeral arrangements and burial.  As his partner, Scully would
eulogize him today, as would his commander, Assistant Director Skinner. 
Despite her grief, Scully was also angry with how things had been handled.
 The local police had asked her to identify his body that night while he
still lay on the floor of his apartment.  She had  looked quickly before
turning away in horror and shock.  From there though, she was not allowed
to see him again.  His autopsy was off-limits to her--conflict of interest
they told her--and his body had then been cremated.  The autopsy results
were presented to her only after she loudly protested, and they were
simple: no drugs or alcohol had been found in his system, and the cause of
death was a single gunshot wound  to the head from his own FBI-issued
weapon.  The scene of his death had been cleaned up by the time Dana had
been allowed to enter his apartment to pick out clothes she thought he was
to be buried in.  She wondered; did they dress him in that suit before
cremating him?  Her head thumped dully with a headache brought on by lack
of sleep and food, and  a seemingly incessant amount of crying.  The ache
in her head though was nothing in comparison with the ache in her heart. 
All she had to do was think to herself "I will never see him again" and
her heart would leap with sorrow and pain, and tears would fill her eyes. 
She had never known so much agony, even when her sister and her father had
died, and  the hurt she felt surprised her a bit.   She had for so long
taken her feelings for him and pressed them down deep that now that they
were surfacing freely, she  couldn't help be startled at their intensity. 
 She could only hope that she could keep her composure during the funeral.
 She preferred to grieve privately, but knew that the words she planned on
saying for him today would lay her grief bare for all to see.  

Scully  stood in the sunshine at the cemetery next to Skinner, waiting for
the last of the mourners to arrive.    She saw his mother in the front,
but could not look at her.  Dana had spoken to her briefly at the church
to express her sympathies, and the woman had looked at her with the cold
eyes of someone who didn't care to hear a word Dana had to say.  

The church service had been brief.  The "official" part came now, here at
the cemetery, as those who worked with him as he "served his country" paid
respect.  Scully barely heard anything said, and tuned in only briefly
when she heard Skinner's voice break with emotion.  Someone in the crowd
was sniffling loudly, but it was not his mother  Dana noted .  It may have
been Frohike, one of Mulder's conspiracy-theory friends.   Mulder's own
mother doesn't seem to care whether he was alive or dead, she thought and
her heart broke again for this poor tortured man , and the empty life he 
must have led.  Am I the only one who cared truly for him? she wondered. 
Did he know  I did at all?

*************
Skinner stepped down, and Dana rose slowly and walked  to the podium.  
She stood up straight before the crowd, her copper-colored hair blowing
softly around her lovely face.  Her blue eyes  looked vacant and tired,
and as she moved her head slightly, unshed tears sparkled in her eyes. She
spoke softly, her voice rough with emotion.

"Fox Mulder was my partner, and he was my friend.  I spent nearly every
day of the last 4 years with him, and I thought I knew his mind and his
heart better than anyone... but I have  become  painfully aware that I did
not .  And... I don't think he knew my heart and mind either, because if
he did.."  Her voice broke.  She breathed deeply and continued. "he would
have known I loved him, and it might have been enough to keep him here." 
Her shoulders sagged , and began to  shake as she broke down.  Skinner
stood and put an arm around her to lead her from the podium, unable to
hide the pained look on his face.  Scully  whispered  "I'm sorry Mulder,"
and this last sad statement was picked up by the microphone so that all
there heard.  Agent Scully's admission of love for her dead partner
brought tears to nearly all eyes, but for one attendant, who  sat in a car
nearby,  it was devastating.  

The car door opened, and Frohike got in.  His face was stony as he looked
the backseat occupant in the eyes.  "You really should let her in on this.
 I  don't think you thought this through right."

Mulder could only look back at him with sad , wet eyes. If he spoke now,
he would face the same fate as Scully did on the podium.  And he was
afraid if he started crying, he may slip into hysterical sobbing and never
stop.  So he remained silent and looked away from Frohike.  Byers and
Langley climbed in the car at that moment, and  they drove away quickly,
leaving Mulder with the image of Scully standing alone at the cemetery, 
facing away from everyone to hide her crying, the breeze fingering through
her beautiful red hair. 

****************************

Two weeks had passed since his "funeral", and Mulder could not erase the
image of Scully at the cemetery, and the words she had spoken in front of
the crowd.   He wondered if he was terribly wrong in not letting her in 
on his plan to fake his death and work underground.  He had sat alone that
night  after she and he had argued that last time, and he had  agonized
over his decision in the hours before it was to all play out.  Even when
the "police" arrived, and Scully was called, he was still wavering on
whether he should be doing this.  The only thing that kept him on track
was the rationalization that she would be better off without him in the
long run; that with him dead, the  men who gave her the disease so that he
would believe the lie would give her the cure so that she may live.  He
had shed bitter tears that night before  Langley arrived with the  special
effects make-up  needed to make Mulder look as though he had shot himself
in the head.  Mulder knew Scully was his friend, and  he knew this would 
hurt her.  He also knew that the day after his "death", she had reported
to the ones who had made her his partner that his work, and basically his
life, was all a lie.  He wondered deep down in his heart how much of what
she reported she meant, and how much was for show; telling them what they
wanted to hear so that she would be able to continue her career with the
FBI in a much more respected and normal manner.  

In all his worrying about how his death would affect her though, he had
underestimated how it would affect him.  Now, in the time since she had
spoken as the service, his heart still ached fiercely for her.  He needed
to know for sure  that she was all right, and that her cure was on the
way.  And he needed desperately to see her face again , so that he could
remember her looking happier than she did at the cemetery.  

He sat in a car outside her condo, collar pulled up around his face and
baseball cap pulled down to shade his eyes, waiting for Scully to emerge
and go for her evening  run.  If he could just get a glimpse of her, he
could  move on with his work knowing she would be OK. The door opened
shortly, and she emerged in her FBI sweats, hair pulled back in a stubby
little ponytail, her face clean of make-up.  She stretched briefly on the
stairs, then trotted off towards the park on her usual route.  He watched
her run and felt a lump grow in his throat.  He had played her words over
and over in his mind .."he would have known I loved him", and pondered if
this statement was motivated solely by grief.  He drove past her and into
the park, where he could hide inconspicuously  in the shrubs near the
bench where she always took her break before jogging back home.  

He sat on the cool ground behind the shrubs, invisible to anyone in the
park.  The bench where she would sit was only 2 feet from him, and would
afford him a  profile at least of her beautiful face one more time.  She
jogged up at that moment, panting lightly, and stopped in front of the
bench.  The park was empty, and dusk was approaching rapidly.  She jogged
in place for a moment to cool  down,  got a drink from the nearby water
fountain, then collapsed onto the bench.  He could see sweat running down
her face before she brought  a sleeve up to swipe it away.  The sound of
her soft breath was audible through his leafy hiding spot, and he watched
her face intently, looking for a sign that she was all right; that the
sadness was gone from her eyes, and the dark circles vanquished.  What he
saw instead was her staring silently ahead, her face crumpling  with the
onslaught of fresh tears.  She cursed aloud as she began weeping.  "Damn
it!  Not again...not again.  Why did you do this to me Mulder?  Why did
you do this?"

He felt like a spy and a sneak and a jerk.  He could only  stay quietly
out of sight from  her, longing to touch her, and watch her weep again for
him, and curse himself because she apparently was crying again for the
umpteenth time since his death.  His heart ached, but when she  looked
towards the  dusky sky and spoke softly aloud again, he could not
continue.

"I love you and I miss you Mulder," she said in a barely audible,
childlike whisper.  "I'm dying and I don't have the strength to fight on
without you here.  I needed you..."  Her voice trailed off  and she
hunched over on the bench, weeping unashamedly in the park.  

*****************
As she sat sobbing on the park bench,  Scully began to feel someone
watching her.  Embarrassed to be caught sobbing alone in the park and
talking to the sky, she hastily wiped the tears from her face, faked a
sheepish grin, and looked up.  What she saw scared her more that anything
she had ever seen, and she sat back with a gasp.

"Scully..." Mulder whispered.

She tried to speak, and nothing intelligible would come from her mouth. 
It was him, or was it?  He stood in front of her, the setting sun glowing
behind him.  He wore faded jeans , sneakers and a green sweatshirt, a
baseball cap was clutched in his hand.  His hair was messy and hung down
on his forehead.   His eyes were full of tears and looked very green.  He
spoke her name again, and whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"Are you real?" she croaked, impatiently wiping her eyes.  She covered her
 mouth with her hand because she couldn't seem to keep it from hanging
open in astonishment.  Her eyes never left his, and when she saw the tears
start running down his cheeks, she  felt certain he was real.

"It's me...please don't hate me for this."  His voice was still barely
above a whisper.

She continued staring at him in amazement and bewilderment.  Her world was
spinning dizzily; she was  angry at him, she was hurt he could do this to
her, she was touched to see him weeping openly in front of her,  and she
was  afraid all of this was not real.  But as she stared at him, she had
no perception of anything else but his eyes looking into hers, and wasn't
aware that she was on her feet until she felt his strong arms wrap tightly
around her in a crushing hug.  She clutched him desperately, and felt the
strength leave her legs.  She could smell his warm skin and the faint
scent of the detergent used to wash his shirt. She could hear his heart
beating, and she could tell from how his body shook that he was crying.  
All she could do was squeeze him tighter and tighter until she thought her
arms would give out.  She heard her own voice saying his name over and
over.  He pulled away and looked at her, his face streaked with tears, his
dark eyelashes wet, and she felt a huge surge of desire for him.  He
smiled, and  she followed with a smile of her own.  A moment later his
lips were on hers and she felt weak. A soft, sweet, tender brush of his
lips against hers, then he looked at her again, his hands cupping her face
and  again he whispered, "I am so sorry Scully.  I wasn't thinking clearly
when I did this.  I thought I could work it alone.  I'm an idiot..."

She couldn't speak again; she could only gaze into his eyes, and touch him
to make sure he was real.  He leaned forward to kiss  her again, and
suddenly, she felt all strength leave her body, and the world went black.

*******************
Scully woke up in her apartment, lying on her couch.  It was dark outside,
and there were no lights on.  "Oh no....no...no" she moaned.  Then she
wanted to scream. It had all been a dream.  She had seen Mulder in the
park, held him, kissed him, cried with him...it wasn't real.  She picked
up a pillow from the sofa and heaved it as hard as she could in anger.  It
knocked a vase to the floor and it shattered with a somewhat satisfying
crash.  

"Scully!"  Mulder rushed into the living room with a  startled look on his
face, and watched fear jump into her face, and then relief.  

"Mulder," she breathed.  "I thought I had been dreaming!"

"No, " he smiled cautiously.

"How did I get here?  What happened?"

"You passed out.  I think me rising from the dead was a little more than
you could take after all I've put you through..."  he trailed of
sheepishly, waiting for her anger to kick in.  She was happy to see him
right now, but she would be mad soon, and he could only hope it would be
temporary.  At least for now, she seemed glad to see him...

"You bastard!"

He gritted his teeth; his grace period was over.

"You fucking bastard!  How could you do this to me?  Why would you do this
to me?  You put me through hell..."

"Scully, I'm sorry.  I can only apologize and hope you forgive me. 
Believe me when I tell you I thought I was doing the right thing.  I
thought you'd be better off in the long run if you didn't know what I was
doing."

"How could you think that?" she flared at him, reaching for the lamp to
shed more light on this fight.  "Why would you think I'd be better off if
you were dead?"

The look in his eyes broke her heart.  "I've never been good for you
Scully.  I've given you nothing but trouble, caused you nothing but
heartache...you were abducted, given this disease, and I have never done
anything but push you along on my quests. You are too good of a person to
tell me I was as asshole, you just kept coming back for more."  She
thought he was going to cry again, and she silently hoped he maintained
composure, because she was teetering very near emotional overload herself.
 One more tear from him would send her over the edge. "On the last day we
spent together, I realized that what I was doing wasn't just a lie, it was
destroying the only person in my life I care about."

"So the best way to show her how you care is to fake your death and not
fill her in?!"  She was seething with anger now.

"I should have really done it..."

She dropped her stiff, angry posture at this statement, and her voice
croaked "What?!"

He just looked at her, then looked away. 

"Are you telling me you think you really should have  put a bullet through
your head?  That you should be dead?"

"I can't do anything but cause you misery..."

Scully's anger was back in an instant.  She lashed out and slapped
him--hard--across the face.  She was crying from anger and desperation
that he would even think such a thing, let alone say it aloud where it
couldn't be taken back.  He looked at her blankly, and she slapped him
again.  

"Don't tell me this!  Don't tell me you should be dead instead of here
with me. I won't let you put me through this.  I love you too much to
watch you hurt yourself."  She realized what she had said at the same
instant that he did, and she held her breath in fear of what was coming
next.  "Oh no..." she moaned.  "Oh, don't Mulder. I..."

"Don't what?  Don't say 'I love you' back to you?  Don't let you be happy?
 Don't let you stop being pissed off at me?"  He moved to kneel before her
as she remained on the couch. "If you're serious...if you really love
me...."  he only gazed into her eyes, searching for truth.  Her face
crumpled and she began to cry again.

"Damn you, Mulder..."

"Scully, I love you too."  He pulled her into his arms and held her again,
as tightly as before. "Please, please forgive me."

"I do," she whispered.  "But please don't shut me out of your life
anymore."

He pulled back from her with a sad look on his face.  "I can't stay here.
I'm  dead.  You shouldn't know I'm alive--it just endangers you, and my
chances of doing what I set out to do in the first place."

"Mulder, we can work together to find the truth about your sister and your
past.  I --"

"That's not why I'm doing this,  Scully," he said softly.

"What? How could it be anything else?"

Her devotion to his causes made his heart ache.  He felt dangerously teary
again, and thought he probably hadn't felt this many emotions since
Samantha disappeared.  "I did this so they would cure you Scully.  If I'm
out of the way, there is no reason to keep you sick.  It's-"

Scully stopped his words with a kiss.  "We'll work together.  They don't
have to know you're alive or that I know it.  I want to be with you, and
help you find *your* truths Mulder."  She looked down, suddenly feeling
guilty and ashamed.  "I said some mean things to you that night, and I
don't know why.  I wish I could take them back."  She looked back up into
his eyes.  "I blamed myself for your suicide Mulder."

The pain on Mulder's face was obvious. "You see...I am *not* healthy for
you."

"You are my partner, and we will do this together.  There is no other way.
 I refuse to let you go.  And I will not believe the lie again.  *You* are
the one I trust, and we'll get there together."   She smiled at him, and he
bundled her into his arms again.  

As Fox Mulder held Dana Scully in his arms, he felt more alive than he
ever had.  And  the simple act of admitting to her that he loved her had
freed him.  He pulled away for a moment to press a tender kiss to her
forehead, then he squeezed her even tighter and made his silent wish; 
"let me have this one pleasure in my life--just this one thing--and I will
let all others go. Let me have her love.. please..just let me have this."


THE END