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Value & Honor by Forte (Forte1354@aol.com) Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc. AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I posted Chapter 1, I wrote that Value & Honor would run about 250K. I'm afraid that that estimate was too low. At this point I would say that V&H will total about 350K. I can assure you that this story is outlined in detail, and I know exactly where I'm going with it (too bad Mulder and Scully don't). I underestimated how much the story would lengthen when I filled in all the little details. In any case, I just wanted to let you know that the ride is going to be longer than I first expected. Thanks for sticking with me, and with them. :) ******************************************************************** - Chapter 9a - ******************************************************************** Along the Potomac River Washington, DC Saturday, 12:56 p.m. Mulder approached the empty bench along the Potomac, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of Scully. Nope, not yet. He'd parked in the garage at the Hoover Building and had considered going up to the bullpen to see if she was still there, but had decided against it. She'd wanted -- needed -- her privacy while working on the report for Kersh, and he was going to respect that need. So he'd walked directly to their bench instead. =Their= bench? Better be careful to not say that in front of Scully. Can't imagine how she'd react to that. She might get pissed at him, translating his possessiveness of the bench into possessiveness of =her=. (Not that she'd really be off the mark.) But even worse, she might laugh at him, and not in a good way. <"You should tell her, Mulder. And soon. What the hell are you waiting for?"> Frohike's parting words rang in his ears. Well, that was the question of the hour, wasn't it? Maybe the question of his entire lifetime. And he'd just answered it. He kept his mouth shut about his feelings for Scully because he wasn't sure how she would react. No, that wasn't right, was it? <"Come on, Scully, you can't tell me that you didn't know that already. Just a variation on a theme you've heard before."> When he'd said that the night before, gesturing with his eyes towards the hallway outside his apartment door, she'd smiled, but... that was all. In fact, she'd run away, in her Scully way, to make the ice pack for his head. Why did she do that? Why did she avoid discussing how they felt about each other? He knew she probably loved him. After all these years, it had to be more than just tolerance, right? And he was pretty sure that she knew he loved her. Most partners, especially those with a bullet wound to the head, would not have gone off to the Antarctic to rescue her. She was a smart woman; she'd have figured out that much. He just didn't know if she realized the kind of love he felt for her. Hell, he wasn't sure if =he= could categorize it. His feelings for Scully went far beyond the love he remembered having for Phoebe or Diana. Of course he loved Scully, and not just in a friendly, partnerly way. But he liked her, too. Respected her. Trusted her. Being with her just felt... right somehow. Comfortable. Like he was where he was supposed to be. Like everything would turn out okay as long as she was nearby. And on the flip side, he knew how terrified he was each hellish time she had been missing. Terrified not just for her, and the pain and suffering she might endure, but for himself. For being without her. It was unthinkable. And if he told her, what would she say? Would it scare her? Did she feel the same way? What if her love for him was just that friendly, partnerly kind? Could she be avoiding the topic to spare his feelings? Nope, too scary to contemplate. A truth too scary to face. Right now, things were just fine the way they were. Don't ask, don't tell. Status quo. Yup. That was the way to go. At some point an opportunity might present itself on a silver platter, like in his hallway, but he wasn't going to push it. He could scare her away, lose everything he had with her, if he did, and he wasn't going to risk it. He could wait for that silver platter. Of course, that might not be until sometime in the middle of the next century, but... All right, enough of that. She's going to be here any minute, and you can't have some forlorn look on your face when she gets here. Find something else to think about. He settled near one end of the wooden seat and placed the lunch bag about two feet away from him, hoping it would send the desired signal to anyone walking by. I'm waiting for someone. Don't even think about sitting here. Go away. Mulder gazed out over the Potomac at the Jefferson Memorial. Dozens of tourists were there, which was to be expected on a beautiful November Saturday. It had been a while since he'd last taken in this view, since they'd last met here, hadn't it? Funny how his memory branded it "their" bench after all this time. But then Scully had called it -- what, the =usual= bench? -- so didn't that mean it held a place in her memories, too? He wondered what kind of a humorous answer he should give her if she asked "Is this seat taken?" as she had when they'd been working on the Flukeman case. The Flukeman case. <"You may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I still wouldn't change a day. Except for that Flukeman thing, of course."> Her loyalty was amazing. Just one of the things he loved about her. < Stop that! > An unfamiliar feminine voice interrupted Mulder's thoughts. "Emily, please don't pick things up off the ground. It's dirty." Mulder turned his head in the direction of the voice. Emily? A woman stood on the path nearby with her hands on her hips, her back to him, facing a little girl kneeling in the grass. The child had a ponytail of dark brown hair, the same color as the woman's, and bangs that covered her forehead. She appeared to be about four years old. The same age another Emily would be if... "Is this money, Mommy?" The girl held up something metallic, perhaps a bottle cap. "No, sweetheart, it's garbage. You're a big girl now, Emily, and you should know better than to pick things up like that. Now put it down and let's go, please. Daddy's waiting." She extended her hand to her daughter, who dropped the bottle cap. The girl stood and took her mother's hand, a big grin on her face. They turned in Mulder's direction to continue down the path, and he could see that the mother was quite pregnant, at least six months along. Trying to be unobtrusive, Mulder turned his gaze back toward the Potomac as the pair walked by. When they passed, he turned his head to continue watching as they walked away. His eye caught a familiar face coming from the opposite direction, about twenty yards away. Scully. < Turn off the path > he silently begged the mother. < Go somewhere else. Don't let Scully see, don't let her hear... > ******************************************************************** Scully walked briskly down the path, dodging joggers and in-line skaters. She lifted her wrist to glance at her watch. Just about one o'clock; almost there. As she lowered her hand, she passed it over her stomach. She hadn't eaten in almost six hours, and the FBI coffee was burning a hole through her. Maybe she should have taken Mulder up on his offer of lunch, even though finishing the report for Kersh had left her with no appetite. As she rounded a bend she could see Mulder sitting on the bench. In fact, he was looking in her direction, although not at her. What was it that held his attention? A runner coming in the opposite direction dodged some gravel on the path and brushed hard against Scully as he passed her. Still walking, she turned her head to frown at the man. He called "sorry" over his shoulder, slowing only a fraction. Scully returned her gaze to the path, making sure she wasn't about to collide with anyone else, massaging the shoulder that had been jarred. When she looked up again, Mulder was staring directly at her. Even from twenty yards away she could see the concerned look on his face. < Don't worry, Mulder. He was an inconsiderate jogger, nothing more than that. > "Emily, I just said =don't= pick things up off the ground!" Her ear caught by the all-too-familiar name, Scully nearly stopped short at the sight twenty feet in front of her. A small girl squatted at the edge of the path, pulling at -- her mother's? -- hand, reaching toward the grass for something unidentified. The mother used her free hand to rub her pregnant belly absently as she watched her daughter. Her face was a combination of exasperation and affection. "Emily, I know that there are lots of interesting things in the grass, but Daddy is waiting, the baby is kicking, and Mommy is losing her patience. For the last time, let's go!" The little girl stood, grimacing and rolling her eyes in the way that only a child can when mimicking an expression they've seen on an adult. Scully was still walking, but without realizing it had slowed her pace to absorb the exchange between mother and daughter. As she neared them, she caught the mother's eye and gave her a small, sad smile of -- understanding? Admiration? Regret? Glancing at the child again, Scully felt a surge of panic. The girl resembled some of the victims whose autopsy files she had been reading an hour earlier, and now those grisly files had a connection to the name Emily. < Don't be ridiculous, > she chided herself. < There are thousands of little girls in the world with brown hair in a ponytail. There's no real resemblance to any of those victims at all, and this is not =my= Emily. > Still, she couldn't stop the painful thoughts that leapt into her mind. Could this little girl be the next life extinguished by another Jack Morse, or sacrificed on some twisted Consortium altar? Did this Emily's parents have any idea of how easily they could lose their precious daughter? It angered Scully to think they didn't know. How could they be so foolish, so trusting, to =not= know? How dare they be so naive? Scully's rational side rebuked her again. Her parents aren't the foolish ones, Dana. It's you. They don't deserve your anger. And it's not really anger, anyway; it's jealousy. You're jealous of what they have, of what you can't have, and you know it. She flushed with guilt and shame at that realization, and fought to keep her lower lip from trembling. By now, Scully had turned her gaze back to the path, leaving the mother and daughter behind. She realized that her hand had returned to her stomach, which now felt more unsettled and fiery than it had before. Her short-term memory flashed back to the sight of Emily's mother caressing her swollen belly; Scully dropped her hand to her side as though the burning coffee had burst through to scorch her palm. < Enough! > she told herself, taking a deep breath. < Mulder can't see you like this. > But as she approached the park bench, she looked up to find Mulder staring at her with a stricken expression. ******************************************************************** - end Chapter 9a - Coming soon: Chapters 9b and 9c! ******************************************************************** Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com.
