TITLE: Vitality AUTHOR: Vivian EMAIL: wakwekobi64@hotmail.com SPOILERS: Not a single one. TIMELINE: The good ol' days. CLASSIFICATION: S KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship ARCHIVE: Absolutely - just let me know, please. DISCLAIMER: All these characters belong to Fox, 1013 & Mr. Carter. No infringement intended. SUMMARY: Sometimes everyone needs a refresher course on who they are. FEEDBACK: Treasured, re-read, and responded to at wakwekobi64@hotmail.com XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The rumors are true, Scully thinks as they drive through the winding hills of Vermont. New England is indeed beautiful in the fall. Despite the fact that it is slightly past peak, the foliage is still gorgeous, though much of it is now on the ground. She wonders if Mulder hand-picked this case just for the scenery. She can't fault him; after only a day they have wrapped up the "mystery" of the disappearing and reappearing school bus, and the case required little more than a few interviews and some logical deduction to solve. October in Vermont is lovely, and a welcome relief from paranoia and conspiracies. She turns to ask Mulder to 'fess up and notices him rubbing neck in weariness. She knows he didn't sleep well the previous night - she'd heard his TV through the motel's walls at three in the morning. "Mulder, I could drive," she says, and he shrugs off the offer. "Scully, think of it as living on the edge. You drive the way you live; precisely, carefully, and methodically. With me at the wheel we get the thrill of danger and the unexpected," and, as if to illustrate his point, he steps harder on the gas pedal so the car shoots forward amidst a swirl of leaves. She opens her mouth for a rebuttal, but abruptly closes it when she realizes, appalled, that tears are welling in her eyes. Is that what he thinks of her? She quickly turns her head toward the window, and Mulder drives on in silence. Apparently he expects no reply to his comment. That very fact stings her more than if he'd uttered the words in anger. A well-aimed barb can be dismissed. Frustration and irritation lead inevitably to such moments. It is his matter-of-factness that shakes her. She spends the rest of the drive in silence, hoping Mulder doesn't notice anything. Eventually he pulls off onto a side road and heads toward their motel. They'd managed to find a charming little establishment, just off the beaten path. Because of this, and the lateness of the season, it is not crowded. Scully is especially glad of that fact now. She wants nothing more than to retreat to her room and lick her wounds in private. She is certain she is being oversensitive and ridiculous. Nevertheless, she feels an ache she can't quite name at Mulder's assessment. "We're here," he announces unnecessarily, as he pulls onto the gravel drive. The late afternoon sun highlights the brilliant orange, yellow, and scarlet hues that remain on the trees surrounding the building. When Scully steps out of the car she feels the autumn chill creeping up underneath her coat from the ground. She notices there are even fewer cars than the day before. A groundskeeper, apparently taking advantage of the fact, rakes leaves on the large lawn in front of the motel. The only other sound is the breeze that ruffles through the trees, and faint bird calls. She would like to linger for a moment and soak up the peace of the moment, but instead makes a beeline for her door, hoping to avoid talking with Mulder. He has a spectacular knack for missing the signs when she needs him to find them, and unerringly picking up on any distress when she most wants to indulge in avoidance. Sure enough, he calls out to her just as she reaches the door. "So, whaddya say? Dinner in about an hour? That ought to give us time to finish up our reports... We could go to that Inn we saw earlier." She turns and nods instead of speaking, still unsure of her voice. He frowns, though, obviously dissatisfied, and begins walking towards her. "Is everything all right, Scully?" he asks, his voice slightly tinged with concern. Her dignity is rescued when the groundskeeper starts a large leaf-blower. The roar of the machine drowns out any chance for her to answer. She fakes a bright smile and nonchalant shrug, and quickly unlocks the door. Turning, she waves at him. Though he still looks somewhat skeptical, he jerks his chin in response, and holds up his watch, reminding her of their appointed dinner time. When Scully is alone, securely locked behind her door, she sits heavily on the bed and spends a full five minutes berating herself for her foolishness. It comes as a surprise when it suddenly dawns on her to wonder how it happened that she now stands in judgment of herself for feeling emotional. As if indulging in a moment was always a bad thing. She forces herself to relax, allows herself to be a baby about it, and cries a little. She mourns for a self she didn't even know she'd lost. Her uncharacteristic bout of tears makes her feel a little better, and she lies back on the bed and prepares for some serious introspection. She is certain that she would not be so stung by Mulder's comment if there wasn't some truth to what he'd so casually said. It takes a surprisingly short amount of time to reach a conclusion. The seeds were sown when she was first assigned to the X-Files. Through medical school and her FBI training she'd had to present herself seriously to make up for being a small woman in a big man's world, but the effort had not encroached into her private life. It was only when she'd joined Mulder in the basement that it had become pervasive, and apparently evolved into an actual personality trait. She'd become more solemn to add weight to Mulder's raison d'etre. In the beginning she'd felt she had to remain serious, scientific, and precise to present logical arguments to his wildly imaginative theories. Yes, his ideas could be considered ridiculous, but it was usually he laughing at her instead of the other way around. Naturally, this only fueled her desire to make him see the light. In time, the reasons for her demeanor had changed; she'd had to take on the logical side of the argument and present a front that if not united, was at least not laughable, to the Powers That Be. *She* knew that Mulder's flights of fancy and leaps of logic hid both his passion and his brilliance, but realized that others did not view him the same way. His quest had become hers as well, and she needed to protect both it and him anyway she could. How ironic, she thinks, that it is Mulder's very quirkiness and out-there mentality which has increased her own gravitas. This is all well and good to have it figured out, she tells herself, but what are you going to do about it? Nothing, she answers herself sadly. Perhaps there is no help for it. Like aging, it is most likely a process that cannot be reversed. Leave it alone, and don't let Mulder know you're bothered, she lectures herself. But it is the very first thing she thinks of when she answers his knock thirty minutes later. He has changed, as she has, into slightly more casual attire. When he breezes into the room she is taken aback, for a moment, by his presence. This is not an unusual occurrence. There is something infectious and electric about Mulder that occasionally makes her feel as if she is just bobbing along in his wake. She turns to get her coat and hide another sudden rush of tears. Mentally kicking herself for not letting go of the matter, she can't help but wonder if Mulder only sees her as a dry, spinsterish, professor type, while she has always been beguiled by his quiet magnetism. She feels a hand on her shoulder, and suddenly Mulder's voice is in her ear. "Scully, what's the matter?" he asks quietly. She chuffs a laugh to let him know that it's nothing, really. He doesn't buy it, and gently turns her to face him. "What?" he asks again, and his eyes demand an answer. She sits on the bed, deflated, and after a moment he joins her and patiently waits for her to speak. "Mulder, is that what you think of me?" she finally asks, and notices she has not kept her tone as detached as she'd planned. He looks at her, and perplexity creases his brow. "Do I think what?" he asks. "That I live my life 'precisely, carefully, and methodically'," she quotes, and his frown deepens. She knows the hurt is plain in her voice, and Mulder's response shows he's aware of it too. His mouth opens and closes several times, and Scully would laugh at a speechless Mulder if the circumstances were different. "I - I - I meant that as a compliment Scully," he finally offers, and she can see the distress that he's hurt her evident in his face. "I was making fun of *me*." The sincerity in his tone adds guilt to her already overloaded psyche. Clearly he doesn't understand what he's done wrong. She can't blame him for that; she doesn't exactly understand it herself. "Forget it," she tells him, and rises from the bed. "No, wait," he pulls her down next to him again. "What's going on here, Scully? I'm sorry if I hurt you by what I said..." She cannot deny that his words had pained her, so she tells him instead, "You've done nothing wrong, Mulder, I'm just being irrational." She glances sideways at him. "Hormones?" she offers hopefully. He doesn't buy it. "Scully, tell me what I've done," he entreats. "Nothing," she reiterates, and laughs a little, inviting him to chuckle with her at her foolishness. "I'm just being silly." "You're never silly, Scully," he tells her, and the statement manages to reopen the wound. "Well, that's just it Mulder. Am I boring? Rigid? Dry? So routine that I'm stultifying?" She fakes another laugh in a vain attempt to coax Mulder away from seeing how much this bothers her. He looks at her in stunned silence for a moment, then throws his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him. "Scully," he begins, his voice gravelly with earnestness, "you have never, ever, once bored me with anything you've done or said." He squeezes her for emphasis. "How can you even think that?" His voice rises with outrage on the last question. She shrugs, miserably aware that all her attempts to make this matter seem small have failed. "Scully, when I said you're not silly... all I meant was that I always take you seriously, and everything you say carries weight with me, that you have an astonishing brain, and I care about what you think even if you're being... emotional, or even whimsical." She considers what he's said without responding. He waits a moment, and she can sense his uncertainty. She is in no position, however, to provide support right now. She usually manages to hide any neediness, but today Mulder has already seen right through her. "And what I said earlier," he finally goes on, "it really was a compliment. I admire the way you think. I wish I could think like that. And I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have someone by my side who *does* think that way. It doesn't mean I believe you're not full of life and deeper feelings. You amaze me every day with your compassion, your depth, your integrity, and your dignity." Scully sneaks a look at him again, trying to judge whether he's just telling her this to soothe her, or whether this is one of those rare moments of openness about their partnership. When he turns his head toward the wall and clears his throat before he continues, she knows for sure. "You're the yin to my yang, the flim to my flam, the give to my take, the peanut butter to my jelly." Mulder laughs, a little, but his voice has deepened in a way that betrays the depth of his feelings. She smiles, this time genuinely, and returns his laugh. She likes the way he sees her, and is relieved that perhaps their views are not so disparate as she'd thought. "Okay?" he asks, nudging her with his shoulder. When she tips her head in acquiescence, he cocks his toward the door. "Let's get out of here." He rises and grabs her hand, pulling her up beside him. As they exit her room, she spies the pile of leaves the groundskeeper has left on the front lawn. Just before they reach the car she stops suddenly, and Mulder turns to look at her. "Scully?" he asks, and she can tell that he's concerned that she's lapsed back into her earlier melancholy. She stares at him, and he steps back a bit. After a beat, he tilts his head at the expression on her face. "What?" he asks, a smile quirking the corners of his lips. Scully doesn't answer, and instead considers her next move. It only takes a moment to realize she is thinking too much. It has been years since she acted precipitately. She has obviously lost the hang of it. Better late than never, she thinks, and begins running. A burden has been lifted, and buoyed by her own renewed sense of self and Mulder's faith in her, she feels as light and free as a child. Behind her she can hear Mulder call her name once, then all sound is lost as the cold evening air rushes past her ears. When she reaches the object of her desire she leaps without looking and feels an exhilaration that is almost foreign. It has been far too long since she's felt this way. When the leaves close over her head, Scully is sharply reminded of her childhood by the distinct smell of her surroundings. She inhales deeply, and wonders what Mulder must think of her now. There is definitely no dignity involved in jumping into leaf piles. Naturally, she doesn't have to wonder for long - she hears Mulder's whoop just before the thump that announces he's joined her. Their breathless laughter mingles underneath the pile. After a minute he begins crawling and finds her in the morass of maple leaves. He pulls her to him for a quick, fierce hug before they sit up. She feels childish, but cannot control her laughter at the sight of a leaf and twig-covered Mulder. He laughs, too, as they attempt to brush the debris from themselves. When they notice the groundskeeper near the office, staring suspiciously at them, it only serves to increase their mirth and they beat a hasty retreat to the car. A half an hour later, at the Birch Lane Inn, Scully stifles a snicker when she notices a dry leaf still clinging to the underside of Mulder's sleeve. Ostensibly absorbed in the menu, he gives her a kick under the table. Her giggle becomes full-fledged, and the waiter looks at her enquiringly. At the sound Mulder looks up from his menu and gives her a slow wink. A warm glow settles over her; it is astonishing to think that only a few hours ago she was regretting the path her life had taken. How can she regret any of it? Especially this. ____________________________ END AUTHORS NOTE: Autumn was in the air today. Like Scully, I just couldn't resist... This story brought to you by the letter 'V'.