TITLE: Full Circle (1/1) AUTHOR: Avalon EMAIL: avalon@fuse.net RATING: PG-13 for language SPOILERS: Post-ep for "Never Again." Blink and you'll miss the reference to "One Breath." CATEGORY: SMSR, a little UST for fun KEYWORDS: Mulder Scully romance DISCLAIMER: Chris made them; I made this. No infringement intended. FEEDBACK: Always appreciated and answered. ARCHIVES: Gossamer, Spooky's, Ephemeral, anywhere really, but if you aren't one of those, please let me know so I can come visit. SUMMARY: Over pizza and a Ouija board, Mulder and Scully reconcile their shaky partnership. WEBSITE: http://home.fuse.net/ktvanden/index.html AUTHORS NOTES: This is a response to a challenge issued on the IWTB fanfic list. Um, this is so lame, but I guess this one's for me, since I issued the challenge. More notes at the end. Full Circle (1/1) The message light on his answering machine flashed its little red dot at him as he pushed his apartment door open with his elbow. Dodging shoes and magazines strewn across the floor, he crossed to his desk and stabbed at the button, balancing the pizza box he was carrying and idly flipping through his mail. Nothing but bills, and the latest issue of The Lone Gunman newspaper. He grimaced at the picture on the front page, a grainy shot of the three cohorts standing on a beach somewhere, Frohike holding up something slimy that resembled either a dead jellyfish or the remains of a giant's sneeze. ALIEN FETUS FOUND NEAR CAPE COD, the headline screamed. Mulder tossed the paper aside as the machine kicked on, and Scully's voice filled the silence. "Mulder, it's me. I need you to come over. And bring that pizza that you have with you right now." The line clicked off, and the tape began to rewind. He smiled a little. She knew him too well. It had been a hard day. They had barely spoken to each other since this morning when he had been such an asshole to her, making that snide comment about getting the Yankees emblem tattooed on his ass. He had seen the hurt flash in her eyes before she dropped them from his, and he had felt her protective armor slam into place, the precious suit that she had slowly been shedding piece by piece returning in one sweeping motion, one stupid comment he had been unable to bite back. He had regretted it instantly. Even though he was angry with her, angrier than he had ever been, he still regretted it. And he had every right to be angry, didn't he? She had put herself in danger, had come very close to being victimized herself, and for what? Some loser with no future, a man who was teetering on the brink of insanity and self- destruction, a man who had cracked under the stress of his life and lashed out in violence. A man who sounded a hell of a lot like Fox Mulder. He pushed that thought aside, dropping his mail onto the desk. He set the pizza box on top of it and loosened his tie. She had looked so small, so frail, when he found her in that Philadelphia hospital. She was sitting up in bed, her face as pale as the gown they had given her to wear, and she stared out the window next to her as the steel gray sky melted into raindrops. Her breakfast, buttered toast with grape jelly, lay untouched on the tray in front of her, and he could smell the heavy odor of coffee grounds and burnt breadcrumbs. It almost hid the antiseptic hospital scent that he had grown so accustomed to over the years, and the recognition that he was once again in a hospital, at her bedside, slid home in his brain, leaving a hot streak across his mind. She was right. What the hell were they doing with their lives? What was it she had said? It might have made a catchy Paula Abdul song, but it wasn't any way for two people to really live. He shed his office clothes and stepped into a pair of jeans, buttoning up the fly as he turned it all over again in his mind. He had almost blundered into the thick of it, too, as they sat on opposite sides of his desk this morning. She had looked at him, locked him in her melancholy gaze, and said, "Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life." "Yes, but it's my life, too," he had answered. Well, almost answered...he had swallowed the last part of the sentence before she heard it. Before he threw it all out on the desk between them, before she had a chance to soundly reject him. But it was gnawing at him. He fished a black turtleneck out of the pile of laundry in his chair and pulled it on, biting at his lower lip as he thought. Where did he fit into her life? There was a part of him, a very large piece of Fox Mulder, that couldn't bear the idea of Dana Scully having any area of her life that didn't include him. Selfish bastard that he was, he was at least perceptive enough to realize that his anger didn't track. Yes, Scully had been in danger, and he had been concerned. But why was he so goddamned pissed at her? his mind hissed at him. He shook his head to clear it, but the word wouldn't go away. He had tried to tell himself he was angry because she had jeopardized the case she was investigating, that she had put their work in danger. The truth of the matter was, he was angry because she had been on a date with that man. According to the police report and her own comments in the file he had shoved into the drawer today, she had spent the night at that bastard's apartment. He didn't want to think about the implications of that. Jealous? Hell yes, he was jealous. That one simple word didn't even seem to encompass the enormity of what Mulder was feeling. Somehow, he had to make it right. This afternoon in the basement had been unbearable. He couldn't stand the idea of Scully with another man, but the thought of her leaving the X-Files was even worse to him. He could live with the fact that Scully wanted a personal life...he had to, if that would make her happy. He wanted her to be happy. And he wanted her with him, no matter what the cost. He would make it up to her. She wanted him to come over, something he would never have imagined after the miserable day they had spent together. He would make sure she didn't regret the invitation. He grabbed the pizza box and the souvenir he had picked up in Memphis and headed for the door. * * * He had to let himself into her apartment with his key. She didn't answer his knock, obviously not hearing it over the drone of the REM song on the radio. She had the stereo turned up louder than he had ever heard it, and he winced a little as he crossed the living room. He rolled the volume dial between his fingers. "Scully?" he called, moving into her kitchen and setting down the slim boxes he carried. "Hey." Her voice came from behind him, and he turned. She was dressed in a gray sports bra and black stretch pants, the front of her top soaked darker from sweat. Her cinnamon hair was pulled away from her face, and Mulder was struck by how young she looked. It reminded him of that first day she had strolled into his office, fresh and smiling. Scully rarely smiled anymore. He wanted that to change; he didn't realize how badly he missed her smile until the thought occurred to him. "Sorry I didn't hear you come in. I was treadmilling in the bedroom." He cocked his head and tried on a lopsided grin for her. "Exercising before the pizza? Does that cancel it out or something?" She chuffed out a breath and wiped the back of her hand across her brow. "You hungry?" She shook her head, and he watched in fascination as a bead of her perspiration clung to a strand of her hair and finally fell. She looked beautiful. "Let's put it in the oven for a while. I need to grab a shower now." "No you don't, Scully. You're fine. Let's eat." He backed up to her counter and turned when he bumped into it, reaching up to get out a pair of plates. "I ordered it before you called, so it has pepperoni on it. You'll have to pick it off." "As usual," she said mildly. She reached and slid the pizza box to the table. Then she made a tiny noise in her throat, one Mulder could have almost mistaken for a chuckle. She was holding the cardboard carton that had been hidden beneath their dinner. "Mulder! You brought a Ouija board?" He set the plates down next to her with a smile. "That's not just any Ouija board, Scully. I'll have you know that is a genuine Elvis Talking Board, direct from the revered gates of Graceland itself." She snorted. "So you bought this to talk to Elvis?" "No, Scully. Everyone knows Elvis is still alive." She blinked at this comment, but he had been hoping for a smile. "I bought it as the perfect souvenir for us." She seemed to still then, the box tilted into the light so she could get a better look. "Us?" she asked without raising her eyes. "I thought we could keep it in our office. You know, for those times when we need a little extra help on a case." A faint smile touched her lips then, and he swallowed hard. He had been very careful to call it their office, not his, and he could see that she had picked up the significance of it. He moved next to her and started putting slices of pizza on their plates, satisfied for the moment that he had connected with her. He didn't notice that she had opened the carton until she spoke. "Mulder, I hate to tell you this, but I think you got ripped off." "Why?" "Well, part of this board is missing. The planchette. You can't play without it." He stared at her, an amused look on his face. "The planchette, Scully?" "Yeah. You know, the little triangular piece that moves around the board to spell out the answers. It's called a planchette." "I had no idea you were such an expert on Ouija boards." He was laughing, and he was pleased beyond belief when she clicked her tongue at him. He supposed that was as close to a laugh as he was going to get. "Well, if you must know, I have a very long and sordid history with Ouija boards." "Really?" He was intrigued, even though he kept his tone light. "Do tell, Scully." She pulled the board itself out of the box and set it on the table. "Well, this may surprise you, but my sister Melissa used to have one." "Melissa Scully? Using a Ouija board? I am dumfounded." She shot him a reproving look and poked at her pizza. "We used to stay up late at night when we were in high school, asking it all kinds of questions." Mulder watched her as she picked up her plate, carried it to the counter, and placed it in the microwave. The infamous new tattoo on her lower back stood out in stark contrast against the ivory of her skin, and Mulder couldn't help staring at it as she punched the buttons on the little oven. A snake eating its tail. What could that tell him about Scully, about her feelings and her life? He realized it was his turn to say something. "Uh, questions? What kinds of questions?" The microwave began to hum as she turned around to face him. "Oh, you know, the usual life-or-death questions of adolescence. Does Rick Johnson like me? Will he ask me out? Who will I marry--?" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening ever so slightly. "What, Scully?" He felt suddenly like he was a butterfly pinned to a display, wriggling and fighting for air to keep himself alive. She smacked the biggest button on the microwave and caught the door as it opened. "You better put your pizza in here, Mulder. It's got to be cold by now." "I like cold pizza. The grease is nice and congealed." Scully made a face and slid into a chair next to the table. Mulder followed her lead, taking a seat across from her and lifting a slice of pizza to his mouth. He chewed as he watched her peel pepperoni from her pieces and then tear the corner from one triangle, popping it daintily in her mouth. Scully never actually bit her pizza; she always pulled it apart into small mouthfuls. It was a Scully- original, like her signature or the way she raised her eyebrow when she was ticked, and Mulder felt a wave of sentimentality wash over him. They ate for a few minutes in companionable silence, Scully reading the box top from the Genuine Elvis Talking Board. Mulder was standing up to get himself something to drink from the fridge when her voice stopped him: "So what are you wanting to ask Elvis about tonight, Mulder?" He turned and looked at her. She was watching him, a keen gleam in her blue eyes. "Well, I don't know. I hadn't given it a lot of thought." He reached up into her cabinet and extracted a glass. "What do you think we should ask about?" There was that "we" again. He had consciously included it, and he could tell that she noticed it. She stood up and moved next to him by the cupboards, close enough so that he could smell the light odor of her perspiration and a hint of her shampoo. She reached past him to another cabinet, pushed a few things aside, and removed a shot glass. "Well, before we ask anything, we need a new planchette." She stepped over to the table and set the shot glass, rim side down, in the middle of the board. Mulder looked at her skeptically, sipping the orange juice he had just poured. "Is that going to work?" "Trust me. I'm the Ouija expert, remember?" They took their seats again. Mulder sat with his hands on the table, waiting to see what Scully would do. "Should I be alarmed that you know that a shot glass makes a good planchette, Scully?" She stretched out her hand and rested the tips of her fingers on the base of the glass. "Only later, when we fill it with tequila." She waved her other hand at him. "Come on, Mulder. If you're going to play, put your hand out here. Like this." He did, trying his best to keep his long fingers light on the glass. She nodded approvingly. "That's right. Don't put any weight on it. Now close your eyes and concentrate." He waited until hers were shut and then closed his. Silence enveloped them, although Mulder wasn't quite sure what they were waiting for. Finally he spoke. "What am I supposed to be concentrating on?" "Just breathe deeply and ask that we contact the Other Side." He sputtered loudly, trying not to laugh. She opened one eye and cocked the eyebrow at him, and it made his heart surge. "I thought you wanted to be serious." "I do. Sorry." "OK. Let's take a few deep breaths." She inhaled slowly, and he followed her lead, feeling himself start to relax. His eyes fluttered shut again, and he could barely feel the glass beneath his fingertips, cool and solid. He focused his mind and tried to concentrate. He felt himself starting to drift away, and he wondered fleetingly if he could actually have a spiritual experience with a Ouija board. Then he heard Scully's voice again, cutting through the haze: "Eenie meanie chili beanie, the Spirits are about to speak." The echo of his own words from the office and the absurdity of it all hit him square in the chest. He burst into loud guffaws, deep laughs that blended seamlessly with Scully's higher giggles. Scully was giggling. It was the sweetest sound Mulder had heard in a long, long time. The shot glass spun out from beneath their fingers, skidding across the board and landing on the word "Hello." They both stared at it for a moment, the shocked silence filling up the room, and then Scully looked at him. He met her eyes, hoping he didn't look too freaked out. "Elvis has entered the building," he whispered. Her face was serious as she reached for his hand, placing it gently back on the glass. He was sorry when her fingers left his skin and settled back next to his. "Ask it a question, Mulder," she urged in a low voice. He blinked at her and then squeezed his eyes shut. "OK, OK," he mumbled. He was trying to think of something, anything, but the only thoughts coming into his brain were wisecracks. "Who will win the Super Bowl this year?" He felt Scully's sneaker connect with his shin under the table. His howl of protest was muffled by her admonishment. "Mulder, you are supposed to ask it something serious." "That is serious! I could win the F.B.I. pool for once!" He dropped her a wink. "Come on, Scully. We could split the cash and run off to the Bahamas together. What do you say?" He could tell she was suppressing her smile from the way the corners of her mouth twitched at him. But she shook her head instead, the loose tendrils that had escaped her tiny ponytail making her look even more girlish and cute. She would definitely look great on the beach, Mulder found himself thinking, knowing he had a huge grin plastered on his face. He wondered for a moment just how goofy he looked and then found he didn't care. "Well, it's not answering you, so it mustn't think that is an important question." "Fine. You ask it a question, Scully." "All right, I will." She shut her eyes again, and Mulder stared at her. She seemed to radiate something, a glow that he had never noticed before. There was something different about Scully tonight. She was like a high school girl on her first date, forthright and charming and slightly awkward all at the same time. She had seemed so sad, so distant lately, it was a welcome change that made his chest warm and his head tingle. He found himself suddenly needing to talk to her about it, to take her hand from the shot glass and hold it in his own, to stroke the back of it and tell her sincerely how sorry he was for his behavior and his lack of compassion. But the moment was gone; she was speaking, and he focused in on her words. "Will I ever have children?" The plaintive quality in her voice stunned him momentarily, and he felt uncomfortable for the first time, the personal potency of the question snaking into his heart and making it ache. But then he was distracted by the feel of the glass moving beneath his fingertips. In his surprise, he almost lifted them off, but he didn't want to ruin it for Scully. He watched, feeling almost disembodied, as their hands followed the glass to the word "Yes." Scully seemed satisfied, looking at him with a genuine air of serenity. "Well, that's good to know." "Isn't that one of those questions that girls ask when they're younger? Didn't you and Melissa wonder about that?" She shrugged. "I just wanted to see if I got the same answer now that I did when I was fourteen. I guess my fate hasn't changed." He leaned forward in his chair a little, sensing an opportunity to grab at another little piece of her he had never seen before. "Do you believe in fate, Scully?" She regarded him briefly, her face changing, softening into something almost dreamy. "I did when I was younger, before I became a scientist." The moment lengthened, suspending itself between them for another lovely instant, and then she seemed to shake herself. "But then I realized that we make choices as we go forward, and that nothing is really set in stone." He inched his fingers over on top of hers, the coolness of the glass replaced by the warm pliancy of her hand. "But don't you believe some things are meant to be, Scully?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, and he wasn't even sure she could hear him. But surely she could sense what he meant, could feel it in his touch. He knew what he was trying to say. Did she...? Their gaze locked for a moment, and then the shot glass spun out from under their hands again, skittering madly across the board from one letter to another. It stopped on the "L" briefly, then moved to the "O," on to the "V," and finally settled on the "E." In the pause that followed, all that could be heard was the reverberation of the scrape of the glass across the cheap wood beneath it. They both started moving at once, Scully to remove her hand and Mulder to tighten his grip on hers. She was faster, though, and he felt like he was trying to grasp a chiffon scarf as it floated away from him. His hand thudded unceremoniously on the table, and he grinned at her to hide his embarrassment. "The spirits have spoken, Scully. How are we going to respond to that?" She pushed up from the table then, picking up her plate and depositing it in the sink. She turned to clear his place and stopped when he looked at her expectantly. She dropped her hands to her sides. "Mulder, I asked you to come over because I wanted to apologize." "For what?" "For the way I have been behaving at the office. For the whole business about the desk, for all of that." She waved her hand in front of her as if it alone would clear the air. He stood up then, not realizing when he did that it would put him directly in front of her. She started to step back, but he took her by the wrist, tracing his thumb gently along the skin there. She seemed to relax a little, her eyes shining as she tilted her chin up to look at him. "I should be the one apologizing. I didn't realize how much you needed that desk, that validation, that the office is . It is, Scully. It's our work now, not just mine. And if you still want a desk, we'll get you one." She sighed. "No, Mulder. I actually like the office the way it is. I don't know what's gotten into me lately...but I just feel..." She trailed off. He waited for her to collect her thoughts, fighting the rising urge to touch her face, to stroke her cheek, to press her into his embrace. He wanted this to be about her and her needs, not his. If she needed that, he would give it to her, give it gladly with all of his heart. But he could wait, too, until she acknowledged that she needed it, that she wanted it...and him along with it. "I just need to know that I am in control of my own life. You know?" She was looking at him, searching his face for signs that he understood. He tightened his grip on her wrist, trying to telegraph her importance to him through his touch. "Maybe you should ask the Ouija board that one, Scully." She seemed to consider the idea for a minute and then shook her head. "I don't think I really need to, Mulder. I guess I just needed you to acknowledge it with me." And she smiled at him, the radiant smile that he had been missing, the one that gave him teeth and gums and all of Scully. The one that told him everything was right again between them, that they were mended once more, and that perhaps someday, when the time was right, she would be ready for the fate of which he was already certain. They had been brought together for a reason; Mulder believed that without a doubt. And she had once told him that she had the strength of his beliefs. He believed too, in time, that she would share that faith in their destiny as well. And that, just like the snake she had tattooed on her back, she would come full circle to find him waiting for her. ***End*** AUTHORS NOTES: Yes, I met my own challenge...am I a dweeb or what? Here are the elements I requested: 1. toast with butter and jelly 2. an REM song playing 3. a Ouija board 4. Scully in an outfit that shows her tattoo 5. the Lone Gunmen on a beach 6. a shot of tequila (well, it's referenced!) Parker Brothers makes Ouija boards, but I have no earthly idea if there is such a thing as a genuine Elvis Talking Board or not. I think Graceland could make a hell of a lot of money, don't you? Thanks for reading! Feedback is as delicious as cold pizza with congealed grease: avalon@fuse.net. Hope to see you again soon!