"Follow Through"  
By Jen Mauricio  < beautiful_cynic@yahoo.com >

Disclaimer:  I don't own them...don't want to.  Well, maybe just 
a little... 1013 and Chris Carter can take all the credit, I 
just like to have some fictional fun now and then.  And if 
anyone offered me money to do so, I'd send them to have their 
head examined.

Summary:  Some men want what they cannot...and should not have. 
What happens when you get it, no matter how briefly?

Classification: V/A, DS...uh....well, unrequited, whatever it 
is.

Author's Notes:  God Bless Grant Langston! 
(www.grantlangston.com) Groovy tunes, babe.  OH, and because I 
forgot in "Last Beautiful Girl", THANK YOU MARE!!! For beta and 
encouragement, and helping me release my inner Dipper.

Feedback: LOVE the stuff! beautiful_cynic@yahoo.com

"Follow Through"  
By Jen Mauricio

"She said 'I will never love you', I said 'I don't care if you 
do.' 
Then I looked at the ground and swallowed, 'cause I knew that my 
part was not true."
--"Hopeless", Grant Langston


You ever have one of those days?  You wake up, sun is shining, 
birds chirping and you can't help but break into a stupid grin?  
But the grin isn't because of the sun or the birds, not really.  
It's because of the person you wake up next to.  And, if it's 
not a one night stand resulting from much drinking, then the 
grin is full of hope, rather than embarrassment.

This was one of those days.  Note the past-tense.

I've been assigned to the X-Files for a few months now, and 
subsequently, assigned to Agent Scully.  It's a matching set, 
part and parcel. Unfortunately, the set is completed by the 
shadow of the missing Agent Mulder. And if I thought I was in 
over my head that first week, where does that leave me now?

Now, I'm not the most demonstrative guy.  I was a Marine, for 
God's sake.  So, who knows what had gotten into me this morning 
when I rolled over to greet Dana Scully with a good morning 
kiss.  A kiss that was returned with all the excitement of 
someone kissing a cousin they barely knew.

I should probably back up a few days here, fill you in on the 
background.  What little there is.  I'd noticed subtle changes 
in Scully since I started working with her.  Never could pin 'em 
to a cause.  But it had seemed to me that lately, she'd gotten a 
little...how to put this...flirtatious.  Laughing at my 
admittedly sorry jokes, laying her small hand on my arm when she 
was talking to me, favoring me with an all-too-rare smile now 
and then.

There were the more obvious and more distracting things she did, 
too.  Whenever we were out on a case, talking with someone, 
she'd stand very close.  Close enough that I could smell her 
shampoo without moving nearer to her.  If you're wondering...the 
scent is very clean, very no-nonsense, but with the slightest 
tease of mint.  Very Scully, I must say.  And she adopted this 
unnerving habit of strict eye contact whenever we spoke.  
Turning the most inane conversations about lunch and other 
agents we'd dealt with into these intense exchanges that left me 
squirming under her scrutiny.

I'm not even sure she knew what she was doing, or what effect it 
was having on me.  And man was it affecting me.  I was 
falling...fast and hard...for my little redheaded partner.

Little...who am I kidding? She can walk into a room and command 
all eyes on her with the tilt of her head, and that infuriating 
raised eyebrow that makes me question every word that comes out 
of my mouth. 

So, yesterday, after I'd gotten home from a day filled with 
expense vouchers and field reports, I was content to kick off my 
shoes, pop open a beer and vegetate in front of ESPN.  I was 
also fully prepared to ignore the soft chiming of my doorbell, 
even when it was followed by an insistent knock.  But it was 
when I heard her voice through the door that I jumped up to 
answer.  

"Agent Doggett?  It's me."

I opened the door, expressing my surprise at seeing her, but 
keeping the small tingle of pleasure I experienced strictly to 
myself.  She brandished familiar forms at me, all in need of my 
signature, and all due to the accounting office no later than 9 
am the next morning.  It was rare that I arrived at work later 
than 7 30, so the urgency didn't quite compute. And when 
pressed, Scully was pretty vague about it.

I led her into the kitchen, where the pens all seem to migrate 
to in my house.  After three tries, I even found one that would 
write.  I signed the forms, prepared to usher her out the door, 
get on with the big evening of doing nothing that I had planned.  
Holding the forms out to her, I damn near dropped them when her 
hand brushed mine.

This crush I was developing on her was rapidly becoming 
ridiculous.  I'm a grown man, messily divorced, focused on my 
work, and here I was melting at the sight of this woman who 
butted heads with me on every turn. I should know better, right?  
I don't know what it is about her...she just triggers something 
in me.

Hey, I may be over 40, but I'm not *dead*.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, so she showed up with this paperwork to 
be signed, and I comply.  Next thing I know, she's complimenting 
me on my home and asked for a tour.  I give her the requested 
tour, ready to get her through the place, then back out the door 
as quickly as I can.  Resisting temptation is easy at work.  
We're stuck in our starched suits, bound tightly by the 
commandments Hoover himself set down.  But this is my house, and 
I'm barefoot, in jeans and a t-shirt.  She's in jeans and a 
blouse that looks soft as butter.  'Soft as butter'!  Look at 
that!  That's not me talking, that's me Under the Influence of 
Scully.  Good Lord, I think I'm losing my mind.

We were in the hallway, the only prominent thing in there being 
a portrait of my son.  My heart still jumped to my throat every 
time I see my boy's face. Innocent, without a care in the world.  
Twenty-six days after that picture was taken, he turned up dead.  
I stared at the picture, lost in my special world of guilt and 
regret, when I felt this warm hand grip mine.  Surprised wasn't 
the word, let me tell you.

I'd never told her about Luke, just figured she'd do her 
homework on me, dig up the whole mess.  Her whispered "I'm 
sorry." washed over me like a wave, and the combination of pity 
and perfect understanding in her eyes froze me to the spot. It 
was overwhelming me.  The loneliness, the need to be close to 
someone. And someone was standing right there next to me.

I don't remember leaning in for the kiss, I only remember the 
feel of her lips as soon as they touched mine.  Bam!  Just like 
that, there were only two people in the world.  I tripped over 
my own feet as we moved towards my bedroom, cursing softly, my 
lips still locked on hers.  She laughed against me, causing this 
amazing electric vibration on my lips and I damn near died right 
there.

What happened once we hit the bedroom was intense, needful, and 
none of your damn business.  I'm sure you can wear out the 
details if you use your imagination.  Suffice to say, I think 
Agent Scully and I work very well together. Take that as you 
will.

Then it was morning, just like that.  I could smell her 
everywhere...on me, on the sheets, in the air.  She'd taken over 
my senses.  I realize how pathetic this sounds. I felt like I 
was in high school again, madly in love with the idea of being 
in love with someone, then finding reality is quite a different 
matter.  That when you're sixteen, love is so many things, the 
least of which is actual love and feeling for the other person.

I kissed her, and the eyes that last night were filled with 
warmth and...and something else, were now cool, analytical, and 
very polite as she made her excuses and got out of my bed, 
pulling on her clothes and going into the small bathroom to 
splash some water on her face.

She breezed through with a mumbled good-bye and without a second 
glance.  I heard her collect the papers we'd abandoned in the 
hallway when we'd abandoned our senses, then heard the front 
door close behind her.  I should get up and lock it, but don't. 
At this point, someone breaking in and killing me would be a 
blessing.

I'm stunned...in a state of shock as I maneuver through my 
morning routine.  Shower, dress, make coffee, drive to work.  I 
know at some point the night before, I'd told her how I felt, 
told her I loved her. Maybe she hadn't heard me.

Or, more likely, she had.  I hit the Beltway about the time the 
realization of what a Goddamned fool I made of myself hit me.

She didn't love me. Hell, she probably didn't even like me.  I 
was a stand-in, a blank slate onto which she drew the one she 
really wanted to be with, the one she imagined when was in my 
bed.  I was a piece of tissue...used, then crumpled up and 
discarded.  But damn, I still loved her.

I know, I know.  Trying to follow through on another man's 
broken promises. I'm hopeless.

*The End