Conversations
She woke up slowly. The light infiltrated her murky dream and for a moment she thought she was looking into the sun, then began blinking furiously, as if to wink away the brightness. Then the other pieces fell into place. The book, open, resting on her wrist. The hot linen sheets surrounding her. She raised her head and tried to grasp her watch off the bed side table, but couldnít move her arm. For a second, the numbness startled her and that late night, half asleep sense of alarm flared in her stomach. Realizing sheíd been sleeping with her head on it, she grimaced and leaned over, squinting at the alarm clock.
"Psshh." She released a sigh, and stumbled out of bed. It was 10:34 PM. But it didnít feel like 10:34 PM. It felt like 4 in the morning, and she felt like a kid waking up from the oppressive summer humidity to get a glass of water still wrapped in the gauzy disorientation of sleepiness. She had gotten into bed at 9:30, and fallen almost immediately asleep while rereading ìThe Great Gatsbyî for the 3rd time. She headed for the kitchen, rubbing her numb arm.
Y'know Dana, there was a time, when you wouldnít have even been home at this hour. When you wouldn't have been home for several hours.
This was how Dana Scully reprimanded herself. She lectured herself in the third person. Sometimes allowed, but mostly in her head. Over time and without her realizing it, the inner voice had developed a tone similar to her sisterís. One that urged her to get out for Godís sake, told her to go introduce herself to that guy, and reminded her that she wasnít getting any younger y'know.
She reached for the box of cranberry tea, and nodded at the voice while filling the kettle. She suddenly felt very old. An old woman whoís Friday night was spent reading a 11th grade summer reading book, and dozing off before she got past the third chapter.
"God did I ever have a life?"
The sound of her own words somehow brought the voice more vividly. That was when the first hint of wariness began to stir in her head.
Yeah, you did. And you miss it.
She turned the gas burner on to high, and sat at the kitchen table rubbing her temples, scratching her scalp. She didnít exactly miss the life sheíd had before. She missed the happiness. The feeling of having so much fun she thought it would give her a hangover. But the actually people and places were behind her, and she wasnít regretful. Well, not regretful about that, but....
Mulder.
And there she was. Melissa. Across the table from her. Fingers interlocked, face clear and calm. Eyes straightforward and cutting as she repeated the word that caused a dull ache in the back of Scully's throat.
"Mulder."
Scully was only slightly startled by her sisterís appearance. It wasnít the first time it had happened. Actually it was the fourth time, and had she not been so tired, Scully would have been pretty concerned. But she was tired. And weary from the energy it took to get through a day of just being around someone whom it was becoming increasingly hard to keep a secret from. Well, not really a secret even, because she knew he felt the same way (he had to), which was why it was so frustrating.
Melissa had always been in Scully's prayers, in her heart, but only within the last month had she shown up in her kitchen. Always when Scully needed to talk. Always in the middle of the night. Scully had chalked it up to a self-comfort device created by her subconscious, and one of these days, she thought, sheíd stop letting herself go along with it, because it wasnít healthy to entertain these mental tricks she was playing on herself. But for now, sheíd listen to what her sister had to say.
"You know it's about him, Dana."
She nodded. When was it not?
"When are you planning on letting him know?"
"He knows. I'm sure he does."
"Well then what are you waiting for? Why arenít you doing anything about it?"
"Because! Because Melissa, what am I supposed to do?! Huh?! Throw myself into his arms at the office? What?"
She felt good for making her point. For not shying from her sisterís stark honesty. But the swelling ache in the back of her throat began to burn. Shit, what was she supposed to do?
"You need to do something."
"Why?" It was a weak imitation of conviction, that came out sounding like the whine of a stubborn 8 year old, and Scully was thoroughly disgusted with herself. Sulking at her own imaginary friend.
"Because, you wonít always have the opportunity. Because people change, and move on."
Melissa slid her hand across the table almost meeting Scully's fingertips.
"He isn't going to wait around forever. Not to get his heart broken."
And that was when the tears came. In silent sobs that wracked her body and stung her eyes. Was that was she was doing? Breaking his heart? Hurting him?
"God, I"m sorry.I'm sorry."
"Hey. Hey, you don't have to be. Dana, listen to me."
Scully lifted her head and looked at her sisterís kind face. It was clear and so full of the kind of sympathy Scully needed and missed dearly.
Sometimes people, just by the depth of their friendship, can humble you. Scully bent down to kiss her sisters hand, and whispered a barely audible "thank you."
When she looked up, Melissa was gone. Scully stared for a moment at the empty chair across from her. There was five seconds of silence in which she tried to decide how to handle tomorrow, and the conversation she intended to have with him. Then the teakettle's whistle finally blew, filling the silence with sound.
