TITLE: Journal Entry No. 1576 (1/1)
AUTHOR: Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS: shoshana1013@excite.com
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance
SUMMARY: Mulder writes in his journal.
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.

Journal Entry No. 1576
By Shoshana

Journal Entry No. 1576, April 25, 1999

Tonight, we played baseball. I held her in my arms and swung at the
stars, tossing a piece of horsehide through the air.

She smiled tonight. More than she has in weeks, maybe months. I
love to see her smile, I love being in some little way responsible
for that smile.

We forgot who we were for a few hours tonight. We forgot what we
knew, knew about the future of the planet. Could it be any more
overwhelming than this, to know we are the only ones who truly
understand the consequences of our success or failure to avert

I just wanted to forget about that for just a few hours. I wanted
to bring scully along with me. And thank God, she came willingly.
We laughed and talked like we used to, before our lives became one
grim scenario after another.

I can't erase all the damage I've done her over the years. I can
only try to ease her pain, lift her away from that morose world I
inhabit so willingly. I want to absorb her pain, I want to give her
something to live for.

I wish she would live for me, as I do for her. It's a selfish wish,
one that I have no right to, no right at all. She stays with me, she
continues to work with me, but will she stay after our tasks are
completed, after disaster is averted?

Can the sheer force of my love and will convince her to stay longer,
to take a chance on something deeper, something that acknowledges
what we have and takes a chance on what could be?

After we were done at the ball field, she let me take her to an old-
fashioned malt shop. I teased her into ordering a real ice cream
sundae, none of that fucking tofu crap tonight.

We sat next to each other in the booth, we ate from the same sundae
dish. She insisted she'd never make it through one of those huge
concoctions herself, so I might as well help her out with hers.

Our hands touched, fingers brushing up against each other, as we
fought mightily for control of our own sweet territory. Competitive
to the bone, she challenged me for every cherry, every dollop of
whipped cream.

And we laughed and talked and forgot who we were again. So much so
that it felt different, it felt like I was her date, her escort,
tonight. And she wasn't discouraging me, she wasn't rejecting me.

I can tell, O.K.? I've had enough dates, enough girlfriends, enough
relationships to know. I knew tonight. She. Was. Not. Rejecting.
Me. She was not telling me to get lost, get out of her life, go find
some bimbo in a bar to screw till the dawn's early light.

How do I know? I just know. We sat on the hood of the car
afterward, watching the nighttime crowd shuffle past the restaurants
and boutiques of downtown Georgetown. She smiled some more, lit up
the night with her ethereal beauty.

She's my angel, the only one I'll ever see walking the earth. I
know she's seen angels and I think I know why. Her connection to
God, to a Holy spirit, allows her to experience visions I can only
read about, dream about. I wonder if I'll ever experience that level
of spirituality.

I become the skeptic when I ponder that. I have seen so many
wonderful and strange things in my life, but I have not been touched
by them like she has. They have not transformed me, imbued me, with
the kind of faith, earnest belief she has.

I respect that faith, I love that faith in her. I want to pray to
her God... for her safety, for her love, for her life. I want to
keep her beside me for the rest of our lives. I have to, or my life
will be poorer without her. I only hope I can give her one-tenth of
what she gives me. I only hope I can make her happy.

We sat on the hood of my car and watched the people shuffle by. And
held hands like lovers on a Saturday night. I don't even remember
when our hands met tonight, but they were joined thereafter for
precious hours, hours spent talking and laughing as the rest of the
world streamed by.

That's when I knew for sure. Knew she was letting me into her
heart. We've never kissed. I've only held her in my arms when
something is terribly wrong. But the way we held hands tonight was
not partnerly, nor platonically. There was heat in our embrace, her
tiny fingers entwined with my own ungainly ones.

She stroked one well-manicured thumb over my knuckles, arousing me
like no other woman has before. I was astounded at her affect on me,
I was paralyzed by her affect on me. I love her so much, that the
simple stroke of her thumb transfigures me, makes me a better man.

I hope she knows that. I think she does, because she allowed me to
reciprocate the movement, our hands shifting easily, secretively.
Just pretend we're not really doing that to each other, we seemed to
agree. Keep talking, keep telling stupid jokes to one another,
ignore what our hands are doing, ignore the streams of heat radiating
from those subtle, repetitive gestures.

She held my hand till we decided to call it a night. We each had
our own cars, so we parted company there in front of the ice cream
place. I leaned down and gave her a polite peck on the cheek, she
graced me with one of her own. But it was the squeeze of her hand as
we were moving away from one another that told me all. It told me to
wait, wait till she could offer me more.

Her eyes said that too, her lovely blue eyes sent a shiver down my
spine before I guided her to the door and watched as she drove away.
I only hope she saw the same in mine, I only hope she knows how much
I cherish her above all others.

I look forward to Monday morning now. I'll make it through another
lonely Sunday night with ease, knowing she'll be with me come
morning, hands and eyes speaking to me, loving me, as I love her.


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