It's all speculation, of course. I am not in love with him.
He tells me what to do and what not to do with little expectation of
obedience; he covers my back when I've done something stupid; he
shields me from the worst of the Bureau mindlessness. No paperwork
mountains for me, or at any rate not many. And although what he has
done for me is not nearly enough, I know I have no right to ask for
even that much.
So I wonder why he still stands by me, why he gives me his support
when I have sweet FA to show for it. He told me once about losing his
faith and his life; he spoke to me of self-imposed ignorance and a
fear I had never given in to; and even as I felt the burden of a quest
being placed on my shoulders (for I would be searching for his sake,
now, and on his behalf, as if I didn't have enough reasons already) I
felt another burden lifted. He would support me. I could count on
that.
And even then I wondered.
I'm not good with not believing people. I don't know why I always fall
into that same trap of trusting the ones who have lied to me before.
Maybe it has something to with not wanting to believe that lies are
possible; maybe, underneath all my apparent paranoia and cynicism, I
am really a naive and trusting child.... Anyway, whatever the reason,
I did believe him then, but I still wondered whether maybe there was more
to it than he was willing to admit, and I have kept on wondering.
Sometimes I catch him looking at me... is it concern I see in his face?
Respect? Admiration? Or something else?
If I see there what I think I see... but I can never be sure. Of course,
now that the idea has caught hold of me, it won't let me go; it colours
my every sight of him, my perception of everything he does. And I can
say I'm not certain, but that's a lie. I'm always certain. Even when
I'm wrong.
It would be a hell of a career move.
God, that's an evil thought.
I'd never do something like that— I respect him too much. Hell, I
like the man, and sometimes it feels like something more, but not
something I can put into words. Because I know I can't count on him,
but I do. I know I shouldn't trust him, but I do. And yet I can't call
him a friend, exactly; friends go out for pizza and talk about
football and crap like that. Stuff I do with the Gunmen, or with
Scully, when we haven't been living in each others' pockets for so long
that we hate the sight of each other. I could never do that with him.
He's too... intense. He burns. Sometimes when I'm in the middle of
something big and dangerous, and he's giving advice or a warning, he'll
just look at me and o god the effort it takes to meet his eyes—
It hurts to look at him. Not because he's particularly ugly or
particularly beautiful, but because when I look in his eyes I know, I
can see as clearly as if it was tattooed on his forehead, that there
is something he wants from me. And I want to give it to him, but only
if it's something I can give.
He's always been distant. Even when he told me his secrets, bared his
soul to me in a way I think he has done with very few people, he was
distant... and yet he burns me anyway. And sometimes when I see that
look on his face, I want to run and hide. Or more than that: to fail,
and in such a glorious and spectacular fashion that he'd have no choice
but to turn away, disappointed. And sometimes I want to succeed, just
so he won't turn that look on me again.
But mostly when he looks at me I think of the sun.
The sun, without which we would perish.
The sun, around which our lives revolve.
The sun, which can burn us from 93,000,000 miles away.
I think of the sun; and I thank whatever deities are listening that I
am not in love with him.
I burn easily.
The End
Golden Apples
by Katherine F
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be in love with him. Would
he be a hard lover, or would he be kind? Would he be more protective
of me, or less? Would he make my quest his own?
