Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine, nor could they ever be--they belong totally and completely to Chris Carter and the gang at 1013--they are a part of one another...they cannot live without--OOPS, sorry, forgot this was only the disclaimer ;-)!
 

Airports take hostages.  Maybe not in the traditional sense: men storming in, their assault weapons ricocheting bullets off the walls and ceilings, people diving for cover, their terrified screams piercing the tense atmosphere.  No, airports take hostages in a simpler, but equally as effective manner.  Their terroristic activities are euphemistically known as layovers, cancellations, and delays.

It is the last of these tactics that finds me seated in the busy concourse, case file open in my lap.  The soft crunches coming from Mulder's teeth as they happily devour his beloved sunflower seeds reach my ears, effectively drawing my attention from the gruesome pictures which have led us to this point.  I feel a soft smile flit across my lips as I watch my partner watching everyone else.  He would be the last to admit it, but he is truly a work of art.

Although Mulder bears no resemblance to the well- carved lines of Michelangelo's David, he can't be categorized by the abstract form popular in today's art world either.  A cold slab of marble or steel could never fully convey the Mulder I know.  He is too vibrant and alive.  In some moments, it is almost as if he has been touched by a live wire--the energy radiates off him and threatens to scorch me. Sometimes I long to feel the singe, and in others, I am frightened by its intensity.

Now, however, the driving force which fuels his quest simmers below the surface, quiet, at peace for the moment.  I heave a soft sigh of relief that our current case--albeit gory--does not include aliens in the list of potential suspects like so many of our investigations usually do.

Mulder apparently hears my sigh.  His brow wrinkles with concern, questioning.  I incline my head toward the far side of the building, attempting to divert his attention from me to the rain, which pounds against an opposing window.  The rain, which is the cause for our continued stay instead of what should have been a brief layover.  I am successful; he nods once and quirks the side of his mouth in an almost smile.  I return my gaze to the papers in my lap.  As I flip through the pages, I search for clues as to why this, in Mulder's eyes, constitutes an X-file.

Sometimes I wonder why "X" was chosen to delineate the unsolved, paranormal cases.  I mentally run through the letters of the alphabet in search of one that is more appropriate.  I stifle a chuckle as I near the end of the list.  I believe the letter "Y" would be more appropriate.  The Y-files, yes, in many cases, infinitely more appropriate.

I close the folder, murmuring, "I'm going to stretch my legs."

Mulder moves to stand before I can negate the motion. Suddenly, I find I want his company, before the lure of the case has him fully in thrall.

I wonder what he will be like after Samantha returns, after the X-files have lost their grip on him.  What will he do?

What will I do?  The X-files, and Mulder for that matter, have fully encompassed my life for six years now.  Before I was partnered with him, the future had a definite pattern laid out like stepping stones in a garden.  Promotion.  Marriage.  Babies.  Maybe even a return to medicine.  Now, the future is a blurry field with no definitive route. This way lies our Partnership and the Truth, another way Marriage and Family, and yet another lies Medicine.  All of the paths now twist, turn, and, in some spots, intersect.

If my future is so hazy, I cannot begin to imagine his.  What would he be like with all of his questions answered?

I can, however, imagine the end of the X-files for indeed, I have been witness to three separate conclusions.  Although all temporary in nature, I have grieved three separate times for the loss.  For Mulder's loss.

But Fate, Providence, or even some darker force has seen fit to reopen them for study.  If only to keep us together for a little while longer.

What will happen to me when they meet their eventual and permanent end?  Will I slowly sink into myself without Mulder's paranormal questions berating my science?  Or will I abandon him in search of a normal life?  For six years, he has been my other half, my Siamese twin, and yes, I admit it, my soulmate.  Will our partnership continue or will we be separated like so many times before?  If we are reassigned, will we keep in touch?  Remain friends? Or evolve into something else...something more... (I hesitate to say intimate, for we are closer than most married couples)...something more....physical?

We meander as one through the concourse, and I look up at him only to find him watching me.  I feel my eyebrow slowly rise, silently asking; his response, equally quiet, is a hand at my back and a soft gleam in his eye.  He steers me into the airport's gift shop and points at the newest tabloid.  A slight, but hazy figure, its hand raised in greeting and large head cocked to one side, graces the cover.  I shake my head as Mulder eagerly grabs the glossy magazine.  I watch him thumb through the pages with child-like wonder, searching for the accompanying article.  His hopeful expression crumbles when, disappointed, he discovers that the promised article somehow didn't make it into that issue.

"Its just a ploy to sell magazines, Mulder," I admonish, my voice filled with wisdom.

He offers me an impish grin, his knowing gaze draws my eyes, "Not always, Scully.  Not always."

I reach between us for his hand and squeeze it gently. His eyes flicker with surprise and something more. Something I refuse to identify at this time, but something that will not be denied forever.  I smile softly and savor the moment.

As I search his face, the warmth of contentment seeps through me.  I find myself unconcerned with the future.  For now, we are together.  As partners, as friends, as soulmates.  He is mine, and I am his. This is all that matters. 
 

END