From: Sivara Date sent: Wed, 11 Mar 1998 14:34:16 EST Subject: The Gesture (1/1) by Katrina Ross Title: The Gesture Author: Katrina Ross Email: Sivara@aol.com Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I borrowed them for some fun. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. No money is being made and no infringement is intended. Rating: PG Classification: V Summary: A quiet dinner. Spoilers: None Archival: Gossamer, yes. Anywhere else, ask first. For my friends, who consistently scream for new fic and don't give up till they get some. The Gesture By Katrina Ross _________________________ He leans forward in his chair, his voice low, rich and tempted, for her. "The possibilities, Scully. Endless. I'll be given free reign over the happenings, license to seek the things I've needed. We've needed." She watches him over the rim of her glass, swirling the rich burgundy liquid, drawing his attention as she savors the moment. His temperament has been subdued of late and she is pleased with his newfound exuberance. Yet it is a bittersweet pleasure, for they do not share the experience. He will continue, yes. Without her. It is no fault of his, nor of hers. Their paths must, unfairly, diverge at this point. Across the table, he is impatient, unconsciously awaiting her approval. For without her understanding and acceptance, he cannot go on. She replaces the glass on the table, the base sounding with a thunk against the hard wood, and his concentration is broken. "It sounds amazing, Mulder. A chance of a lifetime." she says, reclining in the chair, resting her arms on the supports. "You'd never happen across such an opportunity in the Bureau." "Yes," he agrees, hesitating. "It is undoubtedly the sweetest offer I've come across." he admits, fiddling with the edge of the earthy red tablecloth. He is wondering. His near future is decided, but what of hers? What will she do? "Scully..." "And the opportunity to travel, see the world. Such a terrible sacrifice." she says, plunging ahead, eyes wide with the vision of Roman ruins and lush, otherworldly African plains. His lips curl into a wry grin. "It is a perk I can live without, but seeing the world is too good to pass up." She sighs, sipping her drink carefully. "Will you be lonely?" she asks, a wistful note insinuating itself into her tone. He pauses, watching her, noting how the dim lamplight sparks fire in her hair. "Lonely?" he repeats slowly, thinking of dark hotels miles from home. Message lights that remain cold and bleak upon reentry into the room after a long day. The absence of her neat script complementing his scrawl on case notes. Connecting doors that stay locked, a stranger residing on the other side. Sleepless nights irritated by the knowledge that she is literally on the other side of the world and cannot soothe his worries. "Naw." he says thickly, pushing the terror rising in him away. "I'll be too busy to be lonely. Things to do, people to see, you know." "Of course." she replies, wisely disregarding the glistening in his warm hazel eyes. The silence fills the air, thick and clumsy. They are each occupied with their thoughts and concerns. He with the thought that he will be trapped in a dark room late at night, unable to reach out to her if she would ever need him. She, shuddering, imagining him in a thorny situation, reaching him a virtual impossibility. It has been a long journey, one riddled with fear and despair. Yet hope and faith have never ceased being elemental and basic. Faith that questions oft asked will one day need no more asking. Hope that losses suffered will not be for nothing. For nothing. The questions may never be answered and the answers received may not be what was anticipated, but their travels were not worthless. The proof? It lies unguarded now, in the silence of their thoughts. The bond that was formed in darkness an eternity before, made stronger with time, unbroken by death, untruths and threats. In the vows made by both for the truth, what they have achieved together at this point seems lesser. Each is strengthened by the knowledge that this bond has allowed them to reach such heights, only dreamed of in previous years. She looks up and sees a solemn waiter at her elbow, a cloth draped elegantly over his arm and a notebook in hand. She is startled for a moment, then chances a look across the table. Their eyes meet, and the gaze holds for an electric second. Slowly, her eyes unwavering from his, she reaches up and removes her glasses. She folds them methodically and places them next to her plate. She reaches across the table and places her hand palm up, waiting. His hand appears from under the table and settles into hers. She curls her fingers around his and squeezes. His voice is low and raspy as he speaks to the waiter. "We're ready now." The End Feedback? Yes, please. Send to Sivara@aol.com Notes: Inspired by a poem by Elizabeth Libbey, entitled The Gesture. No infringement intended there, either.