Brain Says Yes - Mind Says No

Brain Says Yes - Mind Says No

<<<Damn it, Joann. Give me that mouse back this instant. I told you, we were allowed to run the word processor to do the shopping list and that's all. You remember the deal, no word processor and you can watch Paper Hearts again tonight.

I AM doing the shopping list. See.

And in the other window? >>>

He's still here. I marvel at it.

He's the night shift, mom handles the day shift. He arrives at about 8 and takes over. He shouldn't do it. He leaves when my mother arrives in the morning. He keeps a change of clothes in the car, goes to work, grabs a shower and turns into a FBI Agent.

It's the man who wears jeans who sits with me at night.

The first week I didn't really notice what was going on, I was too high on the medication. Mom told me about it later, about the unspoken deal they'd made. She had to go home each night and sleep, he had to go to work during the day. It was a natural rhythm.

Except for one thing. When did he sleep?

At first I thought he didn't sleep at all, then as my head became clearer I realized that sometimes when I woke up he was there by my side, sitting in that damned uncomfortable looking chair and drowsing. As soon as he heard me, felt me, sensed me waking up, he was suddenly alert, as if asleep and awake were just two positions on a switch.

I worry over him. He's a Federal Agent, it's a dangerous business. He needs his wits about him. He needs to sleep. He needs me backing him up.

When I told him to go home he just shook his head. He said he wouldn't lie to me. If he went home he wouldn't sleep at all. I know that he's telling the truth but I'm not happy about it. Especially not now I'm on the mend. All hospital treatment done. Tomorrow I should get the all clear to go home. I smile at that. Then what will he do? Curl up at the foot of my bed each night?

He looks up from the book that he's been pretending to read and smiles nervously.

Only his continued insistence on staying with me each night gives him away. Any observer would watch and admire the tower of strength by my side. My mother has reveled in his quiet confidence these weeks. I've come to rely on the silent permission that his calm control has given me. I've been allowed to be weak. I'm allowed to cry at the injustice. To whimper at the pain. To shout my annoyance at his hovering presence. To scream with frustration at my helplessness and the consequent invasion of my privacy.

He backs away when I need space, moves in close when I need contact. He focuses on me with that same steely concentration that he gives to his work. Right now I'm his priority case. When he's with me, I'm the center of the universe. It's overpowering, he knows that, so he knows to retreat. He'll go to the cafeteria. He'll sit and read. He'll watch the TV wearing headphones. He'll leap to my side at the slightest suggestion that I want him there.

I don't like him to see my weakness. I want him to see his strong professional partner. Tomorrow, that's what I'll be presenting again, what I have to show him. If he had cried when I did last week, I would have been forced to send him away. So, he didn't cry, he just held my hand and told me that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him.

I suspect he's telling me the truth. Which makes me feel even sadder.

<<<What on earth are you writing? It's hormone trouble again, isn't it? You're going to write some sappy romance thing. Not only are you disobeying orders, you're going to write some kind of MSR weepy.

I am not.

Don't lie.

Go on, let me write it. If you let me write it, I'll hurt Mulder for you and make him cry. You'd like that.

I most certainly would not. Well, possibly I might like it a little, but only if it was strictly in context and necessary for plot and character development.>>>

My mother brought me home. She didn't want to, she wanted me to stay with her for a few days, but I need this space. I need to be in my own bed. She'll visit tomorrow. I'm grateful to her, she went home like I asked. Now all I have to do is get Mulder to do the same.

It's past eight. He's obviously trying to give me room to settle in but if he doesn't arrive soon it's going to be another kind of problem, because I really ought to get some rest.

I hear the knock on the door.

I know who's there so I don't bother to check before I throw the door wide open.

He has a plant in his hand, a beautifully perfumed jasmine with its dots of flowers twinkling like white stars against the dark shiny foliage.

<<<That's some kind of sexual thing isn't it?

What? Why should a plant have a sexual meaning?

Well you know, they always smell nice in MSR's even when they're all sticky and as for the white stars in the dark foliage.. Well I just thought.

You just thought what? Sheesh. And you accuse me of being hormonal.>>>

He hands it to me, nervously anxious to dispose of it, as if it's evidence of some heinous crime.

"Thank you."

He still hovers on the doorstep without coming in, even though I've moved to one side to encourage him to enter.

<<<Now don't tell me that's not some sort of sexual thing.

Will you shut up. I'm trying to build some atmosphere and you're killing the mood.>>>

He still hesitates. Strange. Perhaps tonight he needs the words, needs to hear me give permission. Maybe, he's letting me take charge of my life again. "Come in. I've got some iced tea."

<<<That's just teasing him. You are going too far now.

Keep out of this.

Hey, do you remember that episode of Batman, you know the real one, the one that was on TV. Cat Woman invites Batman back to his place.

Yeah, I know and Robin tries to warn Batman off.

But Cat Woman offers Batman milk and cookies and Battie has to tell Robin that "a man cannot live by crime fighting alone." Then he goes back to her place with her.

Leaving Robin alone on the doorstep looking just so miserable.

Pure angst. Brings a tear to my eye every time.

Shut up, you're spoiling the rhythm.>>>

He hesitates then follows me into the apartment.

He finally decides to say something, talking in a quick muddled tone, the words falling over one another to be said. "I won't stay for long. I guess you want to get some rest."

"Well, I do need to get used to being on my own again."

He nods. He keeps his head down and turned slightly away from me. The he tells me to sit down and offers to go and get the drinks from the kitchen. I'm on equal parts orange juice and evian water right now, I give him instructions. He seems relieved to get away from me.

The room is empty without him. Suddenly, I feel a little shiver of panic. Tonight, is my first night back in my apartment for a month. Tonight will be my first night alone for the last four weeks. Suddenly it feels like a big step. When I sent my mother away this afternoon I felt confident, in control. With Mulder, I feel like neither. I feel tired and weak and I don't want to be alone.

<<<Is there going to be sex?

Will you shut up about the sex.

You mean there's not going to be any?

If I tell you that now, everyone will stop reading.

Everyone? Don't tell me you're going to post it?

Leave me alone. You know I get ratty if I can't finish a story.

You are, aren't you? You're going to post it and humiliate us both.

Look, I'm trying to keep the language clean and if you don't shut up, I'm going to write something gratuitously offensive.>>>

He places the orange drink on the table in front of me and then goes to sit as far away from me as he can. I recognize the gesture. He tries to maintain a distance, to give me room to get my life back. What passed between us in the hospital is over. He won't mention it again. He won't refer to my tears or to the fever grip I sometimes placed on his arm. I am once more the mistress of my own ship. He withdraws his hand from the wheel.

<<<Is that right?

What?

In the hospital. Is that the US phrasing?

Yes. Probably.

Just checking.

Look. This is meant to be a section of soft lyrical prose about transitions.

You? Soft lyrical prose? Pull the other one.

Right that does it.>>>

I look at him, he still keeps his face averted from my gaze, hidden in the half shadows. I look more closely. "Mulder. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I should be going."

He downs the drink in his hand and is on his feet a few seconds later. He pauses abruptly as if he's forgotten something. "Unless there's something you need. Have you eaten?"

I nod my head.

"Good. Anything else I can do, any errands you need run?"

I shake my head.

"Phone me, if you need me."

"Mulder, are you OK? Why are you in such a hurry?"

He freezes on the spot, stops himself from rocking on his feet and stands very still and tense. He still doesn't look at me.

I walk over to him and take his hand in mine, I lead him back to the couch and make him sit down by the lamp. I can see his face now. At last, I can see his face.

His skin is pale with tiredness. Not with the sleepy tiredness that I have grown used to in the last few weeks, this is a weariness that consumes him. His skin is so pale it's as if I can see the white of his bones. The red rings of his eyes serve to emphasize the pallor.

<<<He's become a vampire? He did some sort of deal to get her cured but now he's undead?

You are dead meat.>>>

"You've been crying." I flinch as I say it. My shudder only adding to the startled tone of my words. He pulls back into the cushions of the couch.

<<<What? You said you'd make him cry. But that it would be strictly necessary for plot and characterization purposes. Now you've just jumped all that stuff and gone straight for the denouement.

So? I told you to shut up. I warned you there would be consequences, but no, you just had to keep interrupting didn't you? AND you can stop using bigger words than I do.>>>

He hesitates, apparently having to try hard just to concentrate on breathing. I watch his fingernails dig into the knees of his jeans. He coughs to clear his throat. "It was the plant."

"What? What about it?"

"I was going to buy some flowers. But then I thought a plant would be nicer, because the flowers would die in a few days."

A plant is nicer, it's nice to have living things around the house. "Mulder. It's OK. I'm OK now."

"I know. It just made me think of how easily it could have gone wrong. How I might have had to buy you roses."

<<<Oh. Yuck. If I shut up will you promise to stop writing the soppy stuff?"

No. You had your chance. I could have written a nice little angst number with a promise of romance. But no. You had to make fun and interrupt. Well, now you're stuck with it. I just hope you're pleased with yourself.>>>

I'm not sure how to handle this. I guess I should have let him go when he said he wanted to leave. But no, I wouldn't let him get away. It was almost as if I'd known this would happen, anticipated it, relied on it. As if I'd only been able to lower my defenses in the hospital because of the certain knowledge that my partner would crash like this as soon as I was back to normal. As if I needed to see his weakness to rebuild my self confidence.

It's cruel. It's horrific. I'm dismayed by my behavior. I need to see his weakness to be sure of my strength.

<<<That's better. At least you've not turned HER into a sissy.

Will you shut up. We're heading for the climax.

Ooh, so there will be sex. Soppy sex, though. Get Skinner in there, sounds like both of them could do with a real man.

Puhleeze! Now, Krycek, there was a boy who could do things with a leather jacket. But, Mr ex-Marine, chip on his shoulder, Skinner. He's overused and overrated as slash potential. I'm surprised he doesn't walk funny.

That's because Skinner's the masterful type. Not like wimp boy.

How dare you. Wimp boy is a fanfic fabrication. Mulder is brave and clever and heroic and funny and sensitive.

And is played by David Duchovny.

Damned right.>>>

I reach out my hands and use them to surround his. "Mulder. It's OK now. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

<<<The End? It's over. What do you mean the end? Where's the sex? Where's the sudden violent assault by a metaphysical monster that lives in the couch? Where's the whiff of smoke from the evil one who was hiding in Scully's bedroom? Where's the nosebleed threatening new traumas to come? Where's, "she leant into the gentle musky smell of him and felt the soft fabric of his shirt against her cheek, she sighed and allowed her face to nuzzle the sensitive peaks she knew lay behind cotton, he pressed his throbbing..."

You just don't know when to quit, do you?>>>

- Joann