"The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (11/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)
See part 1 for disclaimers, etc.


"Dana, it's okay," he said, taking my hand. This time, I didn't pull
away. "I'd like to be with you -- just you -- but I'm not going to
complain if that doesn't happen."

"You should," I said, feeling slightly ashamed of myself. "You should
complain loud and long. There's no reason you should waste your time
when this isn't going to go anywhere."

"Maybe you just don't know where I want it to go," Jim said, flashing
that devastating Celtic smile at me. "I don't want everything; I just
want whatever place you can give me in your life."

I turned my face away, not wanting him to see the embarrassed flush on
my cheeks, but I kept hold of his hand. Wasn't _that_ the perfect
metaphor for the way things were with us?

"That's not fair to you," I said, almost in a whisper. "You deserve
better."

"Why don't you let me decide what's fair to me?" Jim said, and the
smile was gone. He was dead serious now. "Dana, I told you the day I
met you that I don't have much of myself to give. My soul may belong
to Jesus but my ass belongs to Uncle Sam, and that's not going to
change anytime soon."

"I know the feeling," I said, and I smiled in spite of myself.

"I know you do," Jim said. "Which is why I think you're worrying about
nothing. We couldn't have any kind of traditional relationship even if
we both wanted it."

"Then what can we have?" I said, without thinking, then blushed all
over again when I realized what I'd said.

"We can have whatever you want," Jim said, more quietly. "I'm not
asking you to commit to anything. All I'm asking is that when I'm on
the surface, on shore, you let me call you. If things haven't changed
too much for you, then maybe we can spend some time together."

"And that's all?" I said.

"It is unless you decide you want more," Jim said, and there was no
mistaking the look in his eyes. He might not know what I wanted, but
he knew what _he_ wanted: Me.

"I can't answer that now," I whispered. "I can't even think about it
until this is over."

"I understand," Jim said. He laid my hand carefully on my lap and
stood up. "I'd better get going," he said. "It's getting late and
you've got a long day tomorrow."

"Or a very short one," I said, with a slightly shaky laugh, but Jim
smiled anyway.

"I'm going to hope for the best," he said, looking down at me with
eyes that told me quite plainly that he wanted to kiss me again but
wasn't sure how I'd respond.

Slowly, nervously, I stood up, and I took one step closer to him. Jim
didn't move, but I could see the flicker of hope in his eyes.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" he said, but he didn't move.

I nodded. "Tomorrow," I said. "Unless I'm in solitary confinement."

"God forbid," Jim said, but his voice shook slightly as he spoke.

I looked up into his eyes, trying my best to keep my gaze steady
although my heart was pounding almost painfully in my chest.

He wasn't going to ask, and he wasn't going to move toward me; not
without an invitation, anyway. He was being so careful, trying not to
presume, trying not to frighten me away.

He did deserve better, even if he wouldn't ask for it. I would have to
offer.

And, to be perfectly honest, I wanted to. I really wanted to.

I breathed in once, slowly, to calm myself. "Can I have a goodnight
kiss?" I said, but there was a bit of a tremor in my own voice.

Almost instantly, Jim's smile was back, broader and more
devastating than ever. "Oh, yeah," he said. "You bet you can."

And with that, he bent forward and kissed me; gently at first, then
more firmly. I put my arms around his neck and his arms encircled my
waist, pulling me closer to him. I could feel him getting hard, but he
didn't pull away from me, nor did he make any special effort to make
sure I noticed it. It was just there, as he was, if I wanted him.

And I did. I was trembling in his arms, at once frightened and aroused
in a way I hadn't been for years.

Jim's kiss was careful and affectionate, but there was more behind it
than just affection. He was asking for, but not demanding, a response
from me. He was just kissing me, the way a man kisses a woman he cares
for and wants to ...

Wants to make love to.

I should have stopped him, perhaps, but that moment, that kiss, was
just too perfect, offering no more and no less than what I already
knew I wanted, even though I had no right to ask that of him: a friend
for always, a lover for sometimes.

It might not be this week, this month, or even this year, but it would
happen.

Someday, Jim Reilly would open his arms to me, and I would go to him.

************

December 2, 1996
Monday

************

As Mulder Saw It

************

You don't run in the U.S. Capitol, but I damn sure wanted to.

I could hear the voices all the way at the other end of the hall.
Someone -- some man -- was speaking very loudly, and right into a
microphone. The amplified sound was echoing off the walls until it
seemed to come from everywhere.

And I could hear what he was saying, too: Scully's name. She was back
before the committee, and she wasn't giving in. She was all alone, she
had only one way out of jail for all she knew, and she wasn't giving
up.

I wanted to see her so badly, to put my arms around her and tell her
what it meant to me that she had done this and that she had sent
Daniel to find me. First, though, I had to stop this damn senator
right in his megalomaniacal tracks.

I opened the door just a crack and peered through. There was Senator
Sorenson, his hatchet face practically knocking the mike over as he
yelled at my partner.

"Agent Scully," he was saying; shit, he wasn't just saying, he was
demanding.

Scully, as she almost always does, seemed perfectly cool. She just
went on with what she'd been saying.

"About his murder, and my opinion about its connection to the death of
Dr. Bonita Charne-Sayre of the World Health Organization ..." she
said, but Sorenson interrupted her again.

"Miss Scully," he said, frostily, and I could feel my temper rise.
That's Agent Scully to you, dirtbag, I thought; on Sundays, it's Dr.
Scully. Get it right before I kick your ass from here to Jupiter.

"You'll get your chance with all of that," Sorenson was saying, but
Scully kept right on going.

"Or about the biotoxin being transported within that pouch," she said,
but I could see just the slightest droop in her shoulders. Defying
authority doesn't come naturally to her.

Sorenson was getting extraordinarily pissed off by this show of
resistance, too. "Answer the question, Miss Scully," he snapped at
her.

Fuck this bastard and the horse he rode in on. Before Scully could say
another word, I pushed through the door. "What is the question?" I
said, as arrogantly as I dared.

Scully whipped around in her chair, and I swear to God she'd have run
right to me if she could have. If we'd been anywhere but where we
were, I'd have been running toward her, too, but that would have to
wait. I just walked the rest of the way down the aisle and sat down
exactly where I was supposed to.

Senator Romine started pounding his gavel. "All right," he said.
"Let's come to order. Agent Scully, do continue."

Romine's all right.

Scully turned around just as calmly as if she'd known all along that
I'd be walking in any second.

"Yes, sir," she said, coolly. "If I may, I'd like to finish making my
point."

************

As Scully Saw It

************

The sound of Senator Romine's gavel will live forever in my memory as
one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard.

I had waited as long as I could. I had fought as hard as I could to
remain calm, and I think I largely succeeded.

But when that gavel came down, I let it all go. I stood up and I ran
straight into Mulder's arms. There was so much I wanted to say, but
all I could manage was his name.

And he smiled, and he held me close. "It's good to put my arms around
you," he said. "Both of them."

I had no idea what he meant by that, but there was no time for that.
This case wasn't over; not by a long shot. There was more to come, and
on a personal as well as a professional level.

I was ready to tackle it now. Mulder was here, he was alive, he was
safe, he was as glad to see me as I was to see him, and he was putting
his arms around me in front of Skinner and everyone else.

I could have stayed there forever, feeling his hands gently stroking
my back, feeling the strength of his arms, but that couldn't be.
Reluctantly, I let him go.

"When did you get back here?" I asked him.

"It's been a long, strange trip," he said, rather cryptically.

I was just about to ask him to explain that, and to tell me whether he
was all right -- I could see that he'd been injured, but I could also
see that the injury had been tended to. Daniel _had_ found him, then.
Thank God.

I didn't get the chance to ask anything right then, however. Skinner,
still looking royally pissed off, interrupted us.

"Some other time," he said, gruffly. "I think there's been enough
strangeness here to sort through."

The thought flashed through my mind that Skinner didn't know much
about what Mulder and I do if he thought this case was strange, but I
quickly turned my attention back to the case at hand.

There was work to be done.

And now that I had my partner back, I was sure that I would be able to
do it. Nothing was going to stop me now.

Nothing at all.


************

West Tisbury, Mass.
December 6, 1996
Wednesday

************

As Mulder Saw It

************

Whatever self-confidence I had when I walked into the Senate committee
room was shot to hell by the time I got back from Terma.

It wasn't just being knocked down by an exploding oil well, although
I'm here to tell you, that can really ruin your day.

It wasn't just that Scully had once again escaped death or injury by
inches.

It wasn't even that all my efforts to talk to Scully, to tell her what
her loyalty had meant to me, were thwarted by the exigencies of last-
minute plane reservations for cramped seats situated far apart, by
investigations that took ever stranger turns and, finally, by my utter
exhaustion.

That was all bad, and it all hurt, but I could have dealt with it if
we'd come back with something tangible, something that the damn Senate
committee wouldn't be able to dismiss or deny.

Instead, we came back with nothing. Not one goddamn thing. Oh, I made
a big, brave speech to Sorenson and Romine and all the others, but the
truth is that I was whistling my way through the graveyard of yet
another desperate hope.

By the time we got back to the Vineyard Tuesday night, I was in a deep
funk. I almost hadn't come. I had seriously considered just staying in
the District and telling Daniel and the others to go ahead without me.
I would have done it, too, except that Scully put her foot down and
told me that I wasn't going to mess up her Thanksgiving dinner again
no matter how pissed I was.

I didn't argue with her. I never do when she talks to me like that.
It's kind of corny, I guess, but when she lays down the law to me like
that, it just shows me all over again how much she really loves me, no
matter how cool she can be while we're trying to work.

When we got there, very late -- we caught the last ferry that day -- I
was glad I'd listened to her. Not only was Daniel there, but he walked
up to me and kissed me when I came through the door, as though there
was nothing unusual about it.

Normally, there's not. Of course, we're not normally surrounded by
other people.

Speaking of which, Jill was in the kitchen, baking and roasting and
cooking up a storm, creating a Thanksgiving dinner that could have
served as a model for Norman Rockwell.

And it was good. It was so damn good, all of it: The food, the
company, the laughter during the meal, the quiet afterward. It gave me
just a flash of memory of what my life was like before Samantha
disappeared, when holidays were warm, happy times, celebrated with
latkes or turkey or matzah, shared with family and friends.

Stupid and mushy as it sounded, I felt like I was part of a family
again. I hadn't felt like that since 1973. I thought I never would
again.

But I liked it. I liked it a lot. I felt so good, in fact, that it
didn't even bother me -- well, not much -- to see Daniel put his arm
around Jill when he thanked her for the dinner. In fact, I thought it
was kind of nice.

How's that for progress toward actual adulthood?

After dinner, Jim and Scully disappeared into the kitchen, spurning
all offers of help from me or Daniel -- Jill was excluded by
acclamation and sent to the living room to rest -- so Daniel and I
went for a walk. It was pretty damn cold, but at least it wasn't
Siberia.

Anyway, it would have to have been a hell of a lot colder before I
would have passed up this time with Daniel. He was scheduled for
another physical at Bethesda the next afternoon, and he told me it was
a pretty good bet he'd be cleared for limited light duty. That meant
we'd both be back to our usual schedules soon, and I'd have to get
used to not seeing him as much.

I found that thought unpleasant in the extreme, all the more because
I'd spent so much time in his company recently. It was beginning to
seem natural to spend the day with him and then fall asleep with him
at night. For us, of course, that scenario is anything but normal.

Daniel seemed happy, though, and more at peace than I'd ever seen him,
and I told him so.

He just shrugged his shoulders. "I've got every reason to feel
peaceful, don't I?" he said. "You're back safely, apparently none the
worse for wear, I'm about to get back to doing what I love, Jill's
forgiven me -- mostly, anyway -- and my brother's still here with me.
I don't think there's anything missing."

There was something missing, of course, but I was damned if I was
going to remind him. He was just doing what so many gay men and
lesbians have to do; he was redefining what constituted family in his
life, creating his own family to replace the family that didn't want
to include him.

It's not an easy process, and I wasn't going to make it harder for him
by reminding him that his own mother didn't seem to want to be part of
that family.

I decided I'd steer away from that discussion toward something a bit
safer. "Do you really see it that way?" I said. "That Jill's forgiven
you, I mean?"

He looked at me as though I'd turned some strange shade of purple.
"Yes, I do," he said. "Why, do you think I shouldn't?"

It was my turn to shrug then. "My first impression of her was that she
wasn't all that angry at you," I said, sticking my hands deep into my
pockets. "She said she was, but I had a hard time believing it."

"That's just Jill being Jill," Daniel said, shaking his head. "She's
not much for showing what she feels."

"Ah," I said. "Well, it stands to reason she and I would have at least
a few things in common."

"Oh, you're funny," Daniel said, giving me an entirely insincere but
nonetheless withering glare. "Next thing I know, you'll be telling me
you want to enroll in nursing school."

"No way," I said, shaking my head. "Although Jill did say something
about Oxford ..."

Daniel laughed, but he quickly grew serious again. "Does it still
bother you?" he said.

"Your having been married before?" I said, and he nodded. "Not
really," I said. "I mean, it's still something I can't relate to, but
I'm getting used to the idea."

"I guess that's as much as I have any right to expect," Daniel said,
looking off into the distance. He looked so damn good that night,
especially with the wind blowing through his hair. I had a pretty good
idea that we wouldn't make it back to the house anytime soon.

"You have a right to expect a lot more, Daniel," I said, still
watching him, still marveling at how he could ever have chosen to be
with me.

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "People can only absorb so much at
one time, and you've had to deal with one hell of a lot lately. It's
all right, though; we've got time."

"I wish we did," I said, feeling suddenly sad. "We never seem to have
enough time together."

"That's because you're so damn insatiable," Daniel said, but he looked
at me as he said it, and he was smiling.

"Guilty as charged," I said, smiling back. "But only with you."

"And there's the paradox," Daniel said, his smile fading, replaced by
a more reflective expression. "You're trying to adjust to my previous
relationship, and I'm forever trying to adjust to your not having had
one."

"Are you serious?" I said, in genuine surprise. "You never told me
that bothered you."

"In my more secure moments, it doesn't," Daniel said. "Other times,
yes, it does. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"That's not going to happen," I said, firmly. "You have nothing to
worry about."

"I have a lot to worry about, although not all of it pertains to you,"
Daniel said. "Some of it does. You know, we've probably talked more in
the past week than we've talked the whole time we've been together."

"And that bothers you?" I said, puzzled.

"No," Daniel said. "What bothers me is that you're already beginning
to pull away from me; emotionally, I mean."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," I said, more quietly. "I didn't think I
was shutting you out."

"You're not," he said, quickly. "It's a normal progression. We get
close, we get a little emotional, and then we pull back for a while.
That doesn't mean I particularly relish it."

"You think so?" I said. "I haven't seen that in you, that pulling
back. Not much, anyway."

"I just don't make much noise about it," Daniel said. "Or anything
else, for that matter."

"That's not necessarily bad, Daniel," I said. "You're quiet about
things, sure, but most of the time that just means that you think
before you act, which, of course, I don't; not always, anyway."

"I was just brought up that way," Daniel said, and then he fell silent
again.

That was okay with me. I don't usually try to make him talk when he
doesn't want to, and in fact, he doesn't usually try to make me talk,
either. Things were ... going a little differently now.

We'd walked a long way, turned around and were heading back to the
house before Daniel spoke again.

"You know, right before my marriage ended, I started going to one of
those ex-gay ministries, hoping they could show me how to change," he
said, reflectively. "They made me pour out my life's story, then told
me, very solemnly, that my angry, emotionally distant father had made
me a homosexual."

"If I give him the yarn, will he make one for me?" I said, and Daniel
gave a short laugh.

"You'll have to ask him," he said. "Anyway, the only thing I really
got out of that ex-gay group was my prayer partner's phone number. By
the way, they told him that he was gay because his father's
relationship with him was unnaturally close and overly emotional."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't, in other words," I said, and
Daniel nodded.

"That group was probably the single most important factor in
convincing me that I couldn't change," Daniel said. "I mean, you can't
have it both ways."

"You can if you're bi," I said, but that witticism only got me a faint
smile. "So what happened with the prayer partner?"

"It didn't last," Daniel said, and I could hear the regret in his
voice. "Michael was a nice guy, but that relationship was doomed from
the outset. He didn't like sneaking around with a married man, and I
just couldn't bring myself to tell Jill. So he told me to give him a
call when I was ready to be honest with Jill, with him and with
myself."

"And did you?" I asked, then cleared my throat. The thought of
Daniel with another man was painful, but what was even more painful
was picturing the turmoil he must have been in back then. He's an
honest man, and a good one, and cheating wouldn't come naturally to
him.

Daniel shook his head. "I never saw him again," he said. "Two days
after I broke it off with Michael, I told Jill the truth. I still
loved her, but I couldn't stand to cheat on her anymore."

"But you didn't feel able to give up on relationships with men,
either, did you?" I said. It wasn't really a question.

"No, I didn't," Daniel said, and then fell silent and stopped walking
-- but he also took my hand.

"Before you left for New York, you asked me how I feel about you," he
said after a few minutes. "I thought about that a lot while you were
gone, and I realized that I can't think of anything to say that I
haven't said already. I love you. I have since the day I met you. And
I've always looked up to you and admired you for having the guts to
come out to yourself and the rest of the world so early in life,
without apologizing and without looking back."

I kept my eyes on the ground. I couldn't look at him. I just nodded.

"Because you're right, you know," Daniel said, even more quietly than
before. "There was a time -- maybe even after I met you -- when I
would have given anything to change. I've never gotten over having
hurt my parents and Jill so badly. But I've never kept that a secret
from you."

He stopped for a second, trying -- it seemed to me -- to collect
himself a little. That was unusual; outwardly, Daniel is quieter than
I, less aggressive, more sympathetic. Inside, though, he's tougher
than I am, much more in control of himself. There's only been one time
that either of us cried in the other's presence, and Daniel wasn't the
one crying.

"But in spite of all that," he said, and I knew I'd guessed right by
the slight roughness in his voice, "I promise you, I wouldn't change
now even if I could. Even though it would make my parents happy, and
Jill happy, and protect my career, I still wouldn't do it -- because
if I were straight, you wouldn't be my lover, and I can't even imagine
life without you anymore."

For a minute I just stood there, holding Daniel's hand so tightly I
doubt there was any blood left in his fingers. I didn't want to cry
any more than he did, but I sure as shit felt like it. Finally, I just
went to him and put my head on his shoulder. He let go of my hand and
his arms went around me in a death grip as he rested his head against
mine.

"I feel like the world's largest piece of shit," I murmured against
his shoulder, and I could feel the soft rumbling when he laughed -- it
was a little shaky, but it was a genuine laugh.

"Not the world's largest," he said, and I felt his lips press against
the top of my head. "Second largest, maybe; definitely in the top
ten."

"Oh, thanks a lot," I said, looking up at him, but I was laughing a
little myself. "You really know how to hurt a guy, don't you?"

"Not my intention," Daniel said, mildly, reaching for the top button
on my shirt and slipping it loose. "We were just having a discussion."

"So how do we end this ... discussion?" I asked, but it was a
rhetorical question if ever there was one, because Daniel had my shirt
about halfway unbuttoned. "Do you have any plans?"

"Yeah, I've got an idea," he said, smiling at my sudden shiver of
pleasure as he slid his hand under the shirt and his fingers grazed
over my nipple.

"Don't keep me -- Jesus, Daniel ... oh, yeah, right there -- don't
keep me in suspense," I said, leaning toward him as he bent to taste
some of the flesh he'd just uncovered. "Let's hear it."



END "The Seventh Side of the Triangle" (11/13)
by Susan Jameson(DrBarnBarn@aol.com)