Quirky Foibles *Author* 'Jamie Greco' JGreco217@aol.com Rating: G Classification: V, MSR (In Mulder's mind) Spoilers: Detour Summary: Mulder's thoughts as Scully holds him in the forest. Disclaimer: Not for profit borrowing of my favorite characters Notes: Thanks to JP for editing my all of my stories, even those primarily concerned with Mulder's darlingness. Thanks, as well to those of you who have taken the time to write and compliment me for previous stories. I appreciate the feedback and kind words... There's something in the woods that wants to make an entree out of me; actually made the attempt and I am grateful to it. I'm in ten kinds of pain and I'm shivering and slightly nauseated and I have to figure out how to express my gratitude to what I think is a Mothman. Does Hallmark make a card for this? Most likely not. Scully says I'm in shock. I love shock. It's one of my many quirky foibles or, as just about anyone else would call it, freakish twists. I know it's something that could keep a team of psychiatrists busy for months but shock is my friend. Whenever Scully gravely announces, "Mulder, you're in shock," she follows it up with tenderness and concern. I love tenderness and concern. Maybe because I haven't been on the receiving end of it much. Sometimes I'm not in any shape to bask in the upside of shock. Tonight as she leans against me and talks to me about her life, I am fully aware of my good fortune. Speaking of good fortune, she told me if it rains sleeping bags I might get lucky. I have never wished so hard for anything in all of my life. After all I've lived through and without, you wouldn't think one stinking sleeping bag would be to much to ask for. And I can't emphasize the number one strongly enough, which in this case would be far from the loneliest number. But it's a no go. She had an idea about making a fire to warm me, but it is a failure so she returns and begins to tug awkwardly at me. I don't know what she wants; but whatever it is, she can have it. I tell her I don't want to wrestle; but truth be told, I'd like nothing better. It turns out she wants to hold me in her arms, in her lap no less, and I have won the fortune's lottery. I am deliriously, stupendously, uproariously happy. If not for the near agony of the area where the Mothman tried to open up yet another hole in my body, I would be in Utopia. Still, it's very, very good. I curl myself up into the smallest person I can become so that she can encompass me. Probably not the goal of the average male, but normalcy is not something I ever strove for or even dared to hope for. Then again, I'm lying here in my partner's arms and anything is possible. I draw my knees in more tightly, and she does her part and twines around and through me. Did I die? I can't believe there is a place on earth that is this delightful. I feel a grin fighting its way to the surface, and I cannot contain it. It's probably weakness due to the aforementioned Moth guy, but I can't achieve stoicism. I hope she doesn't think I'm enjoying this too much. If she let me go now, there'd be nothing left of me but ashes. I want to feel this way forever. Still, as she holds me and tells me to sleep, I feel myself start to obey. Pisses me off. I don't know if I'll ever experience this again. I don't think I ever have up until now. Has anyone ever held me safe and warm while I sleep? Not in conscious memory. Her voice starts to fade in and out of my rapidly fading mind like wind chimes on a balmy evening. How sick is it that I'd like a lullaby? How warped and immature? Mostly, I just want to hear her voice and know somewhere in my mind that she is there while I'm sleeping. I ask her. Insist. Make it sound like a safety issue and finally she complies. I wonder vaguely if I might have asked for more, but then she starts to sing and I am taken aback. Jeremiah was a bullfrog? What the hell made her think of that? Then I think I know, although it's more than likely my brain rattling around in exhaustion. It's the chorus! It must be the chorus; that's why she chose this song. She feels the same giddy pleasure that I do. At least that's what I choose to believe until she stops, with no chorus offered. I wonder... "Chorus," I say simply. "Joy to you and me," she answers. Yeah...yeah, I like that.