"Candles"
by Eva James 
email: ejxf@hotmail.com
website: http://evajames.tripod.com
rating: G
classification: VR -- UST
summary: Scully thinks about what Mulder means to her as she 
lights a candle for him.
keywords: Mulder/Scully UST, religious matter
archive: Yes please.  Anywhere is fine, as long as my name and 
email stay attached.  If you're not Gossamer or another huge 
archive, I'd appreciate a note telling me where it'll be!.
disclaimer: Mulder and Scullybelong to the Surfer God

It's become a ritual lately.  Every night on the way home from 
work, I stop and light a candle for Mulder.  Actually, I suppose 
that's a lie. I'm not quite that unselfish.  I suppose I'm lighting it for 
both of us.

It...calms me.  Standing there by those lit candles and knowing that 
each one represents a prayer gives me hope.  It gives me time to 
digest my day and find some way to go on.  Even though it's only 
for a few minutes, it has somehow become one of the last things in 
my life that seems real.  Maybe it's just the connection that this act 
has to my past.  I don't know the reasons.

The funny thing is, I don't think this it does anything.  I think that 
God hears my prayers, but I stopped believing that he actually 
answers them around the time Emily died.  Perhaps even earlier, 
when Melissa...

Regardless, I don't think that the act of lighting the candle will 
make my wishes come true sooner.  But I do it anyway.  Maybe it's 
just a way to take time out of my schedule to pray, to set aside this 
special place at the church for that.  And it's the one time that I can 
admit to myself what Mulder means to me.

When I'm praying, I don't seem to have any trouble saying that I 
love him.

I'm not worried about what it means or what problems it might 
bring.  I can just let go and feel.  I can let myself know that I need 
him just to breathe and not feel needy.  I can let myself realize that 
needing him does not make me weak.  And I can ask God to help 
me realize that fact once I'm back in my car driving home alone.

As soon as I step outside of the church, and I feel the sun hit my 
face or the wind blow at my coat, as soon as I hear the loud 
beeping of horns and cars passing by, I start to forget.  I tell 
myself, we're partners, and I shouldn't feel like this.  I start to 
forget that I just convinced myself inside that building that he 
loves me too.  Those steep, thick walls that reside around my heart 
and have just become a little crumbled get built back up.

And I say things like "Oh brother," when he tries to tell me how he 
feels.  Pretty soon I am able to brush off anything.  But maybe the 
walls aren't quite as high as they once were.  Maybe someday I 
will step outside into the world and nothing will change.  Maybe I 
will drive over to Mulder's place and knock on his door and he'll 
ask me inside.  Maybe we'll order a pizza and talk and laugh and 
I'll lean over and lick the melted cheese off his lips.  Maybe he'll 
catch my mouth and kiss me hard.

But not today.  Because I am still so afraid.  That must be why I go 
every day to light a candle.  Because maybe someday -- probably 
in the spring, I think -- those walls will be off some other place and 
they will forget that I am not in the church where they aren't 
allowed.  They'll forget that they can come back and -- I will be 
free.  Free.