Anyone watching would just see an attractive redhead walking briskly to her car. They wouldn’t see the turmoil, the shaking of her hands, or the thudding in her chest. She let herself into her car, but couldn’t put the key in the ignition.
Why was this so painful? They’d just been holding hands; she wasn’t in high school for god’s sake. So why had the sight sent an icy shaft of steel through her heart?
This was ridiculous, he was a grown man. He’d had relationships. So had she, but . . . but the relationship they had, she thought they had was, was different. And obviously not enough.
His ‘chickadee’, that’s what Frohike had called her. All three of the guys had been very uncomfortable talking to her about Diana. Why was that? What exactly constituted a ‘chickadee’ for Mulder? They were lovers, she’d supplied that for herself. At least they had been. Would they be again, tomorrow?
She closed her eyes. She really hadn’t realized she could despise a woman the way she did Diana. She’d never felt an emotion like this for another woman. Maybe that made sense; she’d never felt an emotion for a man the way she did Mulder.
“You’re thinking about one of the girls you brought with you. She’s thinking about you too.” Scully hadn’t seen Mulder’s panic face often lately, but she’d seen it then. Diana had asked “Which one?”
‘He doesn’t want me to say.’ Gibson had responded and Mulder had all but raced to get away from him. He’d been thinking about Diana. It had to be, because Scully’s focus had been on the boy. Now they were holding hands.
Holding hands with Mulder was, was different than with anyone else. At least it was for her. It was more . . . intimate. His hands never seemed to stop moving, like the rest of him. He played with her hand when he held it. With anyone else she would pull away, but with him it was . . . right.
Mulder’s hands. She didn’t often dwell on them, but more than once she’d had to drag her attention back to the present from contemplating them. On stakeouts, in hospital rooms, . . . when he touched her back. She shivered slightly just from the memory.
Okay, she was jealous - a burning, raw jealousy like she’d never felt before. How could the man share that part of himself with another woman. Had he taken her hand, or had she taken his? Stupid, but it felt like an important distinction.
Her desire to claw the woman’s eyes out arose again. Could she take her? Diana was bigger and older. It would probably be a draw. Would Mulder enjoy the show? Knowing that two women were willing to come to physical violence over him? Of course he would, he was male.
She closed her eyes, trying to regain control. It didn’t help, closing her eyes brought the sight of their hands joined back to her mind. To her shock, she had to stifle a sob.
No. She had to put this aside. There was information she needed to study and a very special little boy she had to protect in a few hours.
Later, she would think about this later . . .