[She tried to forget choking. She tried to forget holding Mulder, sometime in the dream before she died.]
This really adds to it. This case has a grip on her at this point. Now there’s no turning back.
Mulder’s an interesting character, and viewing Scully through his particular lens is fascinating when it feels done correctly. JET does a great job of getting into Mulder’s head, of showing his inner thoughts without stating them. During the wretched dinner party, this particular bit struck me hard:
[He says his farewells, finds his coat. Drives home, straight home. Does not go to her and kiss the bruised shadows under her eyes, does not tuck her inside a blanket and whisper that he will always want to be her friend, no matter what, that she can tell him anything, anything at all, even good bye.]
This is a man who cares more than he’s capable of admitting in a breath. Scully’s change in behavior bothers him, scares him, but what I think hurts him the most about it is that she’s not talking to him, not telling him anything, and he feels as if he’s losing her somehow, perhaps on several levels. The saddest thing about it is really that he’s so attached to her, cares so much about her, but so rarely takes the time to tell her even in actions, that I don’t think she could ever know how much he wants to just take care of her sometimes, wants small and simple things for her, like for her to believe she’ll always have his friendship, for her to get enough sleep, for her to be warm and comfortable and to feel safe around him because he would never, ever hurt her, and especially not in retaliation for her needing something for her life that did not involve him.
There’s just so much to like about this:
[He pictures her there against the restaurant's dark leather browns, linen creams and royal blues. A bottle of wine, filet mignon or timbale with lobster and crab or rack of New Zealand lamb, warm coconut cream cake; and still nothing as opulent as the way she talks to him sometimes, when everything's okay.]
Him thinking of her laughter as goofy and wonderful? I love it. It’s so fitting. Of course he would think that. And he would think of an amazing dinner spread and find that all of it pales in comparison to her being okay—to things between them being okay, to them just…talking—while the world feels hushed around them.
["Asshole," he whispers to himself.]
This was easy to picture and just more proof that this author really knows how to write Mulder.
[She's shivering from fatigue and he doesn't know what's happened and she's injured, he realizes. This isn't about her and some romance, or even her and some desirable other job. She's been harmed.]
What’s interesting is how Scully changes as the story progresses, how she gets further and further away from him and folds up into herself. She’s good at that.
no subject
forget choking. She tried to forget holding Mulder,
sometime in the dream before she died.]
This really adds to it. This case has a grip on her at this point. Now there’s no turning back.
Mulder’s an interesting character, and viewing Scully through his particular lens is fascinating when it feels done correctly. JET does a great job of getting into Mulder’s head, of showing his inner thoughts without stating them. During the wretched dinner party, this particular bit struck me hard:
[He says his farewells, finds his coat. Drives home,
straight home. Does not go to her and kiss the
bruised shadows under her eyes, does not tuck her
inside a blanket and whisper that he will always want
to be her friend, no matter what, that she can tell
him anything, anything at all, even good bye.]
This is a man who cares more than he’s capable of admitting in a breath. Scully’s change in behavior bothers him, scares him, but what I think hurts him the most about it is that she’s not talking to him, not telling him anything, and he feels as if he’s losing her somehow, perhaps on several levels. The saddest thing about it is really that he’s so attached to her, cares so much about her, but so rarely takes the time to tell her even in actions, that I don’t think she could ever know how much he wants to just take care of her sometimes, wants small and simple things for her, like for her to believe she’ll always have his friendship, for her to get enough sleep, for her to be warm and comfortable and to feel safe around him because he would never, ever hurt her, and especially not in retaliation for her needing something for her life that did not involve him.
There’s just so much to like about this:
[He pictures
her there against the restaurant's dark leather
browns, linen creams and royal blues. A bottle of
wine, filet mignon or timbale with lobster and crab or
rack of New Zealand lamb, warm coconut cream cake; and
still nothing as opulent as the way she talks to him
sometimes, when everything's okay.]
Him thinking of her laughter as goofy and wonderful? I love it. It’s so fitting. Of course he would think that. And he would think of an amazing dinner spread and find that all of it pales in comparison to her being okay—to things between them being okay, to them just…talking—while the world feels hushed around them.
["Asshole," he whispers to himself.]
This was easy to picture and just more proof that this author really knows how to write Mulder.
[She's shivering from fatigue and
he doesn't know what's happened and she's injured, he
realizes. This isn't about her and some romance, or
even her and some desirable other job. She's been
harmed.]
What’s interesting is how Scully changes as the story progresses, how she gets further and further away from him and folds up into herself. She’s good at that.
(2/3)