Story 81: "Theory and Practice" by Nascent
You are correct. This is a re-post of "Theory and Practice." I was so disappointed that no one commented on this story that I deleted the May 7 entry. I have to try to do a better job of selling this story to you all (clearly, I did a crappy job the first time around) because this story deserves to be read and discussed.
I am also posting to let you know that this community is most likely going on hiatus until the middle of June. I am leaving for New York in a little over a week and am considering going cold turkey on internet access. No, seriously.
Okay, back to our fanfic rerun.
Set between Demons and Gethsemane at the height of the cancer arc, it is as much about the emotional impact that Scully's illness is having on their relationship, as it is about the case file itself. Nascent's theory about that impact is unique, but it seems far more consistent with the canon characterizations than many of the stories set during the time frame. While it is not a romance in any conventional sense of the word, let me reassure you, this is a love story.
"Theory and Practice" could have been filmed as written, except for the sex scenes, of course. If it had been, it would have been a damn memorable episode. The dialogue is snappy: Mulder sounds like Mulder, Scully sounds like Scully, the original characters sound like real people. Their discussions of the case sound like they could have been lifted from the show. The x-file is truly creepy, and the relationship stuff is interwoven into the plot very deftly. This fic is not as long as you think, which I discovered when I printed it out to read. There is another story, also very good, that is attached to the file. It is called "Insider Trading." You should read it, too. Krycek plays a major role in that one, and so does Skinner.
What follows is an section from the first chapter, which I am hoping it will suck you all in, since the beginning of the fic didn't do it for you.
He was acutely aware that something much more imposing than two cheaply paneled hotel room doors separated them. The awareness left him feeling oddly unconnected, as if his inner ear were mounted on a wobbly platform suspended from some unseen hook high above him. Perhaps perversely, he resented her for it.
He perused a few pages of background notes but the lines blurred before him, and after realizing he'd read the same paragraph four times and still could not understand it, he resolved to right this thing between them, right it now and ground himself again.
So he found himself at her door, expectant and disconcertingly nervous. Tapping softly.
Her shoes were off but she was still fully dressed. She did not invite him inside but he pushed past her, pretending not to notice. He took a seat on her bed; she leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded across her chest.
They appraised each other across an invisible but tangible line of challenge.
She crossed it first. "I was expecting you."
He thrust. "I wanted to know what the doctors said."
Parry. "I know."
He waited, feigning injury. The bluff paid off; she continued at last. "The results won't be back for at least a week, probably more."
They regarded each other silently across the seemingly infinite gap, though the swords of their spirits were tangled in an-almost stalemate, each one pushing with every ounce of strength, willing the other to yield first.
Finally, Mulder conceded, adopted a defensive pose. "I just want to know how you're doing."
Her answering blow struck him hard. "I'm fine, Mulder."
He acknowledged the strike with a lowering of his head. He hated when she lied to him.
Perhaps his next move was somewhat unfair, but the rules of this game are unclear and often broken. He attacked before she was ready. "Well, when you stop being 'fine,' Scully, I hope you'll admit it to yourself if not to me, rather than endangering us both by pretending everything's still normal. I don't appreciate games of 'let's pretend,' and you of all people should know that imagining something won't make it true."
Her response was quick and cold. "I don't think I'm the one with the poor sense of reality here. I'm dying, Mulder, and I do not deny it. Neither should you."
He gritted his teeth; she had cut deep with that blow.
"But 'endangering us both,' Mulder?" She crossed the room to tower over him, fierce and taut. "Do you not trust me to know my own limits? Do you not trust me to have our best interests in mind? Do you not trust me to watch your back?"
She had beaten him to the ground, and he couldn't meet her eyes. "No, Scully," he mumbled. "Of course I trust you. Of course I do. I'm just...I wish you could trust me with what's happening to you."
It was a feeble blow, and not quite a truthful one, yet it seemed to have struck a sensitive spot, for her face crinkled and her eyes softened.
But before Mulder could sigh with relief, her next move crippled him.
She sank onto the bed beside him and reached for his hand where it rested on his knee. Instead of clasping it, though, she patted it awkwardly, rubbed her thumb over his wrist, never meeting his eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you," she whispered--he could barely hear her. "It's that I don't trust myself. Not yet." It was the first honest thing she'd said to him that night.
He looked down at their hands helplessly, feeling his lip begin to tremble and halfheartedly hating her for it. He turned to search her eyes--which still would not meet his--for the malice or deception he suspected might be there. Though she didn't look at him, her blue gaze was more sad than malicious, more resigned than afraid.
He squeezed her fingers roughly, conceding her victory. There was nothing else he could say, but the only other options were to leave or sit in silence, and both seemed equally unappealing.
So he compromised, raising her fingers briefly and somewhat helplessly to his lips, just for a second, then stood and began the journey to the door. He thought he might be limping--he certainly felt like he should be.
He had always been his own man, his emotions never subjugated to the whims of another, at least, not another who could be seen and heard and felt. He resented that Scully now wielded this power over him, and even as he granted her that power he begrudged her it.
Why couldn't she see that he needed to know the weight of her burden, support the half that was rightfully his?
Perhaps it is too bad he could not see the woman he'd just left on the other side of that cheaply paneled hotel door. She had fallen backwards onto the bed, forearm across her eyes, which were tightly closed and holding back tears. For she thought that he had won that battle, and in her grief and fear she resented him for holding that same power over her.
Why couldn't he see that she needed this facade--not to maintain an illusion but to maintain her own strength?
Mulder and Scully had discovered that it is a frightening and wonderful thing to be at the mercy of one whom you love. Even the purest and deepest of friendships can begin to make you feel like a hostage.
But perhaps this is all love is: mutual terrorism of the heart.
Theory and Practice
Nascent and Flywoman's Fanfiction (via the Wayback machine)
Though the author left the fandom long ago, I would like to know what you think of the story, whether it be good, bad or indifferent. Suggestions for next time can be made here.
I am also posting to let you know that this community is most likely going on hiatus until the middle of June. I am leaving for New York in a little over a week and am considering going cold turkey on internet access. No, seriously.
Okay, back to our fanfic rerun.
Set between Demons and Gethsemane at the height of the cancer arc, it is as much about the emotional impact that Scully's illness is having on their relationship, as it is about the case file itself. Nascent's theory about that impact is unique, but it seems far more consistent with the canon characterizations than many of the stories set during the time frame. While it is not a romance in any conventional sense of the word, let me reassure you, this is a love story.
"Theory and Practice" could have been filmed as written, except for the sex scenes, of course. If it had been, it would have been a damn memorable episode. The dialogue is snappy: Mulder sounds like Mulder, Scully sounds like Scully, the original characters sound like real people. Their discussions of the case sound like they could have been lifted from the show. The x-file is truly creepy, and the relationship stuff is interwoven into the plot very deftly. This fic is not as long as you think, which I discovered when I printed it out to read. There is another story, also very good, that is attached to the file. It is called "Insider Trading." You should read it, too. Krycek plays a major role in that one, and so does Skinner.
What follows is an section from the first chapter, which I am hoping it will suck you all in, since the beginning of the fic didn't do it for you.
He was acutely aware that something much more imposing than two cheaply paneled hotel room doors separated them. The awareness left him feeling oddly unconnected, as if his inner ear were mounted on a wobbly platform suspended from some unseen hook high above him. Perhaps perversely, he resented her for it.
He perused a few pages of background notes but the lines blurred before him, and after realizing he'd read the same paragraph four times and still could not understand it, he resolved to right this thing between them, right it now and ground himself again.
So he found himself at her door, expectant and disconcertingly nervous. Tapping softly.
Her shoes were off but she was still fully dressed. She did not invite him inside but he pushed past her, pretending not to notice. He took a seat on her bed; she leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded across her chest.
They appraised each other across an invisible but tangible line of challenge.
She crossed it first. "I was expecting you."
He thrust. "I wanted to know what the doctors said."
Parry. "I know."
He waited, feigning injury. The bluff paid off; she continued at last. "The results won't be back for at least a week, probably more."
They regarded each other silently across the seemingly infinite gap, though the swords of their spirits were tangled in an-almost stalemate, each one pushing with every ounce of strength, willing the other to yield first.
Finally, Mulder conceded, adopted a defensive pose. "I just want to know how you're doing."
Her answering blow struck him hard. "I'm fine, Mulder."
He acknowledged the strike with a lowering of his head. He hated when she lied to him.
Perhaps his next move was somewhat unfair, but the rules of this game are unclear and often broken. He attacked before she was ready. "Well, when you stop being 'fine,' Scully, I hope you'll admit it to yourself if not to me, rather than endangering us both by pretending everything's still normal. I don't appreciate games of 'let's pretend,' and you of all people should know that imagining something won't make it true."
Her response was quick and cold. "I don't think I'm the one with the poor sense of reality here. I'm dying, Mulder, and I do not deny it. Neither should you."
He gritted his teeth; she had cut deep with that blow.
"But 'endangering us both,' Mulder?" She crossed the room to tower over him, fierce and taut. "Do you not trust me to know my own limits? Do you not trust me to have our best interests in mind? Do you not trust me to watch your back?"
She had beaten him to the ground, and he couldn't meet her eyes. "No, Scully," he mumbled. "Of course I trust you. Of course I do. I'm just...I wish you could trust me with what's happening to you."
It was a feeble blow, and not quite a truthful one, yet it seemed to have struck a sensitive spot, for her face crinkled and her eyes softened.
But before Mulder could sigh with relief, her next move crippled him.
She sank onto the bed beside him and reached for his hand where it rested on his knee. Instead of clasping it, though, she patted it awkwardly, rubbed her thumb over his wrist, never meeting his eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you," she whispered--he could barely hear her. "It's that I don't trust myself. Not yet." It was the first honest thing she'd said to him that night.
He looked down at their hands helplessly, feeling his lip begin to tremble and halfheartedly hating her for it. He turned to search her eyes--which still would not meet his--for the malice or deception he suspected might be there. Though she didn't look at him, her blue gaze was more sad than malicious, more resigned than afraid.
He squeezed her fingers roughly, conceding her victory. There was nothing else he could say, but the only other options were to leave or sit in silence, and both seemed equally unappealing.
So he compromised, raising her fingers briefly and somewhat helplessly to his lips, just for a second, then stood and began the journey to the door. He thought he might be limping--he certainly felt like he should be.
He had always been his own man, his emotions never subjugated to the whims of another, at least, not another who could be seen and heard and felt. He resented that Scully now wielded this power over him, and even as he granted her that power he begrudged her it.
Why couldn't she see that he needed to know the weight of her burden, support the half that was rightfully his?
Perhaps it is too bad he could not see the woman he'd just left on the other side of that cheaply paneled hotel door. She had fallen backwards onto the bed, forearm across her eyes, which were tightly closed and holding back tears. For she thought that he had won that battle, and in her grief and fear she resented him for holding that same power over her.
Why couldn't he see that she needed this facade--not to maintain an illusion but to maintain her own strength?
Mulder and Scully had discovered that it is a frightening and wonderful thing to be at the mercy of one whom you love. Even the purest and deepest of friendships can begin to make you feel like a hostage.
But perhaps this is all love is: mutual terrorism of the heart.
Theory and Practice
Nascent and Flywoman's Fanfiction (via the Wayback machine)
Though the author left the fandom long ago, I would like to know what you think of the story, whether it be good, bad or indifferent. Suggestions for next time can be made here.