Doubled
by Dasha K.
dashak@aol.com 

Please archive at Gossamer. If you would like to archive
anywhere else, please drop me a line.

Summary: Is it possible to be two people?
Rating: NC-17 for adult situations. If you are underage,
you are not welcome to read this.
Classification: CRA
Keyword: XF/Red Shoes Diaries crossover
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, but to CC
and that Zalman King guy.
Feedback: Please feed me at dashak@aol.com


Note: Yes, I know that David Duchovny plays both Jake and
Mulder, but I've taken some liberty in stressing that while
there is a strong resemblance between both men, they are not
identical.



He's not in bed. I wake up, kicking the sheets in a futile
effort to cool off in an insufferable Los Angeles heat
wave. The air conditioning system is down and the
technician can't come until Monday. I refused his offer of
a hotel, masochist that I am. There's something about this
place, heat or no heat, that fascinates me. Draws me.
Just like him.

I like to get up in the middle of the night sometimes and
wander his loft, touching his furniture, running my hand
over the smooth marble of the kitchen counter, wending my
way among his model skyline, watching the way it casts
shadows on the floor. Sometimes his dog, Stella, gets up
and follows me on my nighttime journey, my faithful
companion as the streetlights stream through the windows.

Groaning, I roll over and check the clock by the bed. 5:03
am. An hour fit only for lolling in bed or milking cows-if
you're a farmer, that is.

I find him on the other side of the partition that closes
off the sleeping area from the rest of the loft. He's
sitting in the overstuffed green chair, staring out the
window. The sun is just rising, staining the sky shades of
rose and apricot. The light casts a blush on his face,
visible to me in profile. I stop and stare at him,
slouched back in the chair and wearing just his navy
boxers, his gaze intent and steady.

I wonder what he's thinking. Despite all the time we've
spent together, four weekends in the past three months,
he's still largely a mystery to me. A present to be
unwrapped, a tangle to unravel. I expect I'm the same to
him.

Sensing my presence, he turns his head to me and his lips
curl into a slow smile. So familiar, his smile, like I've
been watching it for many years.

In a way, I suppose I have.

"Dana," he says, his voice morning rough. "Come watch the
sky with me."

As I reach the chair, he pulls me onto his lap. He burrows
his face in my hair, in the nape of my neck. "I love the
way you smell."

I laugh. "I smell like sweat."

"Best smell in the world," he retorts and his lips move
across the lobe of my ear and down the side of my neck, his
hands reaching up to touch my nipples through the thin
material of my tee-shirt. With a sigh I rest my head
against his sweat-damp chest and allow the waves of arousal
to echo through my body.

With a little fumbling I manage to shift around in his lap
so I can see his face, look into his eyes. Oh, his eyes,
changeable hazel eyes darkened with his need.

If I squinted I could pretend he was someone else. It's
close, very close, but not exact. He's no carbon copy.
He's no mysterious clone, simply a man with a strong
resemblance to my partner. Same height, similar builds and
coloring, deceptively quirky smiles and strong noses.

You could psychoanalyze my choice in lovers from here to
Seattle, but the fact remains that Jake is not Mulder.

He is not a substitute. He's his own person with singular
quirks, traits and tastes. Jake even smells differently
from Mulder.

It's merely a coincidence. A coincidence.

"What are you looking at?" he asks, running his fingertip
on the arch of each of my eyebrows in turn.

"I'm looking at you, Jake."

And I am.

Jake is not Mulder.

I will admit that the first time I spotted Jake, from
across the room, I did think he was Mulder. It was my
cousin Betsey's wedding and I was crammed into an ugly teal
bridesmaid's dress with a bow at the butt, trying to hide
my hideous self in the corner of the room and drink myself
into submission with the free champagne. I was busy
tallying up the cost of this humiliation- three vacation
days, $375 for the plane ticket to LA, $140 for the dress,
$75 for satin shoes I'd never wear again- when I saw a tall
man walk through the doorway. My first thought was,
Mulder, what are you doing here? And then, as the man drew
closer and bent over to kiss Betsey on the cheek, I
realized he wasn't Mulder, not at all.

Betsey introduced me to Jake after dinner, telling me he
was the architect who had built a building in downtown LA
her firm had decorated. And the next thing I knew, I was
dancing with him to the ultra-hokey version of "Moon River"
the band was playing and the next thing, I was in his loft,
sliding off the teal taffeta. I called in sick that Monday
and Tuesday.

I've done a lot of thinking about this. It's not like me,
not at all, to jump into bed with a man I've just met. But
Jake, I felt as if I'd known him for years.

He just has a way of looking at me, looking into my eyes,
and understanding what I'm thinking. The first thing he
said to me after we were introduced and Betsey went off to
make her rounds was, "You love her, but you can't believe
she put you in that dress. You're wondering why an interior
designer has such awful taste in clothes. Am I right?" He
was right.

Jake's arms wrapped around me as we danced, and I breathed
in his scent of cologne and soap, relieved that he didn't
smell anything like Mulder. Suddenly he pulled away and
gave me an appraising look.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't ever say this to someone I've known for such a
short time, but will you go home with me, Dana?"

I saw the arousal in his eyes, mixed with a healthy dollop
of fear. I found that look attractive. Somehow, I found
myself nodding yes, my heart pounding in anticipation.

My mother caught me at the door as Jake and I were leaving
together. "Where are you going?" she asked.

I'm a terrible liar. "Jake and I are going for a drink." I
said and turned various shades of the red family.

She pulled me aside. "You know, he really looks like-"

I cut her off. "You think? I don't." And Jake and I fled
the scene.

But of course I did. You'd have to be a fool not to notice
the superficial resemblance.

That first night, he lit a candle and took me to his bed,
sliding off my panties with unhurried hands. I looked at
him through the haze of desire over my eyes and started to
gasp, "Mul-". But then we began to make love and I
quickly forgot all about my partner.

Mulder and I have never been down the road that Jake and I
have.

On the other hand, Jake has never seen me as Mulder has.

Neither would recognize the other man's Dana Scully.

I'm two women, living two wholly different lives. One
woman is cool, rational, living on her wits and her logic,
never outwardly breaking, never cracking. The other woman
is passionate and funny, running on her emotions, living
her life heedlessly, and loving her man thoroughly. And
never the twain shall meet.

Which do I like better? Neither. Both women are me.

Jake hasn't seen the Dana who is in pain, who suffers for
what she has been through, what she has lost.

Mulder knows that woman intimately. Our anguish and grief
are best friends, walk side-by-side on our quest.

Jake is carrying his own load of pain, but unlike Mulder,
he hasn't fully integrated the pain into his system. He
hasn't let the pain define who he is. He told me about
Alex our first night, and of finding her in the bathtub.
And how she betrayed him.

"I withdrew for a long time," he told me as we lay
together, gently touching and kissing after the fact. I
watched his beautiful eyes, gray in the lamplight, narrow
and harden. "But that time is over for me. I've decided to
let Alex go. It's been six years."

"That's a long time to carry that kind of grief," I said
and kissed his closed eyelids, trying to impart all the
tenderness I felt at that moment.

Jake nodded. "Six years is too long to withdraw from the
world. I can't do it anymore. I won't do it anymore."
His voice cracked speaking the last sentence and I pulled
him to me, desperate to help ease what remained of his
pain.

"What can I do?" I asked.

"Just be here," he said. "That's enough."

Three months later and I'm still here, watching as the
grief slowly drains out of Jake, a bit more each time I see
him. I know how difficult it is to let go of someone. I
know about the temptation to worship the lost, to keep them
dusted and shiny on the mantel as an eternal souvenir of
one's regret and mistakes. Yes, I know how to fetishize
the dead, too.

Our faces turn to look at the sky deepening in color. His
hands run through my hair. "It's on fire," Jake says.
"All that sunlight in your red hair."

I press my forehead against his and smile. Underneath me I
can feel him hardening against me, our bodies separated
only by thin layers of cotton. I'm so hungry for it, my
sexuality newly awakened by him. It was dormant,
forgotten, for so long, but now I'm plagued by a constant
craving for him.

Leaning forward, touch the lushness of Jake's lips with my
own. He kisses me with fierce need, his hands still
stroking my hair. I wrestle my shirt off between kisses
and our damp bodies meld into one creature, tangled in the
easy chair.

I cannot begin to describe how it feels to be close to
someone again. The words just won't come.

"Let's move this to the bedroom," Jake pants as I begin
rocking my bottom on his erection, the friction sending
sharp shocks up my spine.

"No. Here. Now." I'm already beyond sentence structure.

I raise my hips and pull my soaked panties down and manage
to get his boxers off as well, with a fair amount of
kicking and flailing. A greedy noise escaping my mouth, I
lower myself on his cock and his eyes open wide in
surprise.

"Oh Dana," he sighs and my mouth meets his again. Lazily,
I move on him, around him, taking my time and finding my
rhythm, sweat beginning to bead on my face from such
exertion in this heat.

Jake's arms wrap around my waist, holding me close,
supporting me as we gasp together in mutual delight, the
pace quickening.

"Oh Dana," he repeats, his eyes closing and his head
tipping back against the chair. He chants, "Oh Dana, oh
Dana, oh Dana . . ."

I shut my eyes too, muscles tensing as I start to come
close, God, so damn close it's beginning to hurt. My voice
comes out in a sandpaper rasp. "Call me Scully."

My eyes are closed, so I can't read his expression.
"Scully," he groans into my neck. "God, Scully, harder.
Give me more, Scully."

One decisive thrust down and my orgasm begins to slowly
bloom across my body. My arms, gripping the arms of the
chair, begin to shake convulsively.

I hear him hiss through his teeth and with an agonized
sound, he comes, too.

I stop and rest my head against his shoulder, breathing
hard and afraid to open my eyes, afraid to see his face.
What the hell did I do?

I let myself become Scully with Jake.

And worse, for a moment I imagined I was with Mulder.

I choke back tears of guilt as Jake covers my face with
little kisses. After opening my eyes, I force a smile at
his flushed and satisfied face.

"You are," he says and pauses, biting his lower lip. "You
are simply magnificent."

I kiss the bridge of his nose. "So are you, Jake."

We separate and tumble out of the chair, complaining of
aching backs and aging bodies.

All I want is a minute alone and luckily Jake offers to
make breakfast while I shower.

In the shower, I let the water run cool and stand against
the stall, allowing the spray to wash over me, the needles
piercing my overheated skin.

Jake is not Mulder, I tell myself.

Somehow I feel I just cheated on the both of them.

Compartmentalize, I tell myself. Each man has a well-
defined role in my life and I can't allow the two lives to
bleed into each other. Mulder is my partner and Jake is my
lover. End of story.

I'll never be so careless again.

After getting clean, I pad into the kitchen in my robe,
where Jake has set out bagels, fruit and coffee on the
table. He's using his high-tech juicer to make fresh
orange juice and I smile at the sight of him, wearing just
his boxers, veritably glowing from the heat and our
lovemaking.

Jake turns at the sound of my footsteps and sets the orange
on the counter. I notice the serious expression on his
face, the way his brows knit together. "I have to show you
something, Dana," he says. "Sit down and have some coffee
and I'll be right back."

I sit down and pour my coffee, just as he told me, add
cream and start smearing cream cheese on a cinnamon and
raisin bagel. He returns bearing a manila letter-size
envelope.

"What is that?" I ask.

He sits down next to me, his expression unreadable.
"Something that just came in the mail. Open it."

I put down my mug of coffee and undo the clasp on the
envelope. Inside I find a glossy black and white
photograph. All the color drains out of my face and my
mouth goes dry and I look at the picture. It's Mulder and
me, standing on the corner to the west of the Hoover
Building, on our way to pick up lunch at the deli down the
street. The picture was taken just last Monday, I can tell
by the clothes we are wearing, by the shoes I have on and
the way I was wearing my hair. Just another Monday on the
way to lunch with Mulder.

The photo drops from my fingers onto the table and I turn
to stare at Jake. "You had me followed?" I ask dully.

He nods and his eyes are apologetic. "I had a sense you
were hiding something from me. The fact that you always
come out here and never want me to see you in Washington .
I thought you might be married."

I bury my head in my hands. "So, you had me followed."

His hand touches my shoulder. "I have a friend in D.C. who
is a PD. He just followed you one day, and a minor
background check. This was the only unusual thing he
found."

I sigh.

"Dana, I do trust you. I'm just a little protective right
now."

I raise my head and stare at him, at the regret in his
eyes. "I understand," I say. After all, I have been
hiding something from him.

He touches Mulder's face with his index finger. "There's
quite a resemblance, wouldn't you say? Who is he?"

"My partner," I say.

"I know that. What I mean was, what is he to you?"

That's the eternal question, isn't it? How can I explain
it to Jake when I can't even define Mulder to myself?
"He's nothing," I quickly say and then think the better of
it. I shake my head. "No, that's wrong, he's everything."
I avert my eyes from Jake.

Jake's voice is soft. "And what am I to you?"

Another impossible question. "You're everything, too."

"Is he your lover?"

I shut my eyes and shake my head.

"Do you love him?"

I turn my head and take Jake's hand, which is shaking as
much as my own. "Jake, do you believe it's possible to
love two people at the same time?"

"Dana, am I his surrogate?"

Again, I sigh. "I wish it was that simple, Jake."

"It's like opening Pandora's box," he whispers. "I wanted
to know and I found out and now I wish I hadn't."

I kiss the top of the head, guilt and a thousand other
emotions rising and swirling in my brain. "I'm sorry," I
say.

"I just want to understand what this is all about," he
says, shaking his head.

I stifle a bitter laugh. "If I knew, I'd tell you."

Jake says nothing, just picks up the picture and dumps it
in the trashcan.

He walks back over to me and kneels in front of me. "Dana,
do you believe it's possible to love two people at the same
time?"

I nod my head. That answer I do know for sure.

His lips form a smile, a genuine one. "Then I suppose we
move forward from that supposition."

"And where do we go?" He truly looks nothing like Mulder,
I think. At that moment I can't believe I was fooled.

"I don't know. Wherever. But first eat your bagel before
it gets cold."

I smile and kiss him, grateful for his scraps of
understanding.

He gets off the floor and sits back down, pours himself a
cup of coffee. "Breakfast is always a good place to start
things anew."

I nod and pass him the pineapple.

He is not Mulder.

For the first time I believe it.

End

A million thank-yous to my editor and friend, Plausible
Deniability.

Also, much appreciation to Alanna for sending that
inspirational tape and to BB for nagging to finish and
general wickedness . . .<g>

Feedback lets me know someone is out there.
dashak@aol.com

Dasha K.

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