"She was trying to take away your pain."
God it feels like an eternity since I said those words and yet here I am still holding him in my arms. As every second passes I hold him tighter. I even begin to rock him back and forth, anything to make him stop. He responds by holding me just as tight, an act that only makes it worse. You see he's broken down before but never like this. It was never this bad and that's what scares me, that's what makes me hold him tighter.
Finally, sometime after forever has past, his sobs begin to subside and we both begin to relax. We hold on for a few minutes more before I decide to get him some tissue and a glass of water. Reluctantly he let's me go as he wipes the tears from his eyes.
When I return he's leaning forward on with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He looks up at my approach and manages a weak smile. I return it as I sit next to him and hand him the glass. He finishes it in one gulp and sighs. I'm certain one of us should say something, anything, but I honestly don't know what. I mean what do you say to a man, to your best friend, whose mother has just committed suicide. As far as I know she was his only family and now she's gone. What could I possibly say to that? So I fall back on my medical training and go into my 'caretaker' mode.
"How are you feeling?"
'Gee, Dana, how do you think he feels?'
"Hungry, actually."
Well I certainly wasn't expecting that one. Although considering neither of us is too big on emotional expression I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. I mean it's not like I expected him to pour out his heart and soul to me, even though that would have made for a nice change of pace. Still I doubt I'd know how to respond. I guess I should just be thankful that he didn't use my patented non-response, "I'm fine," right? So, if the man says he's hungry...
"Okay... um... what do you feel like?"
'Smooth, Dana, real smooth.'
"Actually... um... pizza sounds real good right now."
Now this I can handle.
"Pizza it is then. Your usual?"
"Sure."
We've worked a late night or two at his place before so I speed dial the pizza guy and order a large pineapple and Canadian bacon pizza. While I'm ordering, Mulder turns on the TV and begins flipping through the channels. Looks like its time for our patented "We don't know how to handle an emotional situation so let's pretend it didn't happen" routine. Still I have a hard time dealing with him any other way, and it doesn't appear like he wants me to make the effort, so I don't say anything and just go with it.
By the time the pizza arrives we're both so engrossed in Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail that it might as well be any other night. Not that we've spent all that much time with each other outside of work but there have been times when both of us decided that it's better to be alone together than just alone and most of them were like this. Not talking. Just watching TV... together.
I suppose it's that last part that's the most important. You see the last few years have made it nearly impossible for us to connect with anyone on a personal level save each other. I mean who else could even begin to comprehend either one of us after all we've been through?
Most times it's hard for me to explain what I do to my own family, so I don't even know what I'd do if I had to answer questions like, "How was your day?" or "So what do you do for a living?"
I can see it now...
'Hello, my name is Dana and I've spent the last 7 years trying to get to the bottom of a massive international conspiracy involving aliens, bees, and human experiments with a guy named Fox. Wanna go to a movie?'
Oh yeah I can see that going over real well with my date.
That's why if I hang out with anyone, it's usually Mulder. It's actually kind of nice because we spend most of our lives together so there isn't really much talking when we relax just pizza and beer, just like tonight. (Considering Mulder's emotional state I wouldn't have allowed the beer tonight except for the fact that neither of us felt like water and the only other option his fridge presented us with was a 2 month-old carton of what appeared to orange juice. So beer it was.)
This sort of thing is so easy for us that it isn't until the movie is over that I realize how late it is. Almost on autopilot I begin to clean up our mess as Mulder goes to the bathroom. Yet as I clean my mind is working over time. You see I know what he's going to ask and I'm not sure what I want to do. I'm still trying to decide when he comes out of the bathroom and stands behind me. I can almost feel the indecision radiating from him as he presides over his own inner debate.
Ah what the hell, we can't both be the indecisive one...
"Um... Mulder?"
Could I be any more nervous?
'Get a grip, Dana, you've done this before. He'll sleep on the couch and you'll sleep in the bed. No big deal.'
'Then why the hell am I so nervous?'
"Do you... I mean would you mind if I, you know, sort of stayed here... tonight?"
See that wasn't that hard.
It takes him a minute to realize that I've just asked what he was thinking of asking me but once he does...
"Oh yeah... um... No of course I don't mind. You can even have the bed."
Well at least he's happy. Me, I'm not so sure. (Especially since the last I heard he had a waterbed.) But I suppose it's too late now. That's when I realize that I left my overnight bag at home. I tell him this but he doesn't seem to mind.
"No problem I've got some sweats you can wear. They may be a little big but they should work."
He must really want me to stay. So I agree and he goes to get them for me after which he wastes no time flopping down on the couch and flipping through the channels. I'm almost certain he's not going to say anything else until I'm halfway to the bathroom.
"Scully?"
"Yeah, Mulder?"
"Thanks."
He pauses and I can tell he's struggling for something else to say.
Can you believe it? Seven years together and yet it might as well have been only 7 minutes for all the effort it takes us to say anything remotely personal. Finally he finds it.
"I just didn't feel like being alone tonight."
I have to smile at that one.
"I understand."
And I actually do.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
As I brush my teeth I chide myself for my earlier nervousness. This is no time to start making this into something it's not. Yes we have been growing closer since the events surrounding the artifact but that doesn't mean that anything is going to happen tonight. I don't think either of us is in any condition to take the next step in this relationship and even if we are now is certainly not the time to do it. Satisfied with this reasoning I finish getting ready and walk out of the bathroom without apprehension.
Before I go to bed I decide to make one last check on Mulder. And there he is still flipping through the channels.
Watching him I realize that there are times when he looks like he's only 12 years old and then there are other times, like now, when he looks so much older. Even though we spent the evening relatively relaxed there hasn't been a moment when he wasn't thinking about his mother and I can tell. He looks tired, worn, and sad and I have to squelch the impulse to stride right over there and comfort him. However considering that we still haven't talked about the Eddie Van Blundht incident, the hallway (hospital) incident, the hallway (Mulder's) incident, the doorway incident, the New Year's incident, etc. I doubt now would be the best time to add another incident to our list of things that "didn't happen."
So I simply turn around and go to bed.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Only a few hours later I wake up with a very full bladder. Damn I knew I shouldn't have had that last beer. I swear that stuff goes right through me. Fortunately it doesn't take long and I'm back on my way to Mulder's surprisingly comfortable bed. (Thankfully he discarded his waterbed sometime ago. Although I'm surprised he kept it as long as he did considering his propensity for seasickness.) I'm halfway back to bed when I decide to check on him again. I'm not sure why I want to do this but I'm glad that I do.
When I get to the living room I find him tossing and turning with his blanket on the floor. Unfortunately this is not the first time I've seen him like this. I can't even count the number of times we've been on the road and I've checked on him through the adjoining door only to find him exactly like this.
So I just do what I've always done: I wake him up.
But just as I sit down next to him on the couch he starts talking.
"No, please no. Don't do this to me please."
I assume he's talking to either his mom or Samantha so I don't really pay attention. Then he starts again.
"Scully, please no. Please don't leave me like this."
That gets my attention.
I'm tempted to let him sleep just to hear what he has to say but I hate to see him like this so that thought passes quickly. It takes a few shakes but he finally stops and opens his eyes. At first he looks disoriented and almost panicked.
That's when he sees me.
I barely have time to manage a comforting smile before he sits up and throws his arms around me. He holds me so tight that I can literally feel his heart racing in his chest and I have to fight the urge to push him away. But that's not what he needs right now so I try to relax. Finally his heart slows and his grip loosens. Sheepishly he sits up next to me and looks away. This affords me the chance to fall back on our routine.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Naturally I expect him to say no because that's what he always says. So when he starts to actually 'talk about it' I honestly don't know what to say.
"It started here. I woke and heard these noises in the kitchen so I got up to check them out."
As he saying this he's staring off into space almost as if he's replaying the dream in his head which considering his photographic memory is probably exactly what he's doing.
"At the door I stepped on something. I looked down to see what it was and it's a... prescription bottle, an empty one. The label said that it was Diazapan."
"That's when I looked up and realized that I'm not in my kitchen. I'm in my mothers."
He hesitates and I know what's coming next.
"She was there... you know... with her head..."
He stops and looks at me to make sure he doesn't have to elaborate. Satisfied he continues.
"And there's this note on the fridge. Somehow I knew she was dead so I didn't panic I just casually walked over and read the note."
He takes a deep breath.
"It said: 'I'm so sorry Mulder but I couldn't live like this anymore. It wasn't living.'"
Oh my God...
"I couldn't believe it so I ran over to the oven and it wasn't my mom. It was you and you were still alive. But you were dying and you just kept apologizing over and over and over..."
And then he just stops and stares at the floor.
I can't believe it. He knew. I don't know how but he knew. I'm so shocked that I can't even begin to be angry with him for what was such an obvious invasion of privacy. Apparently sensing my confusion he tries to explain.
"I don't remember why but for some reason I had to move your overnight bag and I heard the sound of pills. You... you were always so... secretive about you illness. I always felt like... like you were keeping something from me so I... I was worried. That's why I looked in your bag. That's how I found the note."
'The note.'
I wrote it during what had to be one of the worst periods of my illness. I had decided that if and when the pain and the hopelessness became too much to bear I'd lock myself in my apartment and end it all with a bottle of sleeping pills. I wrote the note when I realized that Mulder would probably be the one to find me.
Almost immediately after I wrote it I decided not to do it. Not only was it a sin but after I read what I had wrote I knew that I couldn't do that to Mulder, that I couldn't just abandon him like that.
In fact the only reason I kept it at all was as a reminder to hold on, if not for myself, for him.
I want to explain this to him but he doesn't give me the chance. Before I can say anything he gets up and begins pacing around the living room trying to get a handle on the words that are virtually flowing from his mouth.
"I knew it was wrong. I-I knew I was invading your privacy but... like I said you weren't telling me anything. Y-You wouldn't talk to me... I was worried... I was angry."
He stops. Angry? I never even considered that. So I ask.
"You were angry?"
This gives him pause and he starts again.
"Not so much angry as... as frustrated. I was frustrated. That's why I lashed out at you after Harold Spuller's death. All I wanted was for you to trust me enough to talk to me and let me take care of you. But you didn't. I mean you'd go to see the doctor and you'd be there for hours but when you came back all you'd say was, 'I'm fine.'"
"You had cancer for Christ's sake. You were anything but fine!"
He stops and I can tell that he's forcing himself to calm down.
And as I marvel at the intensity of his emotions I realize for the first time how much I hurt him every time I say that.
"Mulder, I'm sorry. I just... I just didn't want you to worry."
The irony of my statement causes us both to chuckle a little as he sits back down next to me.
"I never meant to make you feel like I didn't trust you. It's only that I... I knew how you'd react. I knew that you'd blame yourself and I didn't want you to feel responsible for me. I mean every time that I told you how I was doing or even if I just looked tired or got a nosebleed you'd... you'd get this look and I knew you were beating yourself up inside, blaming yourself. And that's not what I wanted."
"I know. It's only that with my mom... when you told me she had cancer... it reminded me how close I came to losing you."
He hangs his head and lowers his voice.
"How close I still am."
Now I get it.
"Mulder I didn't want to leave you then and I'm not going to leave you now."
"But the note..."
"I hated it. I hated it the second I finished it. That's why I kept it. So that every time I felt like giving up I had something to remind me, something that wouldn't let me forget that I wouldn't just be killing myself."
"Really?"
"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."
He gives me a slight thankful smile before he looks away and sighs
"What is it?"
"I know you're not going to leave. The simple fact that you're still here after 7 hellish years is proof enough of that. But for whatever reason I still can't help feeling like this. Almost every relationship I've ever had ended with the other person realizing how much of a jackass I was and then deciding to leave. I guess you could say I've spent the last seven years waiting for you to come to your senses."
Once again I'm shocked. I mean I always knew Mulder had self-esteem problems when it came to personal relationships but as with everything else tonight it seems I've woefully underestimated the severity of the situation.
I try to find some way to reassure him, something I can do or say that will convince him. But I can't. This problem is way too big to be solved in one night. Still that doesn't mean I can't get started. So I grab his face with both hands and I force him to look me in the eyes.
"Mulder I know that there isn't anything I can say or do right now that will change the way you feel. However just so we're clear I want you to know that I realized how much of a jackass you could be a long time ago and I didn't want to leave. I still don't. I can't. I care about you too much."
And with that I plant a kiss on his forehead and let go.
He simply smiles and responds with a sheepish, "I know," for which I give him a gentle slap on the shoulder.
"Then act like it."
His smile widens and I decide to forget my earlier line of reasoning and take a chance. I stand up, hold out my hand to him, and say:
"Come on, let's go to bed."
It takes everything I have, had, or ever will have, not to laugh because the second I stop talking he makes 'that face.' (You know the one.)
"Look Mulder I'm not suggesting anything. To be honest I don't think we're ready for that quite yet. All I'm saying is that you're not the only one that doesn't feel like being alone tonight."
This seems to relax him a bit but I can tell he's still a little apprehensive.
"You know what, I'm going to go to the bathroom and then I'm going to bed. I'd like it if you were there when I got out. But if you're not, I'll understand."
And without waiting for a response I turn around and walk back to the bathroom.
I'm not sure if he'll be there or not when I get out but I'm happy to find out that he is.
I can see that he's still a little nervous as I climb into bed next to him. Initially he won't even turn in my direction. Then for some reason he turns over on his side and faces me. The look in his eyes tells me that he still has a thousand different things racing through his mind, which means he won't be getting the sleep he so desperately deserves any time soon. The only way he will go to sleep is if I can get him to relax so I move a little closer to him and I begin to slowly massage his face like my mother used to do when I couldn't sleep.
When he doesn't even offer a token resistance I know he must be exhausted. Yet despite this it's a good 10 minutes before he finally succumbs and falls asleep. Satisfied that he's in a deep sleep I close my eyes and join him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Both of us move around during the night and when I wake up I find myself nestled in Mulder's arm. I look up and see him lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling with a contemplative look on his face. Sensing my movements he looks down at me and tries to give me one of his "I'm okay" smiles.
It doesn't work. I know him too well and he obviously still has a lot on his mind.
Still that doesn't prevent me from smiling back.
"Mornin'," he says as he absently traces non-descript patterns on my back.
"Mornin'."
He gives me another faint smile before turning back to his thoughts.
I know neither of us is too big on talking with a capitol "T" but after the relative success of last night I decide to go for it.
"What are you thinking about?"
His hand stops and he sighs.
"My mom."
Well that doesn't tell me much. Looks like this is going to be a little tougher than I thought.
"Anything in particular?"
"Samantha was always her favorite and after she disappeared everything changed. My parents divorced. My mother became withdrawn. And our family fell apart. To make it even worse every time my mother looked at me I knew... I just knew she was thinking, 'Why her... and not you?'"
"Mulder you can't possibly still..."
"Believe that?"
He shrugs.
"I know it was irrational. And I know it probably wasn't true. But there's a big difference between knowing and feeling. And that's the way I always felt. That's why I spent most of my life trying to... to prove my worth. To my mom. To my dad. To myself. I did well in school. I did well in sports. I got a free ride to Oxford. I became the FBI's golden boy."
"But none of that mattered and I knew it. I knew that the only way I could prove that I was worthy to survive, I knew the only hope for my family, for me, was to find her and bring her back. And now... now there is no hope. It's over. My dad's dead. My mom's dead. And I'm beginning to doubt that Samantha's even alive."
He sighs.
"Hell, even if she is, it's not like I have anyone to bring her back to anymore. Now it's just me."
This has to be one of the most pathetic things I have ever heard him say and given his talent for self-flagellation that's saying something. Maybe pathetic is the wrong word but whatever word you use to describe the anguish and the hopelessness I hear and feel as he speaks comes close to hurting me on a physical level. I have never in all our seven years together seen him as broken and defeated as I have last night and this morning and I'm literally aching with the need to somehow make it better. But I don't even know how to start. This is a side of him I've never seen before and I can't even begin to figure out a way to deal with it.
That's when I hear him crying.
It's a restrained type of tears that streams down his face virtually without a sound. In fact I don't even know he's crying until he sniffles. This only intensifies my need to help him, a need that I'm woefully unprepared to satisfy.
In my family we never dealt with our emotions as a group. We were each responsible for handling our own problems like the good little sailors we were. What made it worse was that we didn't share much in the way of positive emotions either. Oh sure every so often my Mom would tell us that she was proud of us and that she loved us but after you hear that enough times in a way it loses its affect. It becomes a given, a fact, something that simply is.
But with my Dad it was different. Dad never commended us. He simply said, "Good" like everything we did was something we were supposed to do and we damn well have better done it or else. And it was woe to anyone that asked for more or showed even the slightest hint of disappointment.
Still every so often Dad, with a little encouragement from Mom of course, would tell us he was proud of us or even that he loved us and I swear it was as if God himself had given us his blessing.
I now realize that Mulder never even received that much. He was never nurtured or praised. Even his mother made him feel like he was somehow unworthy and insufficient. It's this realization that helps me to know what to say to him.
I sit up and turn him towards me, almost starting to cry with him when I see the pure sadness radiating from his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I wipe the tears from his cheeks with my hand. He's so devastated that while I do this he can't even look at me.
"Mulder," I say softly enough to convey my care yet firmly enough to get him to look at me. When he still doesn't look up I lift up his chin and reassure him with my eyes just as he did mine after Penny Northern had died. I then try to reassure him with the words that I know I should have told him a long time ago, making sure that I emphasize each and every syllable.
"Mulder it is NOT just you. It hasn't been just you for seven years now. And I will never let it be just you because you are a damn good man who has helped and saved too many people, including myself, countless times for no other reason than because you knew it was the right thing to do. You have nothing to prove, to yourself or anyone else. I'm not just saying that and I don't just know it, I feel it. Just like I know and feel that you will find your sister. And I promise you that when you do I will be there and you will never be alone. And if you believe nothing else that I have said to you, believe that, know that, feel that."
After I'm finished his eyes tell me that while my words my not have cast out all of his demons they most certainly helped them on their way. And as they once again fill with tears they shine with trust, respect, gratitude, and love.
Finally all the emotions of the past few days come to a head and I begin to cry right along with him. With a single slender finger he reaches up and just as I had done minutes earlier, wipes my tears away. Then he leans in a chastely places his lips on mine. The kiss is not long but it still contains enough emotions to leave me breathless. After he pulls away he wraps his arms around me, pulls me to him, and whispers into my ear.
"Thank you. Thank you so very much."
I pull away just far enough to look at him.
"You don't have to thank me Mulder. I just need you to believe me."
He smiles.
"I want to believe."
Now I'm smiling as we lay back down in each other's arms for what has to be one of the most perfect moments in my entire life. Finally after an indeterminate amount of time Mulder pulls away to look at the clock. It doesn't take much for me to figure out why.
"Mulder don't. You're in no shape to..."
"You know I have to do it Scully."
"That doesn't mean that you should."
"Scully I can't just walk away from this. I have to see this through no matter what."
I'm going to voice my further objections when he cuts me off.
"Look I promise you that if it gets to be too much, if I can't handle it, I will personally take myself off the case. But you know me Scully. There is no way I can just abandon this right now."
"I'm going to hold you to that promise."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
That settled he moves on.
"You can have the bathroom first if you want. I'll make us some coffee."
His abruptness isn't surprising considering that most of the night he's been uncharacteristically open. So knowing that nothing more can be done until he's ready to open up again, I agree and change back into the clothes I was wearing the day before. I would have preferred to take a shower but without my overnight bag that's not really an option. Still I do what I can to freshen up a bit.
When I get out he has a cup of coffee waiting with what has to be one of my favorite breakfasts: cold pizza. I give him a smile of thanks and he returns it with one of his "it's all part of the service" smiles. Then without a word he enters the bathroom and closes the door behind him. Yep looks like we're back to our old routine.
I take my time eating so when Mulder, who's usually fairly quick in getting ready, isn't out by the time I'm done I begin to worry. Concerned I knock lightly on the door.
"Mulder, is everything okay in there?"
"Yeah I'm fine."
Oh no you don't. You cannot use my own line against me and expect me to walk away, especially after what we've just been through. I know I just told myself that I have to wait until he's ready but you know what, last night took seven years and right now we're on a role. I'm sorry Mulder but I am not waiting for you to be ready this time. We can't keep living like this and we certainly aren't going to solve this case like this.
I don't even hesitate when I open the door.
"Liar."
He looks up at me in surprise.
"Hey, I could have been naked."
"You also could have told me the truth."
I allow my voice to soften.
"Now what's wrong?"
He sighs knowing that there's no way out.
"When your... when your father died, did you have any regrets?"
Oh now I see.
"Of course I did. It's natural to have things you wish you would have said or done, things you wish you could have known."
"What did you want to know?"
"More than anything else I guess I wanted to know if he was proud of me. What about you?"
"The same thing I suppose, for both of them."
Then it comes to me.
"When my dad died I asked my mom if he was proud of me."
"What did she say?"
"She said, 'He was your father." I didn't understand at first but after everything that happened with Boggs I realized that all my regrets, all my doubts, all my questions, not a single one of them mattered. Because like my mom said, 'He was your father.'"
I knell down in front of him.
"And the same is true for you. No matter what did or didn't happen, what was or wasn't said, the most important thing, the thing you need to remember is that nothing can change the fact that she was you mother."
I stand and kiss him on the forehead.
"Now come on. Let's find Amber Lynn."
That's when we hear the knock at the door.
THE END
God it feels like an eternity since I said those words and yet here I am still holding him in my arms. As every second passes I hold him tighter. I even begin to rock him back and forth, anything to make him stop. He responds by holding me just as tight, an act that only makes it worse. You see he's broken down before but never like this. It was never this bad and that's what scares me, that's what makes me hold him tighter.
Finally, sometime after forever has past, his sobs begin to subside and we both begin to relax. We hold on for a few minutes more before I decide to get him some tissue and a glass of water. Reluctantly he let's me go as he wipes the tears from his eyes.
When I return he's leaning forward on with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He looks up at my approach and manages a weak smile. I return it as I sit next to him and hand him the glass. He finishes it in one gulp and sighs. I'm certain one of us should say something, anything, but I honestly don't know what. I mean what do you say to a man, to your best friend, whose mother has just committed suicide. As far as I know she was his only family and now she's gone. What could I possibly say to that? So I fall back on my medical training and go into my 'caretaker' mode.
"How are you feeling?"
'Gee, Dana, how do you think he feels?'
"Hungry, actually."
Well I certainly wasn't expecting that one. Although considering neither of us is too big on emotional expression I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. I mean it's not like I expected him to pour out his heart and soul to me, even though that would have made for a nice change of pace. Still I doubt I'd know how to respond. I guess I should just be thankful that he didn't use my patented non-response, "I'm fine," right? So, if the man says he's hungry...
"Okay... um... what do you feel like?"
'Smooth, Dana, real smooth.'
"Actually... um... pizza sounds real good right now."
Now this I can handle.
"Pizza it is then. Your usual?"
"Sure."
We've worked a late night or two at his place before so I speed dial the pizza guy and order a large pineapple and Canadian bacon pizza. While I'm ordering, Mulder turns on the TV and begins flipping through the channels. Looks like its time for our patented "We don't know how to handle an emotional situation so let's pretend it didn't happen" routine. Still I have a hard time dealing with him any other way, and it doesn't appear like he wants me to make the effort, so I don't say anything and just go with it.
By the time the pizza arrives we're both so engrossed in Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail that it might as well be any other night. Not that we've spent all that much time with each other outside of work but there have been times when both of us decided that it's better to be alone together than just alone and most of them were like this. Not talking. Just watching TV... together.
I suppose it's that last part that's the most important. You see the last few years have made it nearly impossible for us to connect with anyone on a personal level save each other. I mean who else could even begin to comprehend either one of us after all we've been through?
Most times it's hard for me to explain what I do to my own family, so I don't even know what I'd do if I had to answer questions like, "How was your day?" or "So what do you do for a living?"
I can see it now...
'Hello, my name is Dana and I've spent the last 7 years trying to get to the bottom of a massive international conspiracy involving aliens, bees, and human experiments with a guy named Fox. Wanna go to a movie?'
Oh yeah I can see that going over real well with my date.
That's why if I hang out with anyone, it's usually Mulder. It's actually kind of nice because we spend most of our lives together so there isn't really much talking when we relax just pizza and beer, just like tonight. (Considering Mulder's emotional state I wouldn't have allowed the beer tonight except for the fact that neither of us felt like water and the only other option his fridge presented us with was a 2 month-old carton of what appeared to orange juice. So beer it was.)
This sort of thing is so easy for us that it isn't until the movie is over that I realize how late it is. Almost on autopilot I begin to clean up our mess as Mulder goes to the bathroom. Yet as I clean my mind is working over time. You see I know what he's going to ask and I'm not sure what I want to do. I'm still trying to decide when he comes out of the bathroom and stands behind me. I can almost feel the indecision radiating from him as he presides over his own inner debate.
Ah what the hell, we can't both be the indecisive one...
"Um... Mulder?"
Could I be any more nervous?
'Get a grip, Dana, you've done this before. He'll sleep on the couch and you'll sleep in the bed. No big deal.'
'Then why the hell am I so nervous?'
"Do you... I mean would you mind if I, you know, sort of stayed here... tonight?"
See that wasn't that hard.
It takes him a minute to realize that I've just asked what he was thinking of asking me but once he does...
"Oh yeah... um... No of course I don't mind. You can even have the bed."
Well at least he's happy. Me, I'm not so sure. (Especially since the last I heard he had a waterbed.) But I suppose it's too late now. That's when I realize that I left my overnight bag at home. I tell him this but he doesn't seem to mind.
"No problem I've got some sweats you can wear. They may be a little big but they should work."
He must really want me to stay. So I agree and he goes to get them for me after which he wastes no time flopping down on the couch and flipping through the channels. I'm almost certain he's not going to say anything else until I'm halfway to the bathroom.
"Scully?"
"Yeah, Mulder?"
"Thanks."
He pauses and I can tell he's struggling for something else to say.
Can you believe it? Seven years together and yet it might as well have been only 7 minutes for all the effort it takes us to say anything remotely personal. Finally he finds it.
"I just didn't feel like being alone tonight."
I have to smile at that one.
"I understand."
And I actually do.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
As I brush my teeth I chide myself for my earlier nervousness. This is no time to start making this into something it's not. Yes we have been growing closer since the events surrounding the artifact but that doesn't mean that anything is going to happen tonight. I don't think either of us is in any condition to take the next step in this relationship and even if we are now is certainly not the time to do it. Satisfied with this reasoning I finish getting ready and walk out of the bathroom without apprehension.
Before I go to bed I decide to make one last check on Mulder. And there he is still flipping through the channels.
Watching him I realize that there are times when he looks like he's only 12 years old and then there are other times, like now, when he looks so much older. Even though we spent the evening relatively relaxed there hasn't been a moment when he wasn't thinking about his mother and I can tell. He looks tired, worn, and sad and I have to squelch the impulse to stride right over there and comfort him. However considering that we still haven't talked about the Eddie Van Blundht incident, the hallway (hospital) incident, the hallway (Mulder's) incident, the doorway incident, the New Year's incident, etc. I doubt now would be the best time to add another incident to our list of things that "didn't happen."
So I simply turn around and go to bed.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Only a few hours later I wake up with a very full bladder. Damn I knew I shouldn't have had that last beer. I swear that stuff goes right through me. Fortunately it doesn't take long and I'm back on my way to Mulder's surprisingly comfortable bed. (Thankfully he discarded his waterbed sometime ago. Although I'm surprised he kept it as long as he did considering his propensity for seasickness.) I'm halfway back to bed when I decide to check on him again. I'm not sure why I want to do this but I'm glad that I do.
When I get to the living room I find him tossing and turning with his blanket on the floor. Unfortunately this is not the first time I've seen him like this. I can't even count the number of times we've been on the road and I've checked on him through the adjoining door only to find him exactly like this.
So I just do what I've always done: I wake him up.
But just as I sit down next to him on the couch he starts talking.
"No, please no. Don't do this to me please."
I assume he's talking to either his mom or Samantha so I don't really pay attention. Then he starts again.
"Scully, please no. Please don't leave me like this."
That gets my attention.
I'm tempted to let him sleep just to hear what he has to say but I hate to see him like this so that thought passes quickly. It takes a few shakes but he finally stops and opens his eyes. At first he looks disoriented and almost panicked.
That's when he sees me.
I barely have time to manage a comforting smile before he sits up and throws his arms around me. He holds me so tight that I can literally feel his heart racing in his chest and I have to fight the urge to push him away. But that's not what he needs right now so I try to relax. Finally his heart slows and his grip loosens. Sheepishly he sits up next to me and looks away. This affords me the chance to fall back on our routine.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Naturally I expect him to say no because that's what he always says. So when he starts to actually 'talk about it' I honestly don't know what to say.
"It started here. I woke and heard these noises in the kitchen so I got up to check them out."
As he saying this he's staring off into space almost as if he's replaying the dream in his head which considering his photographic memory is probably exactly what he's doing.
"At the door I stepped on something. I looked down to see what it was and it's a... prescription bottle, an empty one. The label said that it was Diazapan."
"That's when I looked up and realized that I'm not in my kitchen. I'm in my mothers."
He hesitates and I know what's coming next.
"She was there... you know... with her head..."
He stops and looks at me to make sure he doesn't have to elaborate. Satisfied he continues.
"And there's this note on the fridge. Somehow I knew she was dead so I didn't panic I just casually walked over and read the note."
He takes a deep breath.
"It said: 'I'm so sorry Mulder but I couldn't live like this anymore. It wasn't living.'"
Oh my God...
"I couldn't believe it so I ran over to the oven and it wasn't my mom. It was you and you were still alive. But you were dying and you just kept apologizing over and over and over..."
And then he just stops and stares at the floor.
I can't believe it. He knew. I don't know how but he knew. I'm so shocked that I can't even begin to be angry with him for what was such an obvious invasion of privacy. Apparently sensing my confusion he tries to explain.
"I don't remember why but for some reason I had to move your overnight bag and I heard the sound of pills. You... you were always so... secretive about you illness. I always felt like... like you were keeping something from me so I... I was worried. That's why I looked in your bag. That's how I found the note."
'The note.'
I wrote it during what had to be one of the worst periods of my illness. I had decided that if and when the pain and the hopelessness became too much to bear I'd lock myself in my apartment and end it all with a bottle of sleeping pills. I wrote the note when I realized that Mulder would probably be the one to find me.
Almost immediately after I wrote it I decided not to do it. Not only was it a sin but after I read what I had wrote I knew that I couldn't do that to Mulder, that I couldn't just abandon him like that.
In fact the only reason I kept it at all was as a reminder to hold on, if not for myself, for him.
I want to explain this to him but he doesn't give me the chance. Before I can say anything he gets up and begins pacing around the living room trying to get a handle on the words that are virtually flowing from his mouth.
"I knew it was wrong. I-I knew I was invading your privacy but... like I said you weren't telling me anything. Y-You wouldn't talk to me... I was worried... I was angry."
He stops. Angry? I never even considered that. So I ask.
"You were angry?"
This gives him pause and he starts again.
"Not so much angry as... as frustrated. I was frustrated. That's why I lashed out at you after Harold Spuller's death. All I wanted was for you to trust me enough to talk to me and let me take care of you. But you didn't. I mean you'd go to see the doctor and you'd be there for hours but when you came back all you'd say was, 'I'm fine.'"
"You had cancer for Christ's sake. You were anything but fine!"
He stops and I can tell that he's forcing himself to calm down.
And as I marvel at the intensity of his emotions I realize for the first time how much I hurt him every time I say that.
"Mulder, I'm sorry. I just... I just didn't want you to worry."
The irony of my statement causes us both to chuckle a little as he sits back down next to me.
"I never meant to make you feel like I didn't trust you. It's only that I... I knew how you'd react. I knew that you'd blame yourself and I didn't want you to feel responsible for me. I mean every time that I told you how I was doing or even if I just looked tired or got a nosebleed you'd... you'd get this look and I knew you were beating yourself up inside, blaming yourself. And that's not what I wanted."
"I know. It's only that with my mom... when you told me she had cancer... it reminded me how close I came to losing you."
He hangs his head and lowers his voice.
"How close I still am."
Now I get it.
"Mulder I didn't want to leave you then and I'm not going to leave you now."
"But the note..."
"I hated it. I hated it the second I finished it. That's why I kept it. So that every time I felt like giving up I had something to remind me, something that wouldn't let me forget that I wouldn't just be killing myself."
"Really?"
"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."
He gives me a slight thankful smile before he looks away and sighs
"What is it?"
"I know you're not going to leave. The simple fact that you're still here after 7 hellish years is proof enough of that. But for whatever reason I still can't help feeling like this. Almost every relationship I've ever had ended with the other person realizing how much of a jackass I was and then deciding to leave. I guess you could say I've spent the last seven years waiting for you to come to your senses."
Once again I'm shocked. I mean I always knew Mulder had self-esteem problems when it came to personal relationships but as with everything else tonight it seems I've woefully underestimated the severity of the situation.
I try to find some way to reassure him, something I can do or say that will convince him. But I can't. This problem is way too big to be solved in one night. Still that doesn't mean I can't get started. So I grab his face with both hands and I force him to look me in the eyes.
"Mulder I know that there isn't anything I can say or do right now that will change the way you feel. However just so we're clear I want you to know that I realized how much of a jackass you could be a long time ago and I didn't want to leave. I still don't. I can't. I care about you too much."
And with that I plant a kiss on his forehead and let go.
He simply smiles and responds with a sheepish, "I know," for which I give him a gentle slap on the shoulder.
"Then act like it."
His smile widens and I decide to forget my earlier line of reasoning and take a chance. I stand up, hold out my hand to him, and say:
"Come on, let's go to bed."
It takes everything I have, had, or ever will have, not to laugh because the second I stop talking he makes 'that face.' (You know the one.)
"Look Mulder I'm not suggesting anything. To be honest I don't think we're ready for that quite yet. All I'm saying is that you're not the only one that doesn't feel like being alone tonight."
This seems to relax him a bit but I can tell he's still a little apprehensive.
"You know what, I'm going to go to the bathroom and then I'm going to bed. I'd like it if you were there when I got out. But if you're not, I'll understand."
And without waiting for a response I turn around and walk back to the bathroom.
I'm not sure if he'll be there or not when I get out but I'm happy to find out that he is.
I can see that he's still a little nervous as I climb into bed next to him. Initially he won't even turn in my direction. Then for some reason he turns over on his side and faces me. The look in his eyes tells me that he still has a thousand different things racing through his mind, which means he won't be getting the sleep he so desperately deserves any time soon. The only way he will go to sleep is if I can get him to relax so I move a little closer to him and I begin to slowly massage his face like my mother used to do when I couldn't sleep.
When he doesn't even offer a token resistance I know he must be exhausted. Yet despite this it's a good 10 minutes before he finally succumbs and falls asleep. Satisfied that he's in a deep sleep I close my eyes and join him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Both of us move around during the night and when I wake up I find myself nestled in Mulder's arm. I look up and see him lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling with a contemplative look on his face. Sensing my movements he looks down at me and tries to give me one of his "I'm okay" smiles.
It doesn't work. I know him too well and he obviously still has a lot on his mind.
Still that doesn't prevent me from smiling back.
"Mornin'," he says as he absently traces non-descript patterns on my back.
"Mornin'."
He gives me another faint smile before turning back to his thoughts.
I know neither of us is too big on talking with a capitol "T" but after the relative success of last night I decide to go for it.
"What are you thinking about?"
His hand stops and he sighs.
"My mom."
Well that doesn't tell me much. Looks like this is going to be a little tougher than I thought.
"Anything in particular?"
"Samantha was always her favorite and after she disappeared everything changed. My parents divorced. My mother became withdrawn. And our family fell apart. To make it even worse every time my mother looked at me I knew... I just knew she was thinking, 'Why her... and not you?'"
"Mulder you can't possibly still..."
"Believe that?"
He shrugs.
"I know it was irrational. And I know it probably wasn't true. But there's a big difference between knowing and feeling. And that's the way I always felt. That's why I spent most of my life trying to... to prove my worth. To my mom. To my dad. To myself. I did well in school. I did well in sports. I got a free ride to Oxford. I became the FBI's golden boy."
"But none of that mattered and I knew it. I knew that the only way I could prove that I was worthy to survive, I knew the only hope for my family, for me, was to find her and bring her back. And now... now there is no hope. It's over. My dad's dead. My mom's dead. And I'm beginning to doubt that Samantha's even alive."
He sighs.
"Hell, even if she is, it's not like I have anyone to bring her back to anymore. Now it's just me."
This has to be one of the most pathetic things I have ever heard him say and given his talent for self-flagellation that's saying something. Maybe pathetic is the wrong word but whatever word you use to describe the anguish and the hopelessness I hear and feel as he speaks comes close to hurting me on a physical level. I have never in all our seven years together seen him as broken and defeated as I have last night and this morning and I'm literally aching with the need to somehow make it better. But I don't even know how to start. This is a side of him I've never seen before and I can't even begin to figure out a way to deal with it.
That's when I hear him crying.
It's a restrained type of tears that streams down his face virtually without a sound. In fact I don't even know he's crying until he sniffles. This only intensifies my need to help him, a need that I'm woefully unprepared to satisfy.
In my family we never dealt with our emotions as a group. We were each responsible for handling our own problems like the good little sailors we were. What made it worse was that we didn't share much in the way of positive emotions either. Oh sure every so often my Mom would tell us that she was proud of us and that she loved us but after you hear that enough times in a way it loses its affect. It becomes a given, a fact, something that simply is.
But with my Dad it was different. Dad never commended us. He simply said, "Good" like everything we did was something we were supposed to do and we damn well have better done it or else. And it was woe to anyone that asked for more or showed even the slightest hint of disappointment.
Still every so often Dad, with a little encouragement from Mom of course, would tell us he was proud of us or even that he loved us and I swear it was as if God himself had given us his blessing.
I now realize that Mulder never even received that much. He was never nurtured or praised. Even his mother made him feel like he was somehow unworthy and insufficient. It's this realization that helps me to know what to say to him.
I sit up and turn him towards me, almost starting to cry with him when I see the pure sadness radiating from his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I wipe the tears from his cheeks with my hand. He's so devastated that while I do this he can't even look at me.
"Mulder," I say softly enough to convey my care yet firmly enough to get him to look at me. When he still doesn't look up I lift up his chin and reassure him with my eyes just as he did mine after Penny Northern had died. I then try to reassure him with the words that I know I should have told him a long time ago, making sure that I emphasize each and every syllable.
"Mulder it is NOT just you. It hasn't been just you for seven years now. And I will never let it be just you because you are a damn good man who has helped and saved too many people, including myself, countless times for no other reason than because you knew it was the right thing to do. You have nothing to prove, to yourself or anyone else. I'm not just saying that and I don't just know it, I feel it. Just like I know and feel that you will find your sister. And I promise you that when you do I will be there and you will never be alone. And if you believe nothing else that I have said to you, believe that, know that, feel that."
After I'm finished his eyes tell me that while my words my not have cast out all of his demons they most certainly helped them on their way. And as they once again fill with tears they shine with trust, respect, gratitude, and love.
Finally all the emotions of the past few days come to a head and I begin to cry right along with him. With a single slender finger he reaches up and just as I had done minutes earlier, wipes my tears away. Then he leans in a chastely places his lips on mine. The kiss is not long but it still contains enough emotions to leave me breathless. After he pulls away he wraps his arms around me, pulls me to him, and whispers into my ear.
"Thank you. Thank you so very much."
I pull away just far enough to look at him.
"You don't have to thank me Mulder. I just need you to believe me."
He smiles.
"I want to believe."
Now I'm smiling as we lay back down in each other's arms for what has to be one of the most perfect moments in my entire life. Finally after an indeterminate amount of time Mulder pulls away to look at the clock. It doesn't take much for me to figure out why.
"Mulder don't. You're in no shape to..."
"You know I have to do it Scully."
"That doesn't mean that you should."
"Scully I can't just walk away from this. I have to see this through no matter what."
I'm going to voice my further objections when he cuts me off.
"Look I promise you that if it gets to be too much, if I can't handle it, I will personally take myself off the case. But you know me Scully. There is no way I can just abandon this right now."
"I'm going to hold you to that promise."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
That settled he moves on.
"You can have the bathroom first if you want. I'll make us some coffee."
His abruptness isn't surprising considering that most of the night he's been uncharacteristically open. So knowing that nothing more can be done until he's ready to open up again, I agree and change back into the clothes I was wearing the day before. I would have preferred to take a shower but without my overnight bag that's not really an option. Still I do what I can to freshen up a bit.
When I get out he has a cup of coffee waiting with what has to be one of my favorite breakfasts: cold pizza. I give him a smile of thanks and he returns it with one of his "it's all part of the service" smiles. Then without a word he enters the bathroom and closes the door behind him. Yep looks like we're back to our old routine.
I take my time eating so when Mulder, who's usually fairly quick in getting ready, isn't out by the time I'm done I begin to worry. Concerned I knock lightly on the door.
"Mulder, is everything okay in there?"
"Yeah I'm fine."
Oh no you don't. You cannot use my own line against me and expect me to walk away, especially after what we've just been through. I know I just told myself that I have to wait until he's ready but you know what, last night took seven years and right now we're on a role. I'm sorry Mulder but I am not waiting for you to be ready this time. We can't keep living like this and we certainly aren't going to solve this case like this.
I don't even hesitate when I open the door.
"Liar."
He looks up at me in surprise.
"Hey, I could have been naked."
"You also could have told me the truth."
I allow my voice to soften.
"Now what's wrong?"
He sighs knowing that there's no way out.
"When your... when your father died, did you have any regrets?"
Oh now I see.
"Of course I did. It's natural to have things you wish you would have said or done, things you wish you could have known."
"What did you want to know?"
"More than anything else I guess I wanted to know if he was proud of me. What about you?"
"The same thing I suppose, for both of them."
Then it comes to me.
"When my dad died I asked my mom if he was proud of me."
"What did she say?"
"She said, 'He was your father." I didn't understand at first but after everything that happened with Boggs I realized that all my regrets, all my doubts, all my questions, not a single one of them mattered. Because like my mom said, 'He was your father.'"
I knell down in front of him.
"And the same is true for you. No matter what did or didn't happen, what was or wasn't said, the most important thing, the thing you need to remember is that nothing can change the fact that she was you mother."
I stand and kiss him on the forehead.
"Now come on. Let's find Amber Lynn."
That's when we hear the knock at the door.
THE END