Title: "Tearing Down Walls"
Author: Shari Long
Classification: SRA
Rating: PG-13
Distribution: Do not archive at Gossamer. I'll take care of ATXC
myself. Anyone else, please ask first. Thanks. : )
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property
of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are not mine and no
copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a case strikes close to Scully's heart, Mulder
must find a way to overcome the walls she builds between them.
Author's thanks at the end.
Feedback: Any and all comments more than welcome at
Scullysfan@aol.com.
~~~~~~~~~
"Mulder, I don't fucking believe this!"
Had she spoken those words in the office, they might have more
forcefully conveyed Scully's anger. An anger borne from utter
exasperation with the man standing in front of her.... daring to grin
as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands
shoved deep into the pockets of his trench coat.
They would have reverberated off the filing cabinets stuffed with
case files, off the walls littered with tabloid articles claiming Elvis
was living in the Lincoln Bedroom and heralding Mulder's newest
favorite theory that sunflower seeds increase a person's sex drive
by 75%. No wonder she kept finding the damn things in her bed.
But as it happened, Scully's words were all but lost in the vastness
of the forest where they stood. Picked up by the light wind swirling
through the red and gold leaves blanketing the early October chilled
ground.
"What's wrong, Scully?" Mulder had sense enough to wipe the
shit-eating grin from his face, but not enough to limit himself to one
question. "You aren't enjoying our little trip to the forest?"
Though the sun was low in the sky and only the occasional ray
found its way through the trees, it still managed to turn Scully's
hair even more red as she stood there with her hands set squarely
on her hips. If Mulder could take his eyes from her flashing ones,
he'd bet he would see she was tapping one foot.
"No, Mulder, I'm not. I frequently find it difficult to enjoy pointless
trips out of our way to investigate cases where none exist.
Especially when we arrived back in town just last night. Not to
mention that Skinner expects a report by tomorrow morning, and
we still need to come up with an explanation for how you managed
to..."
He was doing it again. Smiling that insufferable grin that either
made her want to plant a sharp heel into his instep or throw him
down and kiss him silly. It bothered her that the former held more
appeal lately.
"What?!?"
Should he tell her what he was thinking? About what put that look
on his face? That he'd hardly been listening to her rant because
he was too preoccupied trying to decide if she looked more
beautiful at that moment than she did many a morning. Sitting
naked astride his hips, her hair falling against her cheeks as she
stared down at him with eyes soft and luminous, sunlight streaming
in the window and washing over her skin.
"I was just thinking that you're beautiful when you're angry."
He had known the chances of her putting a matching scar in his
other shoulder were good if he dared utter the thoughts running
through his head, but evidently his brain had not advised his mouth
of the danger.
"Mulder, what does that have to do with the point at hand? With
the fact that we are standing in the middle of Shenandoah National
Forest on a Sunday afternoon looking for signs of a werewolf which
you, and =only= you, I might add, think is here."
"It's not just me, Scully." His voice tinged with stubbornness, Fox
Mulder settled in to present his case, all the while shuffling his feet,
kicking the leaves back and forth. "I told you.... a park employee
contacted me to report his suspicions that a werewolf was
responsible for the attacks to four visitors to this area."
Despite the temperatures falling with the setting sun, Scully was
getting hotter under the collar every minute. Any other time she
might enjoy getting Mulder alone in the woods. Preferably after
the skies had just opened up with a sudden downpour of sleeping
bags.
Right now, however, she had a rock in one of her shoes and a
terrible foreboding that a month long quarantine might be in their
futures. As a result, the tone of her voice was approaching the
peeved level.
"That park employee was a sixteen year old kid whose credibility
lies in too many late shows, Mulder!" Scully forced herself to take
a deep breath, the smell vaguely reminding her of a forest-scented
air freshener and a late night stakeout that seemed to have been
a lifetime ago.
Maybe if they reviewed the facts Mulder would see they were
wasting their time and consent to go home. Taking a hot bubble
bath was what she wanted to do first, and if Mulder would leave this
asinine theory here, he was welcome to join her. But every minute
they spent arguing in the woods meant less time they had to repair
the damage they were currently inflicting on each other before
settling down to work.
She wasn't =really= trying to be difficult. Was she? It wasn't like
Scully looked forward to going home and writing this report. Just
thinking about what she was going to have to do sent chills totally
unrelated to the falling temperatures up her spine. Transcribing
notes for the hardest autopsy she'd ever performed. Reminding
herself once again that she lived in a world filled with monsters.
Monsters who brutally murdered little girls just because they could.
But the report had to be written. It did. And Scully had to be the
one to write it.
Not Mulder.
Her.
It was penance. Forgive me, Father, for I let them take my
daughter's life.
It was punishment. She'd failed to keep Emily safe, and now she
was doomed to describe crushed larynxes and slashed little faces
for the rest of her life.
It was poetic justice. Scully, who could never seem to bring to
bear the men responsible for her own tragedies, could provide a
sense of closure for some child's mother. And she could fool
herself into thinking it eased her heartache.
So she =had= to get home.
Perhaps another tactic would work. Stepping closer to where
Mulder was absentmindedly kicking leaves into a large pile, Scully
held out her hands as though he were a shy puppy she had
frightened and began to speak in a calmer, softer voice. "Okay.
This employee is suggesting that lycanthropy is the explanation
for the reported deaths. What makes him think that?"
"Scully, all the bodies were found mangled... practically shredded
by something with extremely powerful claws. Clumps of hair not
from the victims were found on the bodies..."
"Mulder..." With a tired shake of her head, Scully sighed. "Park
officials, local police officers, and even the county M.E. classified
these incidents as bear attacks. Probably by one of the North
American black bears known to inhabit this area, to be exact. Of
course clumps of fur were part of the evidence collected. And I'm
certain every attempt is being made to take down this animal before
it kills again."
"Do bears have calendars tacked up on the walls of their caves
these days, Scully?" Mulder took one more look at the enormous
pile of leaves he'd managed to rake together using only his feet
and turned to face Scully, his voice regaining its teasing tone.
"Because I'd really like to know how an animal decided to maul
four people, each exactly a week apart."
"Mulder, I'll admit that's a bit odd but not out of the question.
They were coincidences!" So much for attempting to win him over
with reasoning. Irritation had fought the good fight and won.
Having drawn closer to him with every rebuttal, Scully was now
standing almost toe to toe with the man who seemingly couldn't
make up his mind from one day to the next whether to push her
buttons or fondle them.
Now, catching that gleam in his eyes and the slightly upturned
corner of his mouth, Scully guessed he was thinking roughly the
same thing. She was well aware that he often found their verbal
sparring to be arousing -- at first to his intellectual side and then
to his more primal nature. Hell, it had the same effect on her.
Scully just wondered why Mulder had to pick =now= to have this
discussion. The possibility of this being a legitimate case for them
was shaky at best, even for Mulder.
"Like I've asked before, Scully... if coincidences are just
coincidences, then why do they feel so contrived?"
It seemed to him like a good thing to say at the time.
A quick quip. Something to remind her of days past. Maybe a
way to diffuse the head of steam Scully had been building since
they'd started their trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. To salvage
what Mulder had hoped would be a relaxing afternoon for both of
them, couched in a story even Mulder truly didn't believe.
A time to forget images of little girls lying in drawers in a county
morgue, each patiently waiting her turn for Scully's scalpel.
Instead he'd succeeded in reminding himself that despite Scully's
short stature, she was a force to be reckoned with. And, Mulder
thought wryly, he reckoned he'd made a big mistake.
Unfortunately, self-realization came seconds too late. Definitely
not in time to stop Scully from planting her small hands firmly on
Mulder's chest and shoving. Hard.
"Hey!" Mulder's startled cry came as he stumbled backwards.
Arms pinwheeling wildly he fell with a crunch and a thump into the
reddish-gold cushion behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder had been asking for it. As surely as if he sported a sign
around his neck reading "Take Me Down".
That self-satisfied grin.
It was the exact one he wore on those occasions when his
talented hands, or better yet, his tongue, succeeded in driving her
past words -- to the state where gutteral moans and breathy sighs
were an acceptable form of communication. Unfortunately for
Mulder, his hands were in his pockets, and his tongue... Well, it
was busy wrapping itself around a question that evoked memories
of a lonely old man and the not-so-picky eater Scully inherited
from him.
So all it took was one spontaneous, even unconscious, shove, and
Mulder was falling faster than one of the forest's hundreds of pines
under a snarling chainsaw, arms flailing and hands grabbing for
purchase in the unaccommodating air. His protesting "Hey!"
barely had time to register with Scully before a myriad of
emotions washed over her.
A spark of annoyance ignited by a deep frustration, quickly
snuffed out by shock. Scully had never used her hands on Mulder
for anything but soothing.
And lately, inflaming.
Shock faded into a flitting moment of worry. But amusement won
out at her witness of the rollercoaster shifting of Mulder's own
thoughts.
Surprise.
Respect.
Then mischief. All flowed from one into the other across the
Etch-A-Sketch of Mulder's face.
"Wha...?!" Reaching down to give him a hand up, Scully's startled
cry was snatched from her throat as Mulder's hand snaked up,
grabbing the front of her trenchcoat and yanking at the same
instant his left foot shot out, sweeping against her ankles in a
well-executed take-down. Even Mulder's self-defense instructor
at the Academy would have been proud.
Scully landed hard on Mulder's chest, air whooshing from both of
them at the sudden, but not unwelcome, pressure of two bodies
meeting. She'd barely had time to replenish her lungs' necessary
supply of oxygen when Mulder rolled her underneath his body, his
hands pinning her arms down on either side of her head.
"Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" The question
had barely left her mouth when Mulder made his intentions quite
clear.
Tracing one side of her jaw with his nose, Mulder nudged her chin
until she bared her throat to him. Tiny phantom kisses tiptoed
down her neck, stopping at the hollow where the softness of her
throat met the hardness of her collarbone. There Mulder's tongue
lapped at her skin as a thirsty man might drink from an oasis pool.
Even as Scully's legs parted allowing Mulder to sink more
completely against her, her mind fought this.
She couldn't have it.
Not yet.
No matter how much she wanted it. Wanted Mulder to make her
forget. To feel something besides the gnawing pain this case had
renewed. A pain that grew with every perfect, tiny body she'd cut
open, a quiet pain that had nearly crippled her with the last victim.
Unseeing, saucer-sized blue eyes. Two rows of little, snow white
teeth. Corn silk blonde hair. Small. Rounded with unshed baby
fat. The characteristics of thousands upon thousands of little
girls. Except Scully saw only the one stolen from her. The one
who had never really been hers.
No. She wasn't ready to forget yet. Not until she had put little
Audrey Akins from Jefferson City, Tennessee to rest.
And that was not going to happen lying here in the middle of a pile
of leaves, trapped between the warmth of Mulder's body and the
cold of the ground. So, loathe as she was for him to stop the
rhythmic rocking his hips had begun against hers -- oh, at least
three thoughts ago -- and the spine-tingling suction currently being
applied to her left earlobe, Scully attempted once again to distract
him. "Mul-derrr..."
Scully's earlobe slipped from Mulder's mouth as he buried his
nose in the hair at her temple, his breath rustling the strands.
"There's a werewolf running willy-nilly, Scully. You should be more
on your guard."
"Running willy-nilly?"
"Running amok?" Mulder drew back to look down at her, his head
cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised in an expression Scully
knew he'd picked up from her over the years, yet never faltering in
his body's languid thrusts into her softness.
"There's nothing running through this park except a ravenous bear
and several campers not following proper procedure for the storage
and/or disposal of food. They've paid the ultimate price." Pulling
one arm free from its gentle restraint, Scully smoothed her palm
over Mulder's sandpaper jaw. Stroking it. Seeking to erase her
earlier less-than-gentle contact with him. "Now can we please go?
I need... I need to finish that report."
Mulder stilled against her, his suddenly serious eyes staring down
into hers as they begged him to understand. To accept her
entreaties without question.
"I just wanted you... wanted =us= to have a break. I know the
circumstances of this case have been difficult for you. Hell, it's
been hard for me to see..."
Scully wrenched her other arm from Mulder's grasp and pushed
until he rolled off her, allowing her to scramble to her feet. She
began brushing leafy debris from her backside as Mulder, giving
forth a great MulderSigh, stood up beside her. Before he could
continue, Scully rushed ahead, determined to thwart any potential
comfort. "Mulder, I'm fine."
Scully's rendering of her patented Mulder Defense System was
sharp. Until she finally forced herself to meet his sorrowful hazel
eyes, still darker than normal from the recent close contact of
their bodies, she didn't realize =how= cutting.
God, his eyes. Matched with the stubborn set of his jaw -- that
little muscle on the left side jumping erratically -- his lips still wet
from roaming the expanse of her neck. Scully was transported
back to the hallway of the New Horizon Psychiatric Center.
To another I'm fine.
One no more believed than the last one.
Well, she could do a better job of convincing him this time.
Reaching out, Scully ran her hand down Mulder's arm, stopping to
entwine her fingers with his, and she pretended not to feel the
desperate way he grasped hers. The soft pad of his thumb
smoothed over and over the inside of her middle finger, polishing
it with the same slow strokes she imagined Michaelangelo must
have used on David. She smiled, the gesture not quite showing
up in her eyes, and tried again.
"I can handle it, Mulder. It =has= been a rough few days, but I'm
just tired like everyone else who put in 20 hour days on this one.
The sooner I can finish transcribing the notes from the last
autopsy and put it all into some semblance of order for Skinner,"
Scully tugged on the hand she held until Mulder's body was flush
against hers. "... the sooner we can put it behind us and move
on. Maybe even take next weekend for ourselves?"
Mulder's hands now grasped her upper arms, his eyes searching
hers for the deception she knew he knew was there.
Please let it go, Mulder. I can't do this now. Not here.
Understanding, or at least a reluctant acceptance, came in the
form of a nearly crushing hug. Scully wrapped her arms tightly
around Mulder's waist, tilting her head up to rub her forehead
against his neck -- much like an affectionate tabby marking its
human as her own. Mulder's voice rumbled from his chest.
"Okay, Scully. We'll do it your way. For now."
Standing on tip-toes, Scully pressed her lips to Mulder's cheek,
and leaned back to look at him as she answered.
"Thank you. Besides, you've got to figure out how to tell Skinner
why, in the middle of Jefferson City's town square, there's a
pMhhmmm..."
Mulder's hand covered Scully's mouth, cutting off her words.
"Don't remind me, Scully."
Scully's hand covered Mulder's, pulling it away so she could say,
"I'm sorry. But you must admit I warned you it wasn't a very good
idea to..."
The inevitable revelation of Mulder's latest dastardly deed was
silenced this time not by his hand, but in a more delicious fashion.
Soft lips pressed against Scully's own -- touching, tasting --
pulling away only to be drawn back by some strange magnetic
force. Her face cradled between his hands, Scully was no longer
exactly sure what she'd been about to say, but whatever it was,
Mulder's method of communication suddenly held more appeal.
A sudden strong breeze picked up the leaves they were standing
in, swirling them around in a poor man's imitation of a twister and
drawing a shiver from Scully despite her close proximity to
Mulder's warm body.
Breaking the kiss, Mulder grinned down at her and teased. "Why
are you standing here gabbing in the cold, Scully? We could be
home in a hot bath."
With an exasperated sigh and a shake of her head, she let herself
be led through the pines, heading toward home and one final
torturous task before she could tuck Audrey and her memories of
Emily and the loss of all she represented back into the tiny little
box she kept hidden from everyone. Even from herself.
End part 1 of 3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 2 of 3
~~~~~~~~
In the end, their shared bath had been postponed, Scully opting
instead for a quick shower, claiming to be in a hurry to get to work.
Mulder accepted a series of half-hearted kisses and a promise of
tomorrow night as a token attempt to soothe his disappointment,
but with the sound of the bathroom door closing came harsh
realization.
Scully was avoiding him.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, listening to the unmistakable
sounds of a wet, naked Scully -- it puzzled him how he was able
to hear that, but he could -- only a few feet away, Mulder
alternated between bites of the macaroni and cheese he'd found
in the refridgerator and thoughts of exactly when this avoidance
had begun.
This case had been a difficult one emotionally for both of them.
While the brutal taking of any human life was always difficult,
exposure to that sort of thing was to be expected in their line of
work. Still, it seemed he and Scully were destined to be forever
scarred by the tiniest of victims. So, from the discovery of the very
first body, Mulder had been witness to Scully shuttering off her
emotions, closing them up tight and safe against the maelstorm
raging around them. With each new body laid out before her, she
withdrew from him a little more.
A couple of veiled attempts on his part to draw her out, coax her
to let him in on what she was feeling, failed miserably. Then there
was his more direct approach earlier that afternoon. He'd hoped
by letting her know he understood the impact this case had on
her, and of the effect it had on him, it might give her the
confidence to unloose a shutter. To allow him more than an
outsider's glimpse of her pain.
Instead, Scully had met his efforts with... what?
Fear? At the thought of facing her own pain long enough to share
it with him, perhaps.
But, Mulder mused as he sat the empty macaroni and cheese
container in the sink and moved on to the fruit salad concoction,
that fear had been couched in a desperation he'd rarely seen in
Scully's eyes. She'd been desperate to get home. Desperate to
avoid what he was determined to talk with her about.
So she withdrew. Walking by her side through the forest, Mulder
had felt as solitary as he ever had. What hurt him most, however,
was being relatively certain Scully understood the feeling all too
well.
The car ride home yielded no more promising results. The quiet
enveloping them wasn't foreign -- even in the deepening of their
personal relationship, they'd retained their propensity for silence.
It was comforting. Once, in a rare moment of Scully sweet-talk,
she'd said to him, "Most women want a man who's easy to talk
with. I'm happier that you're easy to be silent with."
Tonight's silence was different though -- pregnant with pain and
sorrow...
God... Mulder winced at his mind's tactless punning.
Fully absorbed was he in the restless and sometimes unwelcome
wanderings of his thoughts as he cleaned out the creamy remnants
of the fruit salad with one long forefinger, he failed to hear -- or
smell -- the approach of his freshly-showered Scully.
"Mulder, that's disgusting." She grimaced as she breezed past
him on her way to the refrigerator.
The scent of her followed in her wake, and Mulder eagerly breathed
it in. Apricot-scented something or other. Mixed with a smell that
always reminded him of Hawaii. Never mind that he'd yet to ever
visit their fiftieth state.
"Says the woman who regularly puts guacamole on her face and
calls it 'beauty treatment'," teased Mulder, almost sighing in relief
that Scully hadn't closed herself off to him so completely that she
wouldn't accept his playful barbs.
"I'm going to grab myself something to eat..." She stopped,
peering into an emptier refrigerator than she had before he had
been left unsupervised in her kitchen, and then throwing him a
quick look of disapproval. "... if there's anything left, that is --
while you jump in the shower. Then we can get to work."
"You think I need a shower, Scully?"
Looking over her shoulder as she rummaged in a drawer for the
can opener, Scully dipped her head slightly as though she were
looking at him over the top of the glasses she wasn't wearing, and
with the smirk he =knew= she could do in her sleep, replied,
"After rolling around on the ground this afternoon, and if you plan
on sleeping with me tonight, yes."
Mulder recognized a gift horse when he saw one, and he sure as
hell wasn't going to look it in the mouth. At least she was letting
him close enough to sleep with her.
Send him off to shower with her soap, but don't let him know she's
upset.
Curl up beside him under the lightest, warmest down comforter
he'd ever felt, but never let him see her cry.
Strangely enough, those conflicting signals gave Mulder more
hope than he'd had in over a week.
Heading for the bathroom, Mulder tossed back over his shoulder.
"Okay, okay. You have something besides that frou-frou bath gel
that smells great on you but gets me lingering glances from Agent
Brannor?"
"Don't push your luck, Mulder." Scully's voice held resigned
amusement as she called out to him. He reached for the water
control in the shower, almost missing her final comment on the
subject when the spray began to beat against the wall.
"And check for ticks!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder scrubbed his hands over his face in a futile attempt to
erase the boredom he felt seeping from his pores. If his efforts to
put a positive spin on what took eight volunteer firemen, a sheriff's
deputy, and a local welder to handle got any =more= tedious, it
would be time to pull out the pencils and test just how strong
Scully's ceiling really was.
He had been disappointed to emerge from his shower and find
Scully already immersed in her part of their report. Any thoughts
of pursuing the lighter mood present before he'd left had vanished
as she'd barely looked up when he entered the room. Now he was
going to count on her continued absorption in order to indulge in a
little Scully-observing, hoping to figure out how to breach the wall
she'd placed around her.
Papers spread across the table in front of her couch, her laptop
and a supply of coffee at the ready, Scully sat hunched in the
floor, the fire she'd built in the fireplace reflecting off her glasses.
She appeared deceptively soft, dressed in grey cotton leggings
and an oversized Washington Redskins tee-shirt. Drying naturally,
her hair was loose and more curly than she normally wore it. The
toes on her bare feet wiggled now and then, rejoicing in their
blessed freedom from those three inch high-heeled prisons
she'd taken to wearing lately.
Mulder wished he could say she looked young, but the truth was,
the burden of the last few years and the additional weight of this
latest case had aged her.
But God... she's so beautiful. It didn't matter what state she
was in when that most obvious of revelations crossed his mind.
Images of a few of those states flashed on his mind's projection
screen, rivaling even the most wonderfully air-brushed Hollywood
movie:
Crouching over a carefully constructed pile of sticks, knocking
two stones together in a determined attempt to recreate man's
oldest invention.
Lying in a hospital bed, her face pale and gaunt as she offered
herself to him, not for his pleasure, but for his salvation.
Her body flushed and quivering, reaching for the release he offered.
Even standing over the broken body of a little girl who looked
enough like Emily to have Mulder hovering outside the autopsy
bay, silently offering the support he was afraid she'd never request
on her own.
Mulder ducked his head, feigning an intense dedication to his
task as Scully got up to change the CD in the player. Once she
had made her selection and returned to her place in front of the
fire, he allowed his gaze to settle on her again, his thoughts going
back to that last image and the memories it evoked of yesterday.
He'd watched her the entire time through the small window in the
door. Stood there without blinking or turning away as she had
replaced the young heart silenced too soon. He thought it was
the least he could do for her. But it had cost him -- had exacted
from him a high price -- one he knew couldn't begin to measure
up to the one Scully had paid.
With the heavy weight of the doors blocking out all sound, Mulder
had felt as if he were viewing a silent film as he watched her stitch
up the incisions she had made. Then, rather than leave it to an
assistant as any other pathologist would have done, Scully had
wrapped the body carefully, almost lovingly, in a clean white
sheet. Seeing her cradle little Audrey in her arms and place
her on the cold, metal tray had almost been his undoing.
But then he would have missed seeing her cross the room to
where her briefcase sat on a lone shelf. Would have not
recognized the small picture of Emily she pulled from the side
pocket of the leather bag and stared at for long moments. And he
wouldn't have witnessed Dana Scully turning to lean her back
against the hard cement block wall and slowly slide to the floor,
her forehead coming to rest against her bent knees.
He'd gone to her then, the creak of the door pulling her up as
though she were a marionette's puppet being jerked roughly by its
strings. She was just tired, she had said... overworked. And then
she'd asked if maybe he could speak to her department head
about that. When her little joke fell hopelessly flat, she'd reached
out and grasped his hand, whispering, I'll be fine. Don't worry.
And with that lie, she'd left him standing there. The final brick in
the Great Wall of Scully in place.
Oh, Scully... the walls of Jericho ain't got nothin' on yours. But
I think it's time I tried to bring them down.
Mulder's renewed resolve pulled him from his memories and
returned him to her apartment where he realized she'd set the
CD player to repeat the same song over and over. It wasn't one
he recognized or could understand, for that matter -- he =did=
recognize the soloist was singing in German. He guessed that
was part of the reason Scully had chosen this particular song,
since she had studied the language for a time. However, he
suspected it wasn't just something as simple as being able to
understand the words of the song.
Nothing with Scully was =ever= simple.
Leave it to her to listen to a piece as haunting as this one while
writing her autopsy report.
Was that it? Did she choose to play music reflective of her
feelings?
As the CD player whirred quietly, rewinding the disc, and began
playing once more, Mulder listened closely this time, hoping to
catch a clue that would help him know which area of Scully's wall
to attack first. But all he managed to decide was that his mother
had been right when she told him he should take a music history
course at Oxford. Perhaps then he could have noticed more than
despite the often frantic pace of the music, one that reminded
him of a galloping horse, and the feelings of sadness and fear
were underlying the entire song.
Mulder was brooding over these thoughts when he felt two
questioning eyes gazing at him from the living room.
"Are you finished, Mulder?"
He stretched before getting up and walking toward her. "As
finished as I'm ever going to be. I'm just going to let Skinner chew
my ass out and then hand him my bank card to cover the
damages." Sinking down onto the couch behind Scully, he added.
"Always worked before."
Scully's soft chuckle left his heart flip-flopping in his chest, and he
wondered idly if she had those electric paddle thingamabobs
stashed in a closet in case she laughed again and he needed
resuscitating. Leaning forward, his legs bracketing Scully's body,
Mulder placed his hands on her shoulders and began to work the
muscles.
"Jeez, Scully! What are you packing in your shoulders? Rocks?"
"You'd be surprised... ohhh...at how a little hard... ouch!" She
cried out and jumped when one of his thumbs began to dig into a
particularly large knot over her left shoulder. A few hard strokes
later and Mulder felt the tension in her body ease. "... at how a
little hard work will knot up the muscles. You oughta try it
sometime, Mulder."
He grinned at her bowed head, relishing the jabs he knew held no
real malice. Having successfully worked the kinks from her
shoulders and upper back, his hands now caressed instead of
massaged. Long strokes up and down her arms. Tiny circular
movements with just his fingertips against the soft down on the
back of her neck, careful to not press against the barely raised
scar concealing their salvation.
Scully breathed a contented sigh, resting her back more fully
against the couch.
Moving to her temples, Mulder began to massage as, in what he
hoped was a casual manner, he asked, "What's this song, Scully?
I don't think I've ever heard it before."
"It's called 'Der Erlkonig' -- 'The Elf King.'" Scully answered him
willingly, but underneath his hands, he felt the tension returning to
her body.
"An elf king? Sounds like an X-File, Scully," he teased.
Though no laugh answered him, he continued on his quest to find
a way into the fortress she had built for herself. "So what's the
song about?"
His hands fell away from her head as she stiffened and sat up
straight, pulling away from him. Figuratively and literally.
"Scully?"
Speaking so low he had to lean forward to hear her, she replied,
her tone frighteningly distant.
"It's about a child -- a little boy -- who, as he rides home safe in
his father's arms, sees the Elf King." Clearing her throat, she
explained. "The Elf King is really Death. He kills children -- the
only people who can see him."
Oh Scully... Mulder slumped back against the cushions, his
eyes closed and his heart constricted. Why are you doing this
to yourself?
Despite his sudden unwillingness to hear more, he bent forward
when Scully began to speak again. "The boy tells his father that
the Elf King is trying to take him, but the father doesn't believe
him... says it's just... just his imagination." A mirthless bark of
laughter escaped from her at this -- words that might seem ironic
to an outsider who couldn't know he and Scully didn't fit within
such carefully drawn lines.
"At the end, the father arrives home and realizes his son has died
in his arms, taken by the Elf King." Scully concluded her account
with merely a hint of waver in her voice.
For a time, Mulder sat in silence, save for the now morbid-sounding
music, and stared at Scully's bowed head. Unable to resist and
wanting desperately to comfort her, he reached out and ran one
hand gently over her hair, venturing, "Scully?"
She grabbed her forgotten pen and scooted closer to the table.
Mulder, I need to wrap this up. It's getting late."
And there's the drawbridge going up.
Not even trying to suppress it, a weary sigh escaped Mulder's
lips, but he refused to abandon her so readily. Moving around to
crouch beside the table so he could at least see her face even if
she wouldn't look him in the eye, he tried again. "Can I at least
help you with some of this paperwork? C'mon, I've seen an
autopsy or two -- I'll bet I could fake it."
Finally a faint smile played upon her lips, but she shook her head,
her hair falling into her eyes and shading them, leaving Mulder no
choice but to brush it back. The gesture seemed to break the
mood a bit, but she still turned him down firmly.
"Thank you, but I need to do this by myself." Scully returned his
caress when she stroked his newly-shaven cheek. "Why don't
you see if you can get the bed warm for me? I'll be there soon."
Unwilling to concede but fully aware that he wasn't going to get
any further with her until she had completed what she obviously
saw as =her= mission, Mulder nodded and took her small hand
in his, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss across her palm
as he said in a low voice, "I'll be waiting, Scully."
She nodded slightly and pulling her hand from his, turned back to
her work. Finding his help unwelcome, Mulder headed to warm
their bed and to lay awake hoping for another chance to show
Scully he was strong enough to share the burden of her grief.
Scully's digital clock had just clicked over to one-thirty a.m. when
Mulder heard her switch off the bathroom light and make her way
to her bedroom. Lying still with his eyelids lowered to mere slits,
Mulder tracked Scully's movements as she crossed to the small
table in front of her window. She stuffed a handful of files into her
briefcase, and then zipped the laptop into its black satchel. He
thought she was going to turn and climb into the bed, but she
reversed her movement, instead returning to her briefcase. In an
action identical to the one he witnessed after the autopsy, Scully
quietly removed the small picture from its hiding place.
Watching her stare at it for long moments, Mulder rolled around in
his mind a thousand things he could say to her. It wasn't until he
heard a faint hitch in her breathing and saw her smooth her hand
slowly over her abdomen, that something bubbled unexpectedly
out of his mouth.
"I saw you."
End part 2 of 3
~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 3 of 3
~~~~~~~~~~~
"I saw you."
From out of her dark bedroom came Mulder's voice, low and
husky, sounding as though something were in his throat.
Startled, Scully whirled around to face him, the forgotten picture
fluttering to the floor from her suddenly boneless hand.
As her eyes adjusted to the absence of light, she saw Mulder
sitting up in the bed, pinning her not with an accusing stare as
she would have expected from his declaration, but with a look so
full of love and empathy, she very nearly vaulted over her own
painstakingly built walls right into his arms. But she couldn't do
that.
It would leave her unprotected.
Defenseless.
Vulnerable.
So there was only one course of action, comprised of several
different tactics -- pretend misunderstanding, deny everything,
delay. In short, shield herself and the pain that belonged only to
her, at all costs.
"What?"
"Yesterday. I watched you perform the autopsy on Audrey Akins.
Saw you carry..." Mulder's voice maintained the low, patient tone,
silenced only briefly.
"Mulder, please. It's too late for this..." Exasperation began to
creep into Scully's voice, and she hoped it more than masked the
fear currently turning her heart into a block of ice. The chill was
spreading to her arms, leaving goosebumps behind as a faint
tremble shook her body.
Seemingly unstoppable, he drove ahead, relentlessly replaying
yesterday's ordeal. "... saw you =hold her= in your arms and
carry her to the storage area. And then I saw you take out
Emily's picture."
Oh, God. He's not going to stop. Please, please...
"Mulder..." Feeling the almost unbearable urge to flee the room,
she tried once more to dissuade him from continuing down this
thorny path he was apparently determined to brave.
But he grew ever closer -- closer to her and to pushing her
defences to the breaking point. Scooting to the edge of the bed,
he leaned toward her. Through the hair that fell forward when she
ducked her head, Scully could just make out his form, but his
words rang clear.
"I was there, Scully. I was there and saw you balled up in the floor,
hurting as much as I've ever seen you."
His words were rushed as though he feared another interruption,
but they carried with them the weight of one who had just
witnessed suffering. And that both frightened and angered Scully.
Anger. That's a good emotion for masking hurt and fear. We'll
go with that one. Stooping down, Scully snatched the fallen
picture from the floor and returned it to her briefcase before
answering him with a harshness she hoped would leave him
wishing he hadn't pursued this particular battle.
"It was a horrendous case, Mulder! Are you saying it didn't have
an effect on you?"
"Of course not." Mulder answered her with an infuriating calm.
"What I'm saying, Scully, is that it's obvious in cases where the
victims are children, especially this one where a little girl like
Audrey resembled Emily so closely... that... that it has to strike at
something deep inside you."
She shook her head, reaching up to rub her hands over her face.
When did she begin feeling this old? Dropping her arms to her
sides, she took a deep breath and made the very admission she
only let her mind and heart hear in the quietest, most solitary
hours of the night.
"Okay, Mulder. Yes...yes. I had a difficult time with this one.
And yes, it was in large part due to my feelings about Emily...
about..." Scully's voice dropped off, her earlier anger smothered
by the defeat of having her barricade breached. "What do you
want from me, Mulder?"
"Come here, Scully. Please." He held out one hand until she
took it and then moved back against the pillows, pulling her along
with him until she found herself wrapped in his arms, her head
resting on his shoulder. Though she still trembled slightly, she
could feel the heat from his body beginning to warm hers. With
one hand, Mulder snagged the covers and pulled them up,
tucking them snugly around their bodies. He took her hand and
placing it on his chest, continued. "I'm not going to force you to
talk to me. I don't expect you to tell me everything you're feeling
about Emily and all the... issues surrounding her."
A measure of combined surprise and relief washed over her as
she started to look up at him. "Then what..."
Before she could finish her question, Mulder's hand moved from
her shoulder to her head, pressing it lightly back to its resting
place, then smoothing lazily over and over the tousled hair as he
answered.
"No matter how far we've taken our relationship, I know even now
it's hard for you to make yourself vulnerable in that way. But I
need you to at least understand something, Scully."
At that, Scully pushed herself up on one elbow, searching that
most beloved face for a clue as to what he was about to tell her.
"You =can= let me know when you're hurting. I'm not going to try
and talk you out of your pain. And I'll never take it away from you.
You need it. I know that from experience. Few things in life are
as driving a force as the torment that comes from a loss." Mulder
smiled softly, running his hand up and down the arm still resting
on his chest. "So I promise -- you can keep your pain and your
grief. But once in a while, it's okay to let me help you carry it."
Scully at last knew why Mulder had sounded as though his throat
was clogged as hers began to close, unshed tears pooling in her
eyes. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she then nodded.
"I know that. I do. I guess I've always viewed this as my loss
though. =My= child. Except that she wasn't, was she? No
matter how much of my DNA was intertwined with hers, she
belonged to Roberta Sims." She felt herself being pulled back
into the shelter of his arms, and once settled, she tilted her head
up until she could press her nose into his neck and inhale deeply,
smiling to herself at the realization that he smelled like her.
"You would have loved her, Scully." Mulder pressed a kiss to her
forehead.
With a self-assurance she was surprised to possess, Scully
affirmed, "Yes. I think I would have."
"I would have loved her, too, you know."
"Mulder..." Scully had never expected that hearing Mulder's
declaration of love for someone else would effect her more than
the rare but cherished verbal sentiments directed toward her.
She felt him nod confidently and heard that earnestness bound
back into his voice. "I would have. I think one reason you feel you
have to bear her loss alone is that you see her as yours alone...
your responsibility. But haven't you figured it out by now, Scully?"
He rolled her over onto her back, propping himself up so he was
looking down into her eyes. "If it hurts you, it hurts me. And I will
love anyone who is a part of you."
"Even Bill?" She smiled wickedly.
Ruefully shaking his head, Mulder laughed, "Bill would kick my
ass if I tried to love him."
Suddenly, the fear and grief that had been haunting Scully for
longer than she cared to remember no longer seemed as
oppressive, and she realized guarding the perimeter of her fortress
hadn't crossed her mind in several minutes. She snuggled further
into the give of her bed and pulled Mulder closer.
"You were good with Emily, Mulder. Got a smile out of her when
I couldn't."
"Yeah, well... you just don't have the facial features to do a really
good Mr. Potatohead." As if to prove to her that her face was
desirable despite its inability to double as a child's plaything,
Mulder touched his lips to hers before moving on to cover her face
with light kisses as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'll never
forget the first time I saw the two of you together, sitting in the
floor coloring, heads bowed in such concentration. I'll bet she got
that from you, Scully."
This is nice -- there =should= be good things to remember.
Looking at him with sleepy eyes, Scully drew on his memory.
"What else do you remember, Mulder?"
"I remember how I felt to see the two of you together... that it was
a sight I'd never really pictured but suddenly knew how right it
looked. And I wondered if you'd let me play, too." Another grin
from Mulder, matched with waggling eyebrows, coaxed a soft
laugh from Scully. The laugh was replaced by a renewal of tears
with his next words. "She had your blue eyes. And I would have
done anything to keep pain from them, just like I would for you."
A depth of feeling for this man like she'd felt for no other washed
over her, and she found it impossible to deny him the truth he
deserved.
"Remember when we went to the children's home after that phone
call?"
He tilted his head in a quizzical manner. "When we found Emily
so feverish? Yeah."
"When you picked her up and held her in your arms..." Scully
took a deep breath, one of her hands stroking the back of his
neck, and said, "... the part of my mind that wasn't worrying about
her condition... well, I was thinking how I could have gotten used
to seeing you hold her."
She had lowered her eyelids as she finished her admission,
suddenly finding herself self-conscious, when Mulder dipped his
head and captured her mouth with his.
So gentle
Slipping one hand under her head, he moved her head first this
way and then that to better drink from her. Tender lips were
caught within his own, tasted and suckled, until she took back
some control and plunged her tongue into the recesses of his
mouth. Her lips curved slightly beneath his own as she
encountered Mulder's own salty taste that she knew so well.
He broke the kiss with a chuckle when she yawned deeply, but
leaned in for a quick kiss to erase her sheepish look. She
wondered when he pulled away from her, but sighed with
contentment when he nudged her to roll onto her side, and then
aligned his long body against hers. Rubbing his cheek against
her hair, Scully felt him wrap his arm around her waist and pull
her more snugly into his embrace.
Some minutes later as she was caught between the lands of
waking and sleeping, she heard him murmur in her ear.
"Sleep, Scully... I'll carry it for a while."
~~~~~~~~
Still berating herself as she had been doing for the last couple of
hours, Scully entered her apartment and turned, locking the door
behind her. It had started out to be such a good day -- she'd slept
through the night for the first time since returning from Jefferson
City, and Mulder even had a chocolate chip bagel waiting for
her when she arrived at work. They'd gotten caught up on some
paperwork, and Mulder had only proposed two tabloid-based
investigations. Both of which she'd shot down in five minutes flat.
Yes, indeed -- the makings of an excellent day. Only to wind up in
such a miserable state.
She had been cleaning out her briefcase an hour or so before
leaving, vaguely wondering what errand Mulder had vanished
to do, when she had reached into the side pocket where Emily's
picture had been since her return from San Diego, and found
nothing there. She had removed every single item from the case,
carefully separating each paper. Finally starting to panic, she had
frantically searched her desk and the floor surrounding it -- to
absolutely no avail.
It was gone. The only picture she had of the daughter she barely
knew.
Now home, and not giving her answering machine even a
moment's glance, she headed to her bedroom. She was intent
on changing into something comfortable and curling up with the
sack of malted milk balls she had stashed in the drawer of her
bedside table.
Entering the room, she passed by the dresser and then headed
for her desk where she plopped down her briefcase. The feeling of
something being out of place sent Scully turning slowly, her eyes
sweeping over her simple bedroom. Scanning the top of her
dresser, she saw a small jewelry box that had once belonged to
Melissa, her rosary, a hairbrush, and a small collection of pictures.
A collection that upon closer inspection looked different.
She walked to her dresser, her eyes flitting from one picture to
another:
Her parents at her graduation from medical school, her father
beaming.
Bill, Tara, her parents and Maggie with Matthew at his christening.
Melissa, leaning against a wooden fence, smiling as if she had a
secret to tell.
And the picture Scully treasured most -- the only one she had of
Mulder and herself, taken late one night before leaving on a case.
They'd just requisitioned a new camera, and Mulder wanted to
check the timer on it. Placing it on the mantel and cajoling,
coaxing, and generally making a nuisance of himself, he'd
managed to convince her to be in the picture with him. She
couldn't remember what was said, but one of them made the
other laugh, and they both turned just as the camera flashed.
They looked younger in this picture, full smiles and eyes filled
only with each other.
Pulling her eyes away from that photo, she noticed what had
seemed out of place but in reality belonged in that exact spot.
She picked up the object as, blinking away sudden tears, she
found herself looking at something both familiar and new.
Her picture of Emily.
Set in a frame that had Scully smiling through her tears. She ran
her fingers over the rough material, appreciating the craftmanship
of it, but loving the sentiment more. It was made of some sort of
plaster, with carvings of trees serving as the frame. Taking up one
corner of the frame was the rendering of a meadow along which
ran a stone wall. At one spot in the wall, the stones had been
broken away and a small dark-haired little boy was climbing
through the opening, bound for the lush grass and daisies on the
other side.
She replaced the framed picture, again scanning the grouping of
photos and was feeling a measure of completeness when she
heard a key turning in her front door. Smiling to herself, she
moved to her bedside table and grabbed the candy before heading
out to greet her own dark-haired destroyer of walls.
END
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's thanks: To Jill and Blueswirl, for meticulous editing and
boundless encouragement. To Michaela for supplying the perfect
song, and to Marguerite for the translated lyrics. And especially
to Laney, whose nudging, prodding, questioning, and editing kept
me on my toes and whose encouragement and soothing calmed
many a frazzled nerve. This story is far better than it ever would
have been without her.
Author's notes: Few episodes have left me as unsatisfied as
"Emily" did, and though I loved "All Souls" and it helped
tremendously to provide a bit of closure for me, I could have
done with more. So that's what this story is -- more. g It
wasn't always going to be about Scully's struggle to deal with her
grief over Emily. No, it started out as a pure (?) smut piece in
which I hoped to be the first author to write Mulder and Scully
having sex in a deerstand in the forest.
Some people want to win Pulitzers or Nobel prizes. I wanted to
leave M&S in post-coital bliss in the Shenandoah National forest.
Hey, we all gotta have a goal. Oh well, maybe next time.
In honor of a friend who says she really likes to read about little
inside things an author puts in her stories, here are some of mine.
Some, but not all -- a girl's gotta have a little mystery. ; )
The name of the last little girl Scully autopsied -- Audrey Akins --
was the name of my only aunt, someone else whose heart fell
silent far too early.
Jefferson City, Tennessee is a real place, a small town close to
Knoxville, and directly beside a slightly larger town where I grew
up -- Morristown. I would have used that, but liked the sound of
Jefferson City better, and didn't want it to be mistaken for
Morristown, New Jersey.
At one point I describe an action of Scully's as that of an
affectionate tabby rubbing his cheek across his owner to mark her
as his own. My own little orange creamsicle cat, Lil' Bit, rubs that
image into my mind every morning. : )
Scully's words: "Most women want a man who's easy to talk with.
I'm happier that you're easy to be silent with." were in reality said
by my brother's girlfriend to him.
"Der Erlkonig" is a real piece of music by Shubert and sung in
German.
The shoulder rub was for Jen.
The bubble bath mention was for Mel. Sorry they didn't actually
make it =into= one. ; )
For my four sisters, and you know who you are, there's a little
something here for you. Find it if you can. g
And finally, the malted milk balls were for Laney for sending me the
best ones I've ever had.
In the words of StaryCats: That is all.
Feedback gratefully received at: Scullysfan@aol.com
Visit Chronicle X: http://members.aol.com/danascu11y/chronx.html
(those are "ones" not "L"s in danascu11y)
Author: Shari Long
Classification: SRA
Rating: PG-13
Distribution: Do not archive at Gossamer. I'll take care of ATXC
myself. Anyone else, please ask first. Thanks. : )
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property
of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are not mine and no
copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a case strikes close to Scully's heart, Mulder
must find a way to overcome the walls she builds between them.
Author's thanks at the end.
Feedback: Any and all comments more than welcome at
Scullysfan@aol.com.
~~~~~~~~~
"Mulder, I don't fucking believe this!"
Had she spoken those words in the office, they might have more
forcefully conveyed Scully's anger. An anger borne from utter
exasperation with the man standing in front of her.... daring to grin
as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands
shoved deep into the pockets of his trench coat.
They would have reverberated off the filing cabinets stuffed with
case files, off the walls littered with tabloid articles claiming Elvis
was living in the Lincoln Bedroom and heralding Mulder's newest
favorite theory that sunflower seeds increase a person's sex drive
by 75%. No wonder she kept finding the damn things in her bed.
But as it happened, Scully's words were all but lost in the vastness
of the forest where they stood. Picked up by the light wind swirling
through the red and gold leaves blanketing the early October chilled
ground.
"What's wrong, Scully?" Mulder had sense enough to wipe the
shit-eating grin from his face, but not enough to limit himself to one
question. "You aren't enjoying our little trip to the forest?"
Though the sun was low in the sky and only the occasional ray
found its way through the trees, it still managed to turn Scully's
hair even more red as she stood there with her hands set squarely
on her hips. If Mulder could take his eyes from her flashing ones,
he'd bet he would see she was tapping one foot.
"No, Mulder, I'm not. I frequently find it difficult to enjoy pointless
trips out of our way to investigate cases where none exist.
Especially when we arrived back in town just last night. Not to
mention that Skinner expects a report by tomorrow morning, and
we still need to come up with an explanation for how you managed
to..."
He was doing it again. Smiling that insufferable grin that either
made her want to plant a sharp heel into his instep or throw him
down and kiss him silly. It bothered her that the former held more
appeal lately.
"What?!?"
Should he tell her what he was thinking? About what put that look
on his face? That he'd hardly been listening to her rant because
he was too preoccupied trying to decide if she looked more
beautiful at that moment than she did many a morning. Sitting
naked astride his hips, her hair falling against her cheeks as she
stared down at him with eyes soft and luminous, sunlight streaming
in the window and washing over her skin.
"I was just thinking that you're beautiful when you're angry."
He had known the chances of her putting a matching scar in his
other shoulder were good if he dared utter the thoughts running
through his head, but evidently his brain had not advised his mouth
of the danger.
"Mulder, what does that have to do with the point at hand? With
the fact that we are standing in the middle of Shenandoah National
Forest on a Sunday afternoon looking for signs of a werewolf which
you, and =only= you, I might add, think is here."
"It's not just me, Scully." His voice tinged with stubbornness, Fox
Mulder settled in to present his case, all the while shuffling his feet,
kicking the leaves back and forth. "I told you.... a park employee
contacted me to report his suspicions that a werewolf was
responsible for the attacks to four visitors to this area."
Despite the temperatures falling with the setting sun, Scully was
getting hotter under the collar every minute. Any other time she
might enjoy getting Mulder alone in the woods. Preferably after
the skies had just opened up with a sudden downpour of sleeping
bags.
Right now, however, she had a rock in one of her shoes and a
terrible foreboding that a month long quarantine might be in their
futures. As a result, the tone of her voice was approaching the
peeved level.
"That park employee was a sixteen year old kid whose credibility
lies in too many late shows, Mulder!" Scully forced herself to take
a deep breath, the smell vaguely reminding her of a forest-scented
air freshener and a late night stakeout that seemed to have been
a lifetime ago.
Maybe if they reviewed the facts Mulder would see they were
wasting their time and consent to go home. Taking a hot bubble
bath was what she wanted to do first, and if Mulder would leave this
asinine theory here, he was welcome to join her. But every minute
they spent arguing in the woods meant less time they had to repair
the damage they were currently inflicting on each other before
settling down to work.
She wasn't =really= trying to be difficult. Was she? It wasn't like
Scully looked forward to going home and writing this report. Just
thinking about what she was going to have to do sent chills totally
unrelated to the falling temperatures up her spine. Transcribing
notes for the hardest autopsy she'd ever performed. Reminding
herself once again that she lived in a world filled with monsters.
Monsters who brutally murdered little girls just because they could.
But the report had to be written. It did. And Scully had to be the
one to write it.
Not Mulder.
Her.
It was penance. Forgive me, Father, for I let them take my
daughter's life.
It was punishment. She'd failed to keep Emily safe, and now she
was doomed to describe crushed larynxes and slashed little faces
for the rest of her life.
It was poetic justice. Scully, who could never seem to bring to
bear the men responsible for her own tragedies, could provide a
sense of closure for some child's mother. And she could fool
herself into thinking it eased her heartache.
So she =had= to get home.
Perhaps another tactic would work. Stepping closer to where
Mulder was absentmindedly kicking leaves into a large pile, Scully
held out her hands as though he were a shy puppy she had
frightened and began to speak in a calmer, softer voice. "Okay.
This employee is suggesting that lycanthropy is the explanation
for the reported deaths. What makes him think that?"
"Scully, all the bodies were found mangled... practically shredded
by something with extremely powerful claws. Clumps of hair not
from the victims were found on the bodies..."
"Mulder..." With a tired shake of her head, Scully sighed. "Park
officials, local police officers, and even the county M.E. classified
these incidents as bear attacks. Probably by one of the North
American black bears known to inhabit this area, to be exact. Of
course clumps of fur were part of the evidence collected. And I'm
certain every attempt is being made to take down this animal before
it kills again."
"Do bears have calendars tacked up on the walls of their caves
these days, Scully?" Mulder took one more look at the enormous
pile of leaves he'd managed to rake together using only his feet
and turned to face Scully, his voice regaining its teasing tone.
"Because I'd really like to know how an animal decided to maul
four people, each exactly a week apart."
"Mulder, I'll admit that's a bit odd but not out of the question.
They were coincidences!" So much for attempting to win him over
with reasoning. Irritation had fought the good fight and won.
Having drawn closer to him with every rebuttal, Scully was now
standing almost toe to toe with the man who seemingly couldn't
make up his mind from one day to the next whether to push her
buttons or fondle them.
Now, catching that gleam in his eyes and the slightly upturned
corner of his mouth, Scully guessed he was thinking roughly the
same thing. She was well aware that he often found their verbal
sparring to be arousing -- at first to his intellectual side and then
to his more primal nature. Hell, it had the same effect on her.
Scully just wondered why Mulder had to pick =now= to have this
discussion. The possibility of this being a legitimate case for them
was shaky at best, even for Mulder.
"Like I've asked before, Scully... if coincidences are just
coincidences, then why do they feel so contrived?"
It seemed to him like a good thing to say at the time.
A quick quip. Something to remind her of days past. Maybe a
way to diffuse the head of steam Scully had been building since
they'd started their trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. To salvage
what Mulder had hoped would be a relaxing afternoon for both of
them, couched in a story even Mulder truly didn't believe.
A time to forget images of little girls lying in drawers in a county
morgue, each patiently waiting her turn for Scully's scalpel.
Instead he'd succeeded in reminding himself that despite Scully's
short stature, she was a force to be reckoned with. And, Mulder
thought wryly, he reckoned he'd made a big mistake.
Unfortunately, self-realization came seconds too late. Definitely
not in time to stop Scully from planting her small hands firmly on
Mulder's chest and shoving. Hard.
"Hey!" Mulder's startled cry came as he stumbled backwards.
Arms pinwheeling wildly he fell with a crunch and a thump into the
reddish-gold cushion behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder had been asking for it. As surely as if he sported a sign
around his neck reading "Take Me Down".
That self-satisfied grin.
It was the exact one he wore on those occasions when his
talented hands, or better yet, his tongue, succeeded in driving her
past words -- to the state where gutteral moans and breathy sighs
were an acceptable form of communication. Unfortunately for
Mulder, his hands were in his pockets, and his tongue... Well, it
was busy wrapping itself around a question that evoked memories
of a lonely old man and the not-so-picky eater Scully inherited
from him.
So all it took was one spontaneous, even unconscious, shove, and
Mulder was falling faster than one of the forest's hundreds of pines
under a snarling chainsaw, arms flailing and hands grabbing for
purchase in the unaccommodating air. His protesting "Hey!"
barely had time to register with Scully before a myriad of
emotions washed over her.
A spark of annoyance ignited by a deep frustration, quickly
snuffed out by shock. Scully had never used her hands on Mulder
for anything but soothing.
And lately, inflaming.
Shock faded into a flitting moment of worry. But amusement won
out at her witness of the rollercoaster shifting of Mulder's own
thoughts.
Surprise.
Respect.
Then mischief. All flowed from one into the other across the
Etch-A-Sketch of Mulder's face.
"Wha...?!" Reaching down to give him a hand up, Scully's startled
cry was snatched from her throat as Mulder's hand snaked up,
grabbing the front of her trenchcoat and yanking at the same
instant his left foot shot out, sweeping against her ankles in a
well-executed take-down. Even Mulder's self-defense instructor
at the Academy would have been proud.
Scully landed hard on Mulder's chest, air whooshing from both of
them at the sudden, but not unwelcome, pressure of two bodies
meeting. She'd barely had time to replenish her lungs' necessary
supply of oxygen when Mulder rolled her underneath his body, his
hands pinning her arms down on either side of her head.
"Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" The question
had barely left her mouth when Mulder made his intentions quite
clear.
Tracing one side of her jaw with his nose, Mulder nudged her chin
until she bared her throat to him. Tiny phantom kisses tiptoed
down her neck, stopping at the hollow where the softness of her
throat met the hardness of her collarbone. There Mulder's tongue
lapped at her skin as a thirsty man might drink from an oasis pool.
Even as Scully's legs parted allowing Mulder to sink more
completely against her, her mind fought this.
She couldn't have it.
Not yet.
No matter how much she wanted it. Wanted Mulder to make her
forget. To feel something besides the gnawing pain this case had
renewed. A pain that grew with every perfect, tiny body she'd cut
open, a quiet pain that had nearly crippled her with the last victim.
Unseeing, saucer-sized blue eyes. Two rows of little, snow white
teeth. Corn silk blonde hair. Small. Rounded with unshed baby
fat. The characteristics of thousands upon thousands of little
girls. Except Scully saw only the one stolen from her. The one
who had never really been hers.
No. She wasn't ready to forget yet. Not until she had put little
Audrey Akins from Jefferson City, Tennessee to rest.
And that was not going to happen lying here in the middle of a pile
of leaves, trapped between the warmth of Mulder's body and the
cold of the ground. So, loathe as she was for him to stop the
rhythmic rocking his hips had begun against hers -- oh, at least
three thoughts ago -- and the spine-tingling suction currently being
applied to her left earlobe, Scully attempted once again to distract
him. "Mul-derrr..."
Scully's earlobe slipped from Mulder's mouth as he buried his
nose in the hair at her temple, his breath rustling the strands.
"There's a werewolf running willy-nilly, Scully. You should be more
on your guard."
"Running willy-nilly?"
"Running amok?" Mulder drew back to look down at her, his head
cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised in an expression Scully
knew he'd picked up from her over the years, yet never faltering in
his body's languid thrusts into her softness.
"There's nothing running through this park except a ravenous bear
and several campers not following proper procedure for the storage
and/or disposal of food. They've paid the ultimate price." Pulling
one arm free from its gentle restraint, Scully smoothed her palm
over Mulder's sandpaper jaw. Stroking it. Seeking to erase her
earlier less-than-gentle contact with him. "Now can we please go?
I need... I need to finish that report."
Mulder stilled against her, his suddenly serious eyes staring down
into hers as they begged him to understand. To accept her
entreaties without question.
"I just wanted you... wanted =us= to have a break. I know the
circumstances of this case have been difficult for you. Hell, it's
been hard for me to see..."
Scully wrenched her other arm from Mulder's grasp and pushed
until he rolled off her, allowing her to scramble to her feet. She
began brushing leafy debris from her backside as Mulder, giving
forth a great MulderSigh, stood up beside her. Before he could
continue, Scully rushed ahead, determined to thwart any potential
comfort. "Mulder, I'm fine."
Scully's rendering of her patented Mulder Defense System was
sharp. Until she finally forced herself to meet his sorrowful hazel
eyes, still darker than normal from the recent close contact of
their bodies, she didn't realize =how= cutting.
God, his eyes. Matched with the stubborn set of his jaw -- that
little muscle on the left side jumping erratically -- his lips still wet
from roaming the expanse of her neck. Scully was transported
back to the hallway of the New Horizon Psychiatric Center.
To another I'm fine.
One no more believed than the last one.
Well, she could do a better job of convincing him this time.
Reaching out, Scully ran her hand down Mulder's arm, stopping to
entwine her fingers with his, and she pretended not to feel the
desperate way he grasped hers. The soft pad of his thumb
smoothed over and over the inside of her middle finger, polishing
it with the same slow strokes she imagined Michaelangelo must
have used on David. She smiled, the gesture not quite showing
up in her eyes, and tried again.
"I can handle it, Mulder. It =has= been a rough few days, but I'm
just tired like everyone else who put in 20 hour days on this one.
The sooner I can finish transcribing the notes from the last
autopsy and put it all into some semblance of order for Skinner,"
Scully tugged on the hand she held until Mulder's body was flush
against hers. "... the sooner we can put it behind us and move
on. Maybe even take next weekend for ourselves?"
Mulder's hands now grasped her upper arms, his eyes searching
hers for the deception she knew he knew was there.
Please let it go, Mulder. I can't do this now. Not here.
Understanding, or at least a reluctant acceptance, came in the
form of a nearly crushing hug. Scully wrapped her arms tightly
around Mulder's waist, tilting her head up to rub her forehead
against his neck -- much like an affectionate tabby marking its
human as her own. Mulder's voice rumbled from his chest.
"Okay, Scully. We'll do it your way. For now."
Standing on tip-toes, Scully pressed her lips to Mulder's cheek,
and leaned back to look at him as she answered.
"Thank you. Besides, you've got to figure out how to tell Skinner
why, in the middle of Jefferson City's town square, there's a
pMhhmmm..."
Mulder's hand covered Scully's mouth, cutting off her words.
"Don't remind me, Scully."
Scully's hand covered Mulder's, pulling it away so she could say,
"I'm sorry. But you must admit I warned you it wasn't a very good
idea to..."
The inevitable revelation of Mulder's latest dastardly deed was
silenced this time not by his hand, but in a more delicious fashion.
Soft lips pressed against Scully's own -- touching, tasting --
pulling away only to be drawn back by some strange magnetic
force. Her face cradled between his hands, Scully was no longer
exactly sure what she'd been about to say, but whatever it was,
Mulder's method of communication suddenly held more appeal.
A sudden strong breeze picked up the leaves they were standing
in, swirling them around in a poor man's imitation of a twister and
drawing a shiver from Scully despite her close proximity to
Mulder's warm body.
Breaking the kiss, Mulder grinned down at her and teased. "Why
are you standing here gabbing in the cold, Scully? We could be
home in a hot bath."
With an exasperated sigh and a shake of her head, she let herself
be led through the pines, heading toward home and one final
torturous task before she could tuck Audrey and her memories of
Emily and the loss of all she represented back into the tiny little
box she kept hidden from everyone. Even from herself.
End part 1 of 3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 2 of 3
~~~~~~~~
In the end, their shared bath had been postponed, Scully opting
instead for a quick shower, claiming to be in a hurry to get to work.
Mulder accepted a series of half-hearted kisses and a promise of
tomorrow night as a token attempt to soothe his disappointment,
but with the sound of the bathroom door closing came harsh
realization.
Scully was avoiding him.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, listening to the unmistakable
sounds of a wet, naked Scully -- it puzzled him how he was able
to hear that, but he could -- only a few feet away, Mulder
alternated between bites of the macaroni and cheese he'd found
in the refridgerator and thoughts of exactly when this avoidance
had begun.
This case had been a difficult one emotionally for both of them.
While the brutal taking of any human life was always difficult,
exposure to that sort of thing was to be expected in their line of
work. Still, it seemed he and Scully were destined to be forever
scarred by the tiniest of victims. So, from the discovery of the very
first body, Mulder had been witness to Scully shuttering off her
emotions, closing them up tight and safe against the maelstorm
raging around them. With each new body laid out before her, she
withdrew from him a little more.
A couple of veiled attempts on his part to draw her out, coax her
to let him in on what she was feeling, failed miserably. Then there
was his more direct approach earlier that afternoon. He'd hoped
by letting her know he understood the impact this case had on
her, and of the effect it had on him, it might give her the
confidence to unloose a shutter. To allow him more than an
outsider's glimpse of her pain.
Instead, Scully had met his efforts with... what?
Fear? At the thought of facing her own pain long enough to share
it with him, perhaps.
But, Mulder mused as he sat the empty macaroni and cheese
container in the sink and moved on to the fruit salad concoction,
that fear had been couched in a desperation he'd rarely seen in
Scully's eyes. She'd been desperate to get home. Desperate to
avoid what he was determined to talk with her about.
So she withdrew. Walking by her side through the forest, Mulder
had felt as solitary as he ever had. What hurt him most, however,
was being relatively certain Scully understood the feeling all too
well.
The car ride home yielded no more promising results. The quiet
enveloping them wasn't foreign -- even in the deepening of their
personal relationship, they'd retained their propensity for silence.
It was comforting. Once, in a rare moment of Scully sweet-talk,
she'd said to him, "Most women want a man who's easy to talk
with. I'm happier that you're easy to be silent with."
Tonight's silence was different though -- pregnant with pain and
sorrow...
God... Mulder winced at his mind's tactless punning.
Fully absorbed was he in the restless and sometimes unwelcome
wanderings of his thoughts as he cleaned out the creamy remnants
of the fruit salad with one long forefinger, he failed to hear -- or
smell -- the approach of his freshly-showered Scully.
"Mulder, that's disgusting." She grimaced as she breezed past
him on her way to the refrigerator.
The scent of her followed in her wake, and Mulder eagerly breathed
it in. Apricot-scented something or other. Mixed with a smell that
always reminded him of Hawaii. Never mind that he'd yet to ever
visit their fiftieth state.
"Says the woman who regularly puts guacamole on her face and
calls it 'beauty treatment'," teased Mulder, almost sighing in relief
that Scully hadn't closed herself off to him so completely that she
wouldn't accept his playful barbs.
"I'm going to grab myself something to eat..." She stopped,
peering into an emptier refrigerator than she had before he had
been left unsupervised in her kitchen, and then throwing him a
quick look of disapproval. "... if there's anything left, that is --
while you jump in the shower. Then we can get to work."
"You think I need a shower, Scully?"
Looking over her shoulder as she rummaged in a drawer for the
can opener, Scully dipped her head slightly as though she were
looking at him over the top of the glasses she wasn't wearing, and
with the smirk he =knew= she could do in her sleep, replied,
"After rolling around on the ground this afternoon, and if you plan
on sleeping with me tonight, yes."
Mulder recognized a gift horse when he saw one, and he sure as
hell wasn't going to look it in the mouth. At least she was letting
him close enough to sleep with her.
Send him off to shower with her soap, but don't let him know she's
upset.
Curl up beside him under the lightest, warmest down comforter
he'd ever felt, but never let him see her cry.
Strangely enough, those conflicting signals gave Mulder more
hope than he'd had in over a week.
Heading for the bathroom, Mulder tossed back over his shoulder.
"Okay, okay. You have something besides that frou-frou bath gel
that smells great on you but gets me lingering glances from Agent
Brannor?"
"Don't push your luck, Mulder." Scully's voice held resigned
amusement as she called out to him. He reached for the water
control in the shower, almost missing her final comment on the
subject when the spray began to beat against the wall.
"And check for ticks!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder scrubbed his hands over his face in a futile attempt to
erase the boredom he felt seeping from his pores. If his efforts to
put a positive spin on what took eight volunteer firemen, a sheriff's
deputy, and a local welder to handle got any =more= tedious, it
would be time to pull out the pencils and test just how strong
Scully's ceiling really was.
He had been disappointed to emerge from his shower and find
Scully already immersed in her part of their report. Any thoughts
of pursuing the lighter mood present before he'd left had vanished
as she'd barely looked up when he entered the room. Now he was
going to count on her continued absorption in order to indulge in a
little Scully-observing, hoping to figure out how to breach the wall
she'd placed around her.
Papers spread across the table in front of her couch, her laptop
and a supply of coffee at the ready, Scully sat hunched in the
floor, the fire she'd built in the fireplace reflecting off her glasses.
She appeared deceptively soft, dressed in grey cotton leggings
and an oversized Washington Redskins tee-shirt. Drying naturally,
her hair was loose and more curly than she normally wore it. The
toes on her bare feet wiggled now and then, rejoicing in their
blessed freedom from those three inch high-heeled prisons
she'd taken to wearing lately.
Mulder wished he could say she looked young, but the truth was,
the burden of the last few years and the additional weight of this
latest case had aged her.
But God... she's so beautiful. It didn't matter what state she
was in when that most obvious of revelations crossed his mind.
Images of a few of those states flashed on his mind's projection
screen, rivaling even the most wonderfully air-brushed Hollywood
movie:
Crouching over a carefully constructed pile of sticks, knocking
two stones together in a determined attempt to recreate man's
oldest invention.
Lying in a hospital bed, her face pale and gaunt as she offered
herself to him, not for his pleasure, but for his salvation.
Her body flushed and quivering, reaching for the release he offered.
Even standing over the broken body of a little girl who looked
enough like Emily to have Mulder hovering outside the autopsy
bay, silently offering the support he was afraid she'd never request
on her own.
Mulder ducked his head, feigning an intense dedication to his
task as Scully got up to change the CD in the player. Once she
had made her selection and returned to her place in front of the
fire, he allowed his gaze to settle on her again, his thoughts going
back to that last image and the memories it evoked of yesterday.
He'd watched her the entire time through the small window in the
door. Stood there without blinking or turning away as she had
replaced the young heart silenced too soon. He thought it was
the least he could do for her. But it had cost him -- had exacted
from him a high price -- one he knew couldn't begin to measure
up to the one Scully had paid.
With the heavy weight of the doors blocking out all sound, Mulder
had felt as if he were viewing a silent film as he watched her stitch
up the incisions she had made. Then, rather than leave it to an
assistant as any other pathologist would have done, Scully had
wrapped the body carefully, almost lovingly, in a clean white
sheet. Seeing her cradle little Audrey in her arms and place
her on the cold, metal tray had almost been his undoing.
But then he would have missed seeing her cross the room to
where her briefcase sat on a lone shelf. Would have not
recognized the small picture of Emily she pulled from the side
pocket of the leather bag and stared at for long moments. And he
wouldn't have witnessed Dana Scully turning to lean her back
against the hard cement block wall and slowly slide to the floor,
her forehead coming to rest against her bent knees.
He'd gone to her then, the creak of the door pulling her up as
though she were a marionette's puppet being jerked roughly by its
strings. She was just tired, she had said... overworked. And then
she'd asked if maybe he could speak to her department head
about that. When her little joke fell hopelessly flat, she'd reached
out and grasped his hand, whispering, I'll be fine. Don't worry.
And with that lie, she'd left him standing there. The final brick in
the Great Wall of Scully in place.
Oh, Scully... the walls of Jericho ain't got nothin' on yours. But
I think it's time I tried to bring them down.
Mulder's renewed resolve pulled him from his memories and
returned him to her apartment where he realized she'd set the
CD player to repeat the same song over and over. It wasn't one
he recognized or could understand, for that matter -- he =did=
recognize the soloist was singing in German. He guessed that
was part of the reason Scully had chosen this particular song,
since she had studied the language for a time. However, he
suspected it wasn't just something as simple as being able to
understand the words of the song.
Nothing with Scully was =ever= simple.
Leave it to her to listen to a piece as haunting as this one while
writing her autopsy report.
Was that it? Did she choose to play music reflective of her
feelings?
As the CD player whirred quietly, rewinding the disc, and began
playing once more, Mulder listened closely this time, hoping to
catch a clue that would help him know which area of Scully's wall
to attack first. But all he managed to decide was that his mother
had been right when she told him he should take a music history
course at Oxford. Perhaps then he could have noticed more than
despite the often frantic pace of the music, one that reminded
him of a galloping horse, and the feelings of sadness and fear
were underlying the entire song.
Mulder was brooding over these thoughts when he felt two
questioning eyes gazing at him from the living room.
"Are you finished, Mulder?"
He stretched before getting up and walking toward her. "As
finished as I'm ever going to be. I'm just going to let Skinner chew
my ass out and then hand him my bank card to cover the
damages." Sinking down onto the couch behind Scully, he added.
"Always worked before."
Scully's soft chuckle left his heart flip-flopping in his chest, and he
wondered idly if she had those electric paddle thingamabobs
stashed in a closet in case she laughed again and he needed
resuscitating. Leaning forward, his legs bracketing Scully's body,
Mulder placed his hands on her shoulders and began to work the
muscles.
"Jeez, Scully! What are you packing in your shoulders? Rocks?"
"You'd be surprised... ohhh...at how a little hard... ouch!" She
cried out and jumped when one of his thumbs began to dig into a
particularly large knot over her left shoulder. A few hard strokes
later and Mulder felt the tension in her body ease. "... at how a
little hard work will knot up the muscles. You oughta try it
sometime, Mulder."
He grinned at her bowed head, relishing the jabs he knew held no
real malice. Having successfully worked the kinks from her
shoulders and upper back, his hands now caressed instead of
massaged. Long strokes up and down her arms. Tiny circular
movements with just his fingertips against the soft down on the
back of her neck, careful to not press against the barely raised
scar concealing their salvation.
Scully breathed a contented sigh, resting her back more fully
against the couch.
Moving to her temples, Mulder began to massage as, in what he
hoped was a casual manner, he asked, "What's this song, Scully?
I don't think I've ever heard it before."
"It's called 'Der Erlkonig' -- 'The Elf King.'" Scully answered him
willingly, but underneath his hands, he felt the tension returning to
her body.
"An elf king? Sounds like an X-File, Scully," he teased.
Though no laugh answered him, he continued on his quest to find
a way into the fortress she had built for herself. "So what's the
song about?"
His hands fell away from her head as she stiffened and sat up
straight, pulling away from him. Figuratively and literally.
"Scully?"
Speaking so low he had to lean forward to hear her, she replied,
her tone frighteningly distant.
"It's about a child -- a little boy -- who, as he rides home safe in
his father's arms, sees the Elf King." Clearing her throat, she
explained. "The Elf King is really Death. He kills children -- the
only people who can see him."
Oh Scully... Mulder slumped back against the cushions, his
eyes closed and his heart constricted. Why are you doing this
to yourself?
Despite his sudden unwillingness to hear more, he bent forward
when Scully began to speak again. "The boy tells his father that
the Elf King is trying to take him, but the father doesn't believe
him... says it's just... just his imagination." A mirthless bark of
laughter escaped from her at this -- words that might seem ironic
to an outsider who couldn't know he and Scully didn't fit within
such carefully drawn lines.
"At the end, the father arrives home and realizes his son has died
in his arms, taken by the Elf King." Scully concluded her account
with merely a hint of waver in her voice.
For a time, Mulder sat in silence, save for the now morbid-sounding
music, and stared at Scully's bowed head. Unable to resist and
wanting desperately to comfort her, he reached out and ran one
hand gently over her hair, venturing, "Scully?"
She grabbed her forgotten pen and scooted closer to the table.
Mulder, I need to wrap this up. It's getting late."
And there's the drawbridge going up.
Not even trying to suppress it, a weary sigh escaped Mulder's
lips, but he refused to abandon her so readily. Moving around to
crouch beside the table so he could at least see her face even if
she wouldn't look him in the eye, he tried again. "Can I at least
help you with some of this paperwork? C'mon, I've seen an
autopsy or two -- I'll bet I could fake it."
Finally a faint smile played upon her lips, but she shook her head,
her hair falling into her eyes and shading them, leaving Mulder no
choice but to brush it back. The gesture seemed to break the
mood a bit, but she still turned him down firmly.
"Thank you, but I need to do this by myself." Scully returned his
caress when she stroked his newly-shaven cheek. "Why don't
you see if you can get the bed warm for me? I'll be there soon."
Unwilling to concede but fully aware that he wasn't going to get
any further with her until she had completed what she obviously
saw as =her= mission, Mulder nodded and took her small hand
in his, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss across her palm
as he said in a low voice, "I'll be waiting, Scully."
She nodded slightly and pulling her hand from his, turned back to
her work. Finding his help unwelcome, Mulder headed to warm
their bed and to lay awake hoping for another chance to show
Scully he was strong enough to share the burden of her grief.
Scully's digital clock had just clicked over to one-thirty a.m. when
Mulder heard her switch off the bathroom light and make her way
to her bedroom. Lying still with his eyelids lowered to mere slits,
Mulder tracked Scully's movements as she crossed to the small
table in front of her window. She stuffed a handful of files into her
briefcase, and then zipped the laptop into its black satchel. He
thought she was going to turn and climb into the bed, but she
reversed her movement, instead returning to her briefcase. In an
action identical to the one he witnessed after the autopsy, Scully
quietly removed the small picture from its hiding place.
Watching her stare at it for long moments, Mulder rolled around in
his mind a thousand things he could say to her. It wasn't until he
heard a faint hitch in her breathing and saw her smooth her hand
slowly over her abdomen, that something bubbled unexpectedly
out of his mouth.
"I saw you."
End part 2 of 3
~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 3 of 3
~~~~~~~~~~~
"I saw you."
From out of her dark bedroom came Mulder's voice, low and
husky, sounding as though something were in his throat.
Startled, Scully whirled around to face him, the forgotten picture
fluttering to the floor from her suddenly boneless hand.
As her eyes adjusted to the absence of light, she saw Mulder
sitting up in the bed, pinning her not with an accusing stare as
she would have expected from his declaration, but with a look so
full of love and empathy, she very nearly vaulted over her own
painstakingly built walls right into his arms. But she couldn't do
that.
It would leave her unprotected.
Defenseless.
Vulnerable.
So there was only one course of action, comprised of several
different tactics -- pretend misunderstanding, deny everything,
delay. In short, shield herself and the pain that belonged only to
her, at all costs.
"What?"
"Yesterday. I watched you perform the autopsy on Audrey Akins.
Saw you carry..." Mulder's voice maintained the low, patient tone,
silenced only briefly.
"Mulder, please. It's too late for this..." Exasperation began to
creep into Scully's voice, and she hoped it more than masked the
fear currently turning her heart into a block of ice. The chill was
spreading to her arms, leaving goosebumps behind as a faint
tremble shook her body.
Seemingly unstoppable, he drove ahead, relentlessly replaying
yesterday's ordeal. "... saw you =hold her= in your arms and
carry her to the storage area. And then I saw you take out
Emily's picture."
Oh, God. He's not going to stop. Please, please...
"Mulder..." Feeling the almost unbearable urge to flee the room,
she tried once more to dissuade him from continuing down this
thorny path he was apparently determined to brave.
But he grew ever closer -- closer to her and to pushing her
defences to the breaking point. Scooting to the edge of the bed,
he leaned toward her. Through the hair that fell forward when she
ducked her head, Scully could just make out his form, but his
words rang clear.
"I was there, Scully. I was there and saw you balled up in the floor,
hurting as much as I've ever seen you."
His words were rushed as though he feared another interruption,
but they carried with them the weight of one who had just
witnessed suffering. And that both frightened and angered Scully.
Anger. That's a good emotion for masking hurt and fear. We'll
go with that one. Stooping down, Scully snatched the fallen
picture from the floor and returned it to her briefcase before
answering him with a harshness she hoped would leave him
wishing he hadn't pursued this particular battle.
"It was a horrendous case, Mulder! Are you saying it didn't have
an effect on you?"
"Of course not." Mulder answered her with an infuriating calm.
"What I'm saying, Scully, is that it's obvious in cases where the
victims are children, especially this one where a little girl like
Audrey resembled Emily so closely... that... that it has to strike at
something deep inside you."
She shook her head, reaching up to rub her hands over her face.
When did she begin feeling this old? Dropping her arms to her
sides, she took a deep breath and made the very admission she
only let her mind and heart hear in the quietest, most solitary
hours of the night.
"Okay, Mulder. Yes...yes. I had a difficult time with this one.
And yes, it was in large part due to my feelings about Emily...
about..." Scully's voice dropped off, her earlier anger smothered
by the defeat of having her barricade breached. "What do you
want from me, Mulder?"
"Come here, Scully. Please." He held out one hand until she
took it and then moved back against the pillows, pulling her along
with him until she found herself wrapped in his arms, her head
resting on his shoulder. Though she still trembled slightly, she
could feel the heat from his body beginning to warm hers. With
one hand, Mulder snagged the covers and pulled them up,
tucking them snugly around their bodies. He took her hand and
placing it on his chest, continued. "I'm not going to force you to
talk to me. I don't expect you to tell me everything you're feeling
about Emily and all the... issues surrounding her."
A measure of combined surprise and relief washed over her as
she started to look up at him. "Then what..."
Before she could finish her question, Mulder's hand moved from
her shoulder to her head, pressing it lightly back to its resting
place, then smoothing lazily over and over the tousled hair as he
answered.
"No matter how far we've taken our relationship, I know even now
it's hard for you to make yourself vulnerable in that way. But I
need you to at least understand something, Scully."
At that, Scully pushed herself up on one elbow, searching that
most beloved face for a clue as to what he was about to tell her.
"You =can= let me know when you're hurting. I'm not going to try
and talk you out of your pain. And I'll never take it away from you.
You need it. I know that from experience. Few things in life are
as driving a force as the torment that comes from a loss." Mulder
smiled softly, running his hand up and down the arm still resting
on his chest. "So I promise -- you can keep your pain and your
grief. But once in a while, it's okay to let me help you carry it."
Scully at last knew why Mulder had sounded as though his throat
was clogged as hers began to close, unshed tears pooling in her
eyes. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she then nodded.
"I know that. I do. I guess I've always viewed this as my loss
though. =My= child. Except that she wasn't, was she? No
matter how much of my DNA was intertwined with hers, she
belonged to Roberta Sims." She felt herself being pulled back
into the shelter of his arms, and once settled, she tilted her head
up until she could press her nose into his neck and inhale deeply,
smiling to herself at the realization that he smelled like her.
"You would have loved her, Scully." Mulder pressed a kiss to her
forehead.
With a self-assurance she was surprised to possess, Scully
affirmed, "Yes. I think I would have."
"I would have loved her, too, you know."
"Mulder..." Scully had never expected that hearing Mulder's
declaration of love for someone else would effect her more than
the rare but cherished verbal sentiments directed toward her.
She felt him nod confidently and heard that earnestness bound
back into his voice. "I would have. I think one reason you feel you
have to bear her loss alone is that you see her as yours alone...
your responsibility. But haven't you figured it out by now, Scully?"
He rolled her over onto her back, propping himself up so he was
looking down into her eyes. "If it hurts you, it hurts me. And I will
love anyone who is a part of you."
"Even Bill?" She smiled wickedly.
Ruefully shaking his head, Mulder laughed, "Bill would kick my
ass if I tried to love him."
Suddenly, the fear and grief that had been haunting Scully for
longer than she cared to remember no longer seemed as
oppressive, and she realized guarding the perimeter of her fortress
hadn't crossed her mind in several minutes. She snuggled further
into the give of her bed and pulled Mulder closer.
"You were good with Emily, Mulder. Got a smile out of her when
I couldn't."
"Yeah, well... you just don't have the facial features to do a really
good Mr. Potatohead." As if to prove to her that her face was
desirable despite its inability to double as a child's plaything,
Mulder touched his lips to hers before moving on to cover her face
with light kisses as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'll never
forget the first time I saw the two of you together, sitting in the
floor coloring, heads bowed in such concentration. I'll bet she got
that from you, Scully."
This is nice -- there =should= be good things to remember.
Looking at him with sleepy eyes, Scully drew on his memory.
"What else do you remember, Mulder?"
"I remember how I felt to see the two of you together... that it was
a sight I'd never really pictured but suddenly knew how right it
looked. And I wondered if you'd let me play, too." Another grin
from Mulder, matched with waggling eyebrows, coaxed a soft
laugh from Scully. The laugh was replaced by a renewal of tears
with his next words. "She had your blue eyes. And I would have
done anything to keep pain from them, just like I would for you."
A depth of feeling for this man like she'd felt for no other washed
over her, and she found it impossible to deny him the truth he
deserved.
"Remember when we went to the children's home after that phone
call?"
He tilted his head in a quizzical manner. "When we found Emily
so feverish? Yeah."
"When you picked her up and held her in your arms..." Scully
took a deep breath, one of her hands stroking the back of his
neck, and said, "... the part of my mind that wasn't worrying about
her condition... well, I was thinking how I could have gotten used
to seeing you hold her."
She had lowered her eyelids as she finished her admission,
suddenly finding herself self-conscious, when Mulder dipped his
head and captured her mouth with his.
So gentle
Slipping one hand under her head, he moved her head first this
way and then that to better drink from her. Tender lips were
caught within his own, tasted and suckled, until she took back
some control and plunged her tongue into the recesses of his
mouth. Her lips curved slightly beneath his own as she
encountered Mulder's own salty taste that she knew so well.
He broke the kiss with a chuckle when she yawned deeply, but
leaned in for a quick kiss to erase her sheepish look. She
wondered when he pulled away from her, but sighed with
contentment when he nudged her to roll onto her side, and then
aligned his long body against hers. Rubbing his cheek against
her hair, Scully felt him wrap his arm around her waist and pull
her more snugly into his embrace.
Some minutes later as she was caught between the lands of
waking and sleeping, she heard him murmur in her ear.
"Sleep, Scully... I'll carry it for a while."
~~~~~~~~
Still berating herself as she had been doing for the last couple of
hours, Scully entered her apartment and turned, locking the door
behind her. It had started out to be such a good day -- she'd slept
through the night for the first time since returning from Jefferson
City, and Mulder even had a chocolate chip bagel waiting for
her when she arrived at work. They'd gotten caught up on some
paperwork, and Mulder had only proposed two tabloid-based
investigations. Both of which she'd shot down in five minutes flat.
Yes, indeed -- the makings of an excellent day. Only to wind up in
such a miserable state.
She had been cleaning out her briefcase an hour or so before
leaving, vaguely wondering what errand Mulder had vanished
to do, when she had reached into the side pocket where Emily's
picture had been since her return from San Diego, and found
nothing there. She had removed every single item from the case,
carefully separating each paper. Finally starting to panic, she had
frantically searched her desk and the floor surrounding it -- to
absolutely no avail.
It was gone. The only picture she had of the daughter she barely
knew.
Now home, and not giving her answering machine even a
moment's glance, she headed to her bedroom. She was intent
on changing into something comfortable and curling up with the
sack of malted milk balls she had stashed in the drawer of her
bedside table.
Entering the room, she passed by the dresser and then headed
for her desk where she plopped down her briefcase. The feeling of
something being out of place sent Scully turning slowly, her eyes
sweeping over her simple bedroom. Scanning the top of her
dresser, she saw a small jewelry box that had once belonged to
Melissa, her rosary, a hairbrush, and a small collection of pictures.
A collection that upon closer inspection looked different.
She walked to her dresser, her eyes flitting from one picture to
another:
Her parents at her graduation from medical school, her father
beaming.
Bill, Tara, her parents and Maggie with Matthew at his christening.
Melissa, leaning against a wooden fence, smiling as if she had a
secret to tell.
And the picture Scully treasured most -- the only one she had of
Mulder and herself, taken late one night before leaving on a case.
They'd just requisitioned a new camera, and Mulder wanted to
check the timer on it. Placing it on the mantel and cajoling,
coaxing, and generally making a nuisance of himself, he'd
managed to convince her to be in the picture with him. She
couldn't remember what was said, but one of them made the
other laugh, and they both turned just as the camera flashed.
They looked younger in this picture, full smiles and eyes filled
only with each other.
Pulling her eyes away from that photo, she noticed what had
seemed out of place but in reality belonged in that exact spot.
She picked up the object as, blinking away sudden tears, she
found herself looking at something both familiar and new.
Her picture of Emily.
Set in a frame that had Scully smiling through her tears. She ran
her fingers over the rough material, appreciating the craftmanship
of it, but loving the sentiment more. It was made of some sort of
plaster, with carvings of trees serving as the frame. Taking up one
corner of the frame was the rendering of a meadow along which
ran a stone wall. At one spot in the wall, the stones had been
broken away and a small dark-haired little boy was climbing
through the opening, bound for the lush grass and daisies on the
other side.
She replaced the framed picture, again scanning the grouping of
photos and was feeling a measure of completeness when she
heard a key turning in her front door. Smiling to herself, she
moved to her bedside table and grabbed the candy before heading
out to greet her own dark-haired destroyer of walls.
END
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's thanks: To Jill and Blueswirl, for meticulous editing and
boundless encouragement. To Michaela for supplying the perfect
song, and to Marguerite for the translated lyrics. And especially
to Laney, whose nudging, prodding, questioning, and editing kept
me on my toes and whose encouragement and soothing calmed
many a frazzled nerve. This story is far better than it ever would
have been without her.
Author's notes: Few episodes have left me as unsatisfied as
"Emily" did, and though I loved "All Souls" and it helped
tremendously to provide a bit of closure for me, I could have
done with more. So that's what this story is -- more. g It
wasn't always going to be about Scully's struggle to deal with her
grief over Emily. No, it started out as a pure (?) smut piece in
which I hoped to be the first author to write Mulder and Scully
having sex in a deerstand in the forest.
Some people want to win Pulitzers or Nobel prizes. I wanted to
leave M&S in post-coital bliss in the Shenandoah National forest.
Hey, we all gotta have a goal. Oh well, maybe next time.
In honor of a friend who says she really likes to read about little
inside things an author puts in her stories, here are some of mine.
Some, but not all -- a girl's gotta have a little mystery. ; )
The name of the last little girl Scully autopsied -- Audrey Akins --
was the name of my only aunt, someone else whose heart fell
silent far too early.
Jefferson City, Tennessee is a real place, a small town close to
Knoxville, and directly beside a slightly larger town where I grew
up -- Morristown. I would have used that, but liked the sound of
Jefferson City better, and didn't want it to be mistaken for
Morristown, New Jersey.
At one point I describe an action of Scully's as that of an
affectionate tabby rubbing his cheek across his owner to mark her
as his own. My own little orange creamsicle cat, Lil' Bit, rubs that
image into my mind every morning. : )
Scully's words: "Most women want a man who's easy to talk with.
I'm happier that you're easy to be silent with." were in reality said
by my brother's girlfriend to him.
"Der Erlkonig" is a real piece of music by Shubert and sung in
German.
The shoulder rub was for Jen.
The bubble bath mention was for Mel. Sorry they didn't actually
make it =into= one. ; )
For my four sisters, and you know who you are, there's a little
something here for you. Find it if you can. g
And finally, the malted milk balls were for Laney for sending me the
best ones I've ever had.
In the words of StaryCats: That is all.
Feedback gratefully received at: Scullysfan@aol.com
Visit Chronicle X: http://members.aol.com/danascu11y/chronx.html
(those are "ones" not "L"s in danascu11y)