Disclaimer: No really. They're mine. I'm Chris Carter. Except that's so far from the truth...
Spoilers: Let's just put it this way. If you haven't seen an episode or a scene or a deleted scene, or read an article about how they were going to construct the plot, or believed rumors or watched an episode in slo-mo rewind... well then... you're not really a fan. What the heck are you doing here?
A/N: When you work with words... words are your work. So I guess if you cut me, I'd bleed ink. Anyway, I'm kind of stuck on my other two ongoing stories, so I thought I would type up this little nugget for those people who haven't died of boredom from reading my stuff. I kind of like you guys.
The fight had started out trivial enough. Mulder had been droning on and on about reality TV and Scully had obviously argued with him. She didn't buy into the idea that people would act normally in front of a camera, especially when there was money involved. Mulder of course thought that reality TV was a peek into the psyche of a person whose very future is on the line. He also believed that many anthropological studies could be done from watching hours and hours of "The Real World." Leaving her comments about the women's attire aside, Scully pointed out that making people live in conditions different from their real environment would make them act differently than normal and therefore, skew any research that could be done, even if you could stretch your imagination that far. And then came Mulder's rebuttal, which sealed his fate.
"Scully, you wouldn't understand anthropology or even the basic ways people communicate with others because you never do. You come to work and them go home to your little hidey-hole and never poke your head out unless there's a body in need of slicing. You'd be a monk if you could."
"I'd be a monk? Mulder, short of making a rope out of your own beard, you are a monk. The only reason I don't have a social life is because you make it impossible. I sleep like 5 hours a night. If I had anything going on other than work I would never sleep. And what makes you think that I don't know how to interact with other people?"
"Because you never do. You don't have friends."
"Again, when do I have the time?"
"I don't want to argue about how much you hate this job, I'm just saying that you can't judge social situations that you have never been in yourself."
"Then unless you have been on a reality show, you cannot judge them favorably."
"I'm judging them based on entertainment value, you're judging them based on their contribution to science."
"You're the one who started that discussion, Mulder. I would never stoop so low as to equalize reality TV with rational science."
"So I'm irrational?"
"Sometimes."
"Name once."
"Just one?"
"You know, you don't think very clearly yourself sometimes."
"Really?"
"You thought it was a grand idea to go out on a date with a stranger and get a tattoo with him and go back to his apartment and allow yourself to be in a compromising situation."
"Hey, you just said I need to get out more," she retorted, arching an eyebrow.
"Yeah, just don't leave your brain in D.C. next time."
"Mulder, you know maybe I spend so much time being careful, I needed to be reckless. But I wasn't even that reckless and you don't even know the whole story."
"Because you never tell me things."
"I tell you plenty."
"You do not. You never let me in. You're always harping on me to trust you and tell you things and not ditch you, but heaven forbid I ask the same of you. You put up these walls that you don't even need, you treat me like crap and you expect us to have this great partnership. You can't hide things from me all the time. It's not fair. What are you so afraid of? Do you think I'll use things against you? Do you assume that I'll think less of you and start treating you as some delicate flower? Do you really know me that little?"
"Mulder, I don't even know where this conversation is going anymore."
"It's going to point out the fact that if you won't pay me the same courtesies that I pay you, then don't get mad when I call you on it."
"I give you so much more than you give me-"
"Oh, is that a wall I hear going up?"
"When did you turn 13 again? Are you really going to play this way?"
"What?"
"This game you play. Taking cheap shots and evading questions and yelling at me, hoping to loose me in semantics."
"That's crap."
"It is not. It's what you do. It's what you've always done. It's the reason why sometimes I hate you."
"You hate me?"
"Yeah, sometimes. You drive me insane. You always want to know every little detail of my life and what I think and how I arrived at that thought and where I'm going to go from here and how you can change my thinking because it doesn't match up with yours."
"So now I'm a manipulator."
"You didn't know? You tell me things like I'm your one in five billion or you can't do this without me or I complete you or some crap like that and I believe you and do whatever you want. You convince me of things at the risk of other people's lives and then you don't care and I take the heat for it. You've manipulated me into being your partner for 7 years, to the point where I don't know if I even want to be here anymore. Sometimes I don't even know which thoughts are my own. You always say that I'm so strong and independent, but I'm really not. I'm just an extension of you. I don't know who I am. I used to laugh, Mulder. I used to spend time with my mother and my brothers. I used to know how old my nieces and nephews are. I used to have time to do my own laundry. And now, I'm not even recognizable as who I was before. You did that to me. You stole my life."
Her words hit him harder than he wanted to admit. He literally felt like his chair was reaching around and gripping his chest like a vise.
"So after all these years, all those times you reassured me that the things that happened to you weren't my fault, and that you didn't want to leave, those were all lies?"
"Mulder-"
"I can't believe anything you say now. It's just meant to placate me."
"Mulder, I-"
"No wait, placating is what I do to you. Placating and manipulating. That's what you really think of me, isn't it? Well that's just great, Scully. Just great."
"This is exactly why I hate you Mulder."
"Whatever, Scully."
He stomped out of the office, forgetting his coat. She sighed to herself and fought the urge to go after him. They'd sleep on it, and tomorrow would be a new day. They'd forget about the fight. They always did, after all. They'd never have to talk about it again.