Affirmation Part II

By

AllyinthekeyofX

NOTES – This is the second in a series of 3 (Maybe 4) post-eps that explore the progression of Mulder and Scully's relationship 'off camera'. This is purely from my own head and you may or may not like what I write. But it all makes perfect sense to me ;) Oh and Mulders brain thingy doesn't exist in my universe because it was just too silly! I hope you like it – it's a bit difficult to read because it's pretty angsty Mulder. But let's face it; he's just not a hearts and flowers kind of guy!

Please review. I die waiting for reviews and rejoice each time one comes in

EN AMI post ep

I can't remember a time when I've felt angrier at her. No, strike that, anger doesn't actually even go halfway to describing how I feel. Try hurt, disappointed, unimportant, insignificanteven; incensed to a point where I was afraid to even fucking look at her for fear of what I might say as I braced myself rigidly against the door frame in my apartment, listening to the shock and disbelief in her voice as she tried to persuade herself that the risks she had just taken had been worth it. To her, to me and to the whole of the fucking human race, promises and assurances made to her by a man who has wrought more pain, more destruction and more suffering on both of us than should ever be reasonably possible; a man who has shattered our lives – her life – in ways that are unimanageable. And yet she trusted him.

She fucking trusted him.

More than she trusted me it would seem.

I had received the call from her, finally received it when she was around an hour away from DC. Not when she got in the car to start the long drive back, not when she had put a reasonable distance between herself and that black lunged double-talking fucker who had duped her so effortlessly, not even when she had stopped to fill the car up with gas when she got halfway home. Instead, for reasons best known to herself, Scully had instead given me another five hours of frantic worry as my panic grew when Frohike reiterated for the hundredth time that they didn't know how to find her, that she had covered her tracks so adeptly that for all intents and purposes, she had simply just disappeared. Ditching me far more effectively than I think I had ever managed during our long and chequered partnership. In fact I don't think I have ever felt a time when raw fear began to overtake me so completely that I literally began to fall apart from within. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function on any cohesive level as a million different scenarios flew through my mind, refusing to be quietened, refusing to be stilled, as I paced like a caged animal, backwards and forwards, trying to deny the unspoken truth that hammered at me relentlessly; that she was dead, that this time she wasn't coming back. That the incomprehensible risk, the blind faith and blatant stupidity had sent her right to him, the fact that she had gone willingly the hardest for me to reconcile.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

And when she finally arrived at my door I couldn't even bring myself to open it because for the first time since I have known her, I truly didn't want to see her, afraid of how I would react, disappearing as I was in the destructive force of my own anger. Instead I ignored the sound of her knuckles against the wood, fucked if I would give her the satisfaction of seeing the relief that would surely emanate from every cell of my body just to look at her face, to see that she was indeed whole. She didn't deserve that level of emotional exposure from me. So instead, after throwing me a bemused glance, Byers did the honours, greeting her in that soft, respectful way of his, that was this time, tinged with just a hint of regret that he was the one to welcome her back, that he knew it wasn't what she expected.

But what did she expect? I mean really? Did she even have an inkling of what she'd done to me? She had started toward me, her eyes searching for mine even as I steadfastly refused to allow her that contact, ignoring her whispered imploration that wrapped itself around me as she spoke my name.

Mulder?

Instead I had briefly shook my head, turning away from her and heading in to the kitchen; putting a distance between us, trying to calm myself enough so as not to wound her more than she would shortly be wounded.

Because I knew.

Oh yeah, I knew that she had been played. And that right then she didn't.

And if I'm completely honest with myself, as I watched Langley reveal the truth that I already knew, that the disc she had risked her life for, risked our partnership and risked everything we had begun to discover about each other, was empty, finally speaking as I watched her plead with him to try just one more time, begging him with words unspoken to give her at least some tangible justification for allowing herself to be so truly and completely taken in. That she had behaved like a fucking rookie with no thought to her own personal safety, disregarded everything she knew, had been taught, had experienced at the hands of this power hungry lunatic, to blindly follow him; on a promise from a man who trades in lies.

"Enough"

And it was.

That one word, laced with more venom directed at her by me than I thought was even possible, was enough to stop her in her tracks, to make what little colour she had retained in the face of so much continued antagonism from me, drain from her countenance, as she abruptly closed her mouth and turned her eyes on me once again. Eyes that now glistened with unshed tears and which almost sent me across the room to crush her against me, to allow myself to forgive her for what she had done; for what she had risked.

Almost.

But I didn't. I simply folded my arms against my chest and leaned against the doorframe, fighting myself to remain where I was, to not allow myself the luxury of telling her that it was okay, that everything was fine. Because it wasn't fine. And it wasn't okay. In fact it was possibly the most heinous fucking thing she had ever done, even more so given the events over the preceding months that had finally been given voice and acknowledgment from both of us. The night in that dingy motel room where she had literally come apart in my arms, the aftermath of Pfaster threatening to tip her right over the edge, finally allowing ourselves to admit our own version of the truth to each other; a truth that had writhed and burned within us both for years and which had finally broken through the walls that we had so carefully constructed and kept patched up for so long.

The gunmen had certainly sensed the undercurrents; even Langley began busying himself with the equipment they had brought over at my request on learning just exactly what it was that Scully had in her possession – or rather what she thought she had – packing it away, unplugging leads, knowing that it was more than time for the three of them to leave before the storm that crackled ominously in the air finally broke. Because they knew that it was coming, oh yeah they knew.

Langley was the first to leave, almost running out the door in his haste to get away from us and under normal circumstances I might have found if amusing, but at the time nothing seemed very funny. Frohike was pretty quick to follow, but surprisingly, Byers paused, stepping right up to where Scully still remained standing, looking at that damn disc as though sheer will power alone would suddenly bring it to life in front of her, and he briefly laid his hand against her cheek, an awkward gesture of comfort given by this most reticent of men in response to my indifference of the circumstances and one which angered me and twisted something inside me in about equal measure. But I remained silent, non-reactive as he dropped his hand away and spoke the first gentle words she had heard since she walked through my door.

"I'm sorry Dana"

She nodded, before quickly turning away from him, a defensive action I had come to know all too well; a response precipitated by a desperate need to not show weakness when in the company of others. To close down any form of communication, be it verbal or physical that might elicit an emotional response from her.

And I ignored the pointed way he frowned at me as he paused in front of me, eloquently telling me to get a fucking grip before it was too late; to stop being so wrapped up in my own pain that I refused to even try to acknowledge hers. Because I didn't need him or anyone else telling me how I should be feeling about the fact she had chosen to ignore the last three fucking months as though they meant nothing.

I remained in my position even as she stepped towards me, but now that we were alone I allowed myself to finally look at her, really look at her, watching her recoil as every emotion I had fought to keep control of must have shown themselves to her all at the same time, because I felt them, actually felt them break free from somewhere deep inside me, burgeoning, uncontrollable, destructive, forcing words from my mouth that snapped in the air like gunshots between us. In fact I think pulling me gun out and shooting her might have been easier on her.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Mulder..."

I don't want to hear it. Don't want to hear her excuses because there was a part of me that was afraid I would hear the same words coming out of her mouth that she had heard so often from mine, excuses given for all the times I had chosen to ditch her over the years. I've lost count of the amount of times she's come after me to haul my sorry ass out of whatever proverbial creek I'd managed to get myself stranded in, what injuries I had sustained, how I had risked myself. But the difference, the fucking difference, was I had never once done any of it for purely altruistic reasons; unlike her, I had always taken one for the cause; not for myself or for my own selfish reasons.

Or at least that's what I told myself.

So instead of allowing her to answer, to give her the opportunity for justification, I simply turned away and grabbed at my coat from where it hung over the sofa back where I had thrown it earlier; when she was still missing; when I thought she was dead.

"You met him in offices in DC?"

Scully swallowed and nodded slowly, miserably casting her eyes to the floor, knowing now that it wouldn't matter what she said, even if she counter-attacked with anger, that what she had done was wrong; and she at least had the sense at that moment to not challenge me on either my anger or my conviction.

"Let's go."

XXXX

I guess it was unfortunate that as my anger towards Scully started to fade, unable as I was to keep throwing verbal punches at her as the realisation finally began to hit her that she had been duped so thoroughly, hers began to build. Anger at me, anger at him, anger at herself, but mostly I think anger at this whole ridiculous situation; finding herself as she had, on the receiving end of my own desperate insecurities. Because it hadn't been lost on me in the weeks since my Mother died that Scully was all I had left; my only safety net between myself and absolute freefall, that if I lost her I lost everything.

It had been a rough couple of months for us both I think – beginning with the whole Pfaster mess and my associated guilt which precipitated a strange period where once again, I was desperately afraid for her as she dipped and spiralled downwards as she fought against the way the whole experience had tainted her, finding then that even though she hadn't fully healed, suddenly I was the one who needed saving as I fell apart piece by harrowing piece following my Mom's suicide and the revelations brought to me that finally gave me closure on my sister's fate. I had told her I had found peace and truly, initially I thought I had; until the guilt started right back up again, my dreams plagued by accusatory visions of those I perceived as having failed, Scully amongst them and I lost count of the amount of nights I woke up sweating and shaking; calling out to her in the darkness, bereft when I realised she wasn't there with me. The scant few times we had sought solace through each other – the night I let Sam go, the heart wrenching evening Scully had crumpled in my arms as she sobbed out the finality of never now becoming a Mother, that her final chance had amounted to nothing more than a collection of purple bruises to mar the delicate skin on her stomach and which matched the bruises she carried on her heart, had been the only times I think we both actually slept peacefully. But for the most part we had retreated from each other once again, neither one prepared to call the other in to question as to what the hell had happened that we couldn't seem to get past the final hurdle that we had built up between us; denying ourselves anything more than the most minimal affirmation of everything we now knew we meant to each other; I have no idea why and I know Scully has been as confused, as defeated as I have. And if I'm honest I know exactly why she chose to go with that chain-smoking bastard; because maybe by doing so she would finally deem herself worthy enough to be loved; finding affirmation that all the pain, all the hurt and all the sacrifice over the years might actually have been worth it.

That she was prepared to die for it; to give the whole fucking struggle some kind of meaning.

The knowledge makes me turn to stone inside; because this is Ed Jerse all over again. Only this time she really meant it; had been so intent on proving herself to be valuable, deserving of finally being able to make a decision that to her at least, actually meant something, that all commonsense just flew out of the window. And the fact I had been so wrapped up in my own misery, I hadn't seen it coming; had lost sight of her somewhere along the way and the relief at her return had been so big, so encompassing that I just couldn't handle it and had instead turned it inwards, spun it on its head to give me justification for denying to myself everything she had come to mean to me, to rage at her when I should have been the one on my knees begging her forgiveness.

And I am terrified that my duplicity has now destroyed everything we fought so hard to build and which I sent tumbling down around us tonight when instead of actually listening to her I waited until we were back in my apartment and then pushed her against the wall, blinded by a need to finally claim her, to take ownership, grabbing her wrists in one hand while I roughly covered her lips with my own, running my free hand roughly up and down her body, tugging at her clothes as she fought against me with a growing futility that finally stilled her as she began to cry, huge gasping sobs that finally, before I totally lost control, brought me to my senses as I dropped her wrists, stepping away from her, appalled at what I had done. Seeing the pain on her face as she dumbly turned her wrists over, seeing the fresh welts beginning to bloom against her pale skin caused by my handling of her; this woman who I would die for, who had only ever known or expected careful, reverent handling from me, stared at the fucking bruises that I had given her, inflicted upon her to add to the multitudes she had already received during her allegiance to me.

I didn't even attempt to prevent her from leaving. Because what the hell could I ever say to make this right? Knowing that there was no casual quip or quick fix coming this time around.

XXXXX

I can't really remember getting to the bedroom; have no concept of when I decided to stop pouring the contents of the whiskey bottle down my throat. I keep it for medicinal purposes because really, I can't stand the fucking taste of it unless it's joined by copious amounts of lemon and honey, but tonight, since my mouth was tainted by the bitterness that can only be brought from the certain realisation that I had blown it; that finally I had succeeded in pushing away the one person on this earth who actually cared whether I lived or died, that I didn't even taste it. I just wanted to sink in to oblivion for a few short hours; to forget what I had done.

I had almost called her. Had almost called a cab to take me to her so that I might plead with her, to apologise; to seek an absolution I knew I didn't deserve. But I didn't. Because when it came right down to it I was just too afraid to face her; afraid that she would just confirm my certainty that I had lost her.

The amount of alcohol I had consumed did numb me to a certain extent although I was painfully conscious that it was merely a temporary state; that tomorrow nothing would have changed. But it enabled me at least to sleep fitfully; to lose myself for a few short hours. But at some point I must have fallen in to a deeper sleep, because I didn't hear her enter the apartment, didn't feel the slight dip in the mattress as she slid in beside me, but I awoke to the feel of her arms around me, her body spooned against my back, one leg entwined with mine as I felt the soft hitching of her breath as she shed scalding tears that made me burn with shame; shame that she had found a strength to save us when I hadn't been able to. Dana Scully, my light in the darkness and a thousand times stronger than I could ever hope to be.

And as I brought my hands to entwine with hers, silently thanking her for trusting me enough to be able to even do this, I knew that right now we weren't okay. We were a million miles from being okay. But we were together. And maybe, just maybe, the rest would follow.

End