Blutendes Herz II
(Bleeding Heart)
Author's Note: Same scenario like in chapter 1, different plot.
You wipe your palms on your thighs and stare at the numbers at the apartment door: three - seven - nine. It's your first time here and you're suddenly not so sure anymore that this is such a good idea. You thought it was a splendid idea about an hour ago when you left your house, climbed into your car and drove over here. You still thought it was a very good idea fifteen minutes ago when you started looking for a parking space, cursing the constant lack of it in the downtown area. You kept thinking it was a solid idea ten seconds ago when you knocked.
And now?
Now you're convinced that this is one of the worst ideas you've ever had, but now it's too late. Even if you started running down the hallway this very second, she'd notice it was you. You hear her footsteps approaching the door on the other side and in a blink of an eye the door will open and she will be able to see who knocked. All you can do is take a deep breath and try to stay calm.
She won't tear your head off, will she?
The door swings open and the woman you haven't seen in almost a year is standing in front of you, looking flummoxed as if she was seeing a ghost. Well, maybe you are a ghost.
"Mulder?"
"Uhm, yes. Hello, Scully," you mumble self-consciously, staring at your feet.
"What are you doing here?"
The consternation in her voice hurts you a bit.
"I...uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd bring you this."
You hand her the little paper bag which has been clutched in your hands. It's crumpled and damp from your sweaty palms. You know now that it's so silly but a few hours ago it seemed to be the perfect pretext for you to drop by here.
She takes the bag from you, peeks inside, and frowns. "My shower gel and shampoo?"
"You forgot them when you...when you...uh," you stammer helplessly.
What have you been thinking? That she wouldn't survive without her shower gel and shampoo? That she hadn't known what to do without them all those months? That she wouldn't be perfectly able to walk into the next Walmart and get a new set? Actually, you notice she did fine without them because a scent of coconut and peach reaches your nose. Oh, how you love that smell! It's unmistakably a mixture of Dove Coconut & Cream and Herbal Essences Peach Blossom. When you missed her so badly that you were hardly able to cope with her absence, you would take a sniff at those started bottles in the shower, the ones you never removed just in case she returned.
"And you thought I was so much in need of them just now?"
"They're your favorites. At least, they used to be."
"They still are," she sighs and with a slight smile she eventually asks you, "do you want to come in?"
"Thank you," you say before you take tentative steps inside her apartment, the place she fled to after she'd left you. You look around. It reminds you of her place in Georgetown all those years back. Same decorating style, same ambiance. You feel beamed two decades back to the beginning of your partnership when invading her private space felt awkward.
"Nice place," you hear yourself say. 'I hate it' you want to add but you swallow the words.
"Thank you."
She doesn't know how to handle the situation just like you, you realize.
"Am I coming amiss?"
Of course, you are. You came here unannounced, what did you expect? That she would fall into your arms whispering a relieved 'finally' into your ear as if she's only been waiting for you to show up?
"No, I...uh, I was just getting ready for...uhm... Well, don't bother," she mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Oh boy, is she tensed-up and nervous. This is definitely inconvenient for her. She was getting ready for something. For what? A shift at the hospital? A ride to the grocery store? A meeting with her mom?
"Something important? Do you want me to leave?" you feel obliged to ask and pray she'll say no.
"No...uhm, you can stay. There's still some time before I have to..." She inhales deeply to steady her voice before she looks at you, asking with her exhale, "tea?"
You nod. She doesn't want to tell you where she's supposed to go, that much is clear. But why?
You don't know what to say so you look around while she fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. The way the apartment is decorated is so Scully, from the antique wooden furniture, the comfortable couch with the thick pillows, the plushy rugs, the floral patterns of the drapes and the candles everywhere. What stings is that you don't recognize anything from your house, not a single item. No crystal vase, no picture frame, not even one of those dust catchers she found at one of the many flea markets she dragged you to. There's nothing here that would remind her of her life at the house you finally settled down in after years of running from the devil. You have to acknowledge that there's nothing here to remind her of her life with you.
And then you notice it. There's a huge bouquet of red roses residing in the middle of the coffee table in front of the couch, and suddenly everything makes sense.
The coconut'n'peach smell on her comes from the shower she had just taken. Her hair is nicely blown-dry and her makeup is immaculate. She wears the pearl earrings her parents gave her for her graduation from med school. She's still barefoot, in sweat pants and t-shirt, but there's a black cocktail dress draped over the sofa's backrest waiting to be slipped on and a polished pair of stiletto heels is standing next to it. Even if you weren't a highly skilled profiler, solving this riddle wouldn't be too difficult. She was getting ready for a date.
"You're seeing someone," you state.
She sucks in a sharp breath. A look in her face is enough for you to understand you're right.
"A doctor?"
"Mulder," she moans instead of an answer.
"Tell me, Scully, I can handle it," you insist but you're not really convinced of what you just said.
"Sit down, Mulder. Here's your tea," she tells you handing you a steaming mug.
You let yourself fall onto the couch. It's nice and comfortable but you feel as if you're sitting on a bed of nails. You stare at the flowers. Three dozen, you count. Three dozen of long-stemmed red roses. How cliché!
You never bought her roses. You always thought she didn't attach much value to such token gestures of romance. You drove through half of the city to get bee pollen for her, you billed more than one motel room to your private credit card to accommodate her in a nicer surrounding than the usual fleabags the FBI was paying for, you donated sperm for her to become pregnant at a time she was still just your co-worker, but you never brought home flowers, let alone red roses.
You can't tear your eyes away from the flowers with their deep red petals exuding a scent almost overshadowing Scully's. They look perfect, like from a Valentine's Day ad in a flower shop window. They practically scream at you how much the person who gave them to her adores her.
"So, tell me about this new guy in your life."
You feel like a masochist asking for corporal punishment. You know what you're about to hear is going to hurt like hell. She also seems to be aware of what her words are going to do to you. She's hesitant, reluctant even to tell you, but you won't be convinced to let go. You're going to pry until you know the complete truth, no matter how painful it will be. You know it, and she knows it.
She inhales deeply, chews her bottom lip and eventually sighs in surrender. "His name his Mark. He's a real estate agent. We had dinner a few times."
"Dinner...I see."
Her eyes follow yours which are going back to the roses again, and she obviously decides it's useless to go on beating around the bush. The bouquet speaks for itself.
"Okay, Mulder, if you really need to know, here you go: yes, Mark and I are dating."
Mark and I. Three three innocent words, actually, but the combination of them coming out of her mouth does something to you. You swallow. You knew there was a man in her life from the moment you noticed those roses, but having her say it feels like she's stabbing a knife into your heart and twisting it. You don't understand why you're so baffled since you've been expecting it.
Your Scully is dating someone. God, she hasn't dated in ages. The transition of your relationship from one of platonic fellow agents to passionate lovers had come along without a single date and throughout the seven years prior, she had had exactly three dates. Yes, you were counting them, you sorry son of a bitch.
"For how long?" you ask although you know it's none of your business. You have no right to interrogate her about a life you're no longer a part of. You're surprised she even answers.
"Just three months."
That's apparently what the three dozen are for.
"How did you meet him?"
When you imagined what she was doing in this new life of hers, her life apart from you, you somehow expected her to be working day and night. She'd always buried herself with work to distract herself when something in her private life went wrong. You pictured her eating, sleeping and working, having dinner with her mother once in a while at most or going to Sunday Mass. Socializing, with men, outside the hospital was outside your imagination. Where the hell did she meet a real estate agent? Maybe this Mark was a patient who developed a crush on the pretty lady doctor who relieved him from the pain of his hernia.
"I was looking for an apartment and he was the real estate agent at the other side of the desk. He showed me a few properties, including this one here, and after I signed the lease he invited me to dinner. That's it."
"A first date?"
"It was just dinner, Mulder. Do you really believe I jumped into another man's arms two weeks after I moved out?"
"But now you're dating. Officially."
"If you want to call it that, yes."
There's an awkward silence spreading in the room. Funny, back then, the silence between the two of you was never awkward. Even if it was an angry silence, it was just angry, not awkward.
Your contemplations are interrupted by a knock at the door. Three short knocks followed by a longer pause and then another two knocks. Like a Morse code. You have an idea who it might be, and so does she. You see her suck in her breath. She tries to suppress a moan but it slips out of her throat anyway.
She thinks you can't handle meeting him, fears you're going to make a scene. She didn't want the two of you to meet for sure, but you almost burst out of curiosity. What kind of man has been able to conquer Dana Scully's heart? Is he a bit like you or a completely different person? You don't know what would bother you more.
Your eyes follow her on her way to the door. She seems to move in slow motion clearly dreading the encounter of the former and the current man in her life. When she's in front of the door, her shoulders rise and fall with one last deep breath, then she turns the knob and opens the door.
"Hi there," she's greeted cheerfully.
He can't see you because Scully is standing in the way, and despite her tiny body your slouched figure on the sofa is completely hidden by her.
"What's taken you so long?" you hear the man ask. His voice is deep and strong, tinted by a slight accent you can't quite figure out. "Am I too early? Why aren't you dressed, baby? I thought I was to pick you up at 6:30."
Baby? She lets him call her baby?
You called her that once, a few days after your first passionate night together, and she wholeheartedly laughed you in the face. 'Seriously, Mulder?' she said to you, 'you really think you're in a position now to use this idiotic word about me just because you made me come last night?' You never called her that again. It remained to be Mulder and Scully between you no matter what your relationship consisted of - partnership, friendship, romance, something resembling a marriage and consequently a divorce. She had dozens of different ways to pronounce your name and only from the sound of it you could tell whether she was amused, scared, annoyed, mad, horny, disappointed, worried, content, or experiencing one of a million more sentiments.
She leaves his questions unanswered, ushers him in instead. He walks into the living room without any hesitancy or awkwardness, much more self-confident than you earlier. He feels comfortable here, steers directly to the spot where you're sitting at the coffee table, the table his red roses are decking so prominently. When he sees you, he stops in his tracks.
"Oh," he utters in surprise, "I didn't know you had a visitor, Dana."
"Yeah, well, that's why I'm running late," she says.
He makes a step forward and stretches his hand out for you to shake. "Mark Finlay," he introduces himself without any discomfort or rejection in his voice.
Mark. What a nicely normal name, you think. Not peculiar like yours, one people furrow their brows at.
"My name's Mulder, Fox Mulder."
"Nice to meet you, Fox. Are you a friend of Dana's?" No brow-furrowing whatsoever from him.
"I go by Mulder, actually, and yes, Scully and I used to be friends, although I can't really say if we still are."
"Mulder..." she sighs.
"Mulder and Scully," Mark repeats with some surprise, letting your names roll off his tongue. "You call each other by your last names? That's weird."
"We used to be partners when we were with the FBI. It's not so weird there," you hear her telling him only half the truth.
"I see. How long haven't you seen each other?"
"Eleven months, two weeks, and five days," you hear yourself say, unable to tell what made you. Scully moans and now Mark does furrow his brows.
As soon as the words have tumbled out of your mouth you know it was a mistake. You made yourself vulnerable to him, and what's even worse, you put Scully into a compromising position. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together to figure out that Mulder and Scully were more than just co-workers, and Mark is able to do the math.
"Uh, what was that, man?" he asks, his voice not so gentle anymore. You can't blame him.
"Mark," Scully starts, looking at her...at her...her what? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? "Mulder and I worked together but we were also a couple for fifteen years. We separated-"
"You moved out," you cut in and correct her, worsening the situation even more.
"-I moved out about a year ago. That's why I came to your agency. I needed a place to stay."
"Oh, so the long-term relationship you told me about, the one you were having troubles leaving behind you, that's him," he concludes, tilting his head in your direction.
Scully nods silently.
"And today is the first time you see each other after eleven months-"
"-two weeks, five days, and," you look at your watch, "eight hours."
"Yes," she confirms again, probably not your precise time specification though. Actually, she shoots you a warning look. You'd even be able to tell the seconds - forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven - but you already overdid it, so you keep the seconds to yourself while they pass stoically. Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five.
"I see."
You're an Oxford graduate with a degree in psychology, you have no problems following this man's train of thought. He takes a closer look at you to assess you and your intentions, trying to evaluate whether you are a threat to him or not. Obviously, Scully hasn't told him anything about your relationship other than that it was difficult for her to get over the failure of it. He's as curious of you as you are of him. He asks himself what kind of man she had fallen for before and he questions your presence here.
"Ah, well, I guess you have a lot to talk about then. Do you want me to leave you alone?" As neither of you tells him to stay, he clumsily turns to Scully. "I'll call you tomorrow, honey," he says, "maybe we can meet for lunch?"
Your insides tie a knot when you hear him use another affectionate nickname for her. The credit he's giving you impresses you, though, or maybe he knows Scully already well enough to trust her. If manners weren't so damn useless right now, you would offer to leave. You are the intruder here, not him. He had a date with her, you came unannounced, but you want to talk to her so badly and you fear you will never get another chance, so you let him go through with it. You gladly notice that she nods at him.
"It was nice meeting you, Fox...uh, M-mulder," he says, looking at you with an intense stare that makes absolutely clear he's leaving only for the moment and not for you to take her back.
"Yeah," is all you reply. He's a nice guy, no question about it, but you wished you would've never had to make his acquaintance.
Scully walks him to the door. You're polite enough to give them some privacy and turn your back to them, although the suspense is killing you. You'd like to watch them interact, it'd give your psychologist's mind more information about the quality of their relationship and level of intimacy, but you also have manners. They don't keep you from straining your ears though to eavesdrop on their whispered words.
"I'm so sorry, Mark. He came here totally unexpected. I was just getting ready when he knocked at the door."
"It's alright, love. That is, if you want me to throw him out, I'll gladly do so."
"No, we do actually have to talk. Life hasn't exactly been good to him, to neither of us. He's been to dark, depressing places and I'm glad he's made the first step out of his shell. It's just that the timing's not perfect."
"You sound very compassionate, Dana. Do I have to be worried?"
"No, there's no need for you to worry about anything."
"But you still care a lot for him, don't you? Although you left him."
"If you knew what Mulder and I have been through, you'd understand. You have to trust me, Mark. I need to sort a few things out with him. I want...I need us to be friends."
"Wow, I can't imagine wanting to be friends with my ex. I'm a bit anxious about leaving you alone with him, to be honest."
"You wouldn't be if you knew all the circumstances."
"Enlighten me!"
"Not now, Mark. I will. One day. I promise, but it's very complicated and parts of our history together are very sad. I can't do this in passing, and certainly not whispering to you while Mulder's sitting in my living-room."
"Alright, I content myself until you're ready to confide in me, if...you promise to wear that breath-taking black dress I spied on your couch when you do."
You can hear the sly grin in his voice and the smacking sound of a kiss shortly thereafter.
"Call me when it gets out of hand or ugly. I can be here quickly if he dares to lay a hand on you."
You catch a soft chuckle from Scully. "That won't happen, Mark. Ever. Mulder might seem a bit deranged to you but he's a good person. He'd rather cut his hand off than hurt me."
The way she defends you makes you warm all over.
You can't blame him, though. He's about to leave the woman he loves alone with a man who makes the impression of, to put it mildly, not being totally clear in his head. Your meticulous timekeeping of the moment Scully moved out didn't exactly help him to trust in your intentions. You can't decide whether his leaving astonishes you in a good or in a bad way, whether he's an idiot quitting the field for another man or someone who deserves admiration for the trust he has in her. If you were in his shoes, you'd most certainly take yourself by the scruff of your neck and throw yourself out. Maybe he's just not such a pathetic alpha male like you are.
There's another smacking sound and you hear him hum delightfully.
"Mark," she whispers somewhat out of breath. God, did he kiss her that hard? The cinema in your head makes you dig your fingertips into your palms with so much force your nails leave deep dents in them.
"Love you, baby."
Your self-control is put to a severe test. 'This baby belongs to me,' you want to yell at him. At least you're spared to ear-witness her say the same to him as she answers him with only as much as an non-committal 'uh huh' before she closes the door, probably out of consideration for you. You hear her take a deep inhale before she steps back into your field of vision.
"I'm terribly sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to ruin your evening."
Honestly, you're glad the guy is gone.
"You're not ruining my evening, Mulder."
"What were you guys up to?"
"A vernissage. Mark has a friend who is an artist with an exhibition at Monroe Gallery. Well, I guess we can do it anytime, save the free champagne."
She smirks at you and you actually do feel bad that you confounded her plans. You know that she likes the fine arts, that she enjoys going to classical concerts, galleries, and book readings. You've never taken her, it's not your cup of tea. It's his, apparently.
"I didn't come here to mess up your evening plans, Scully. I should've been one leaving, not your..." No, you can't bring yourself to pronounce the word.
"Well, Mulder, what did you come here for?"
"I..."
"Yes?"
You might as well say it. "I needed to see you, Scully. It's been a year, for Christ's sake. I missed you, that's all."
She closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose and swallows hard before she speaks. "I missed you too, Mulder."
"Seriously?"
She looks at you, her eyes pleading with you. "Tell me you know why I left, that it wasn't because I didn't care for you anymore."
"I kinda figured that out together with my therapist. Took me a while though."
"You're seeing a therapist?"
"Yes. Twice a week."
"That's good, Mulder. That's very good. Are you getting better?"
The honest concern in her voice makes your stomach flip.
"I am. You were right with everything you said, Scully. The shrink, the medication, the getting more sleep and eating healthier food. I even started running again. I haven't turned the corner yet, but I'm getting there."
She spares you a triumphant 'I told you so'. Actually, there's nothing resembling triumph or smugness in her eyes, no 'I knew it' or 'you should've listened to me' on her face, instead tears are pooling in her eyes mirroring a heavy sadness you can't make anything of.
"What? Aren't you happy for me?"
"I'm very happy for you, Mulder. I was so worried. You didn't answer my calls, you never handed in the prescriptions I sent you. I feared you'd sink deeper and deeper into this depression up to the point you'd..." she trails off but you know where she was going with this.
You won't tell her that you've actually been at this point she's unable to speak out. You remember that night you didn't see any fair reason to go on. You had no job, no family, your Scully was gone. You didn't have a life, all you had was this house she'd left to you and a miserable existence that caused you far more pain than anything else. The gun in your hand felt like the ultimate solution to your suffering, the cold, hard steel against your hot skin soothing in a way. You thought that if you ate a bullet, it would relieve you, would lift all the burden off your shoulders and give you final peace. Then a brief moment of sanity came over you and in front of your mind's eye you saw how Scully would take the news when some blunt police detective called her as your next of kin. You asked yourself how much more pain you wanted to cause her and suddenly the road you had to take was crystal clear. You secured the hammer, put the gun on the coffee table in front of you and stared at it for hours. This lonesome night marked the beginning of your healing process.
"So, then why are you crying?" you ask while brushing a tear off her cheek with your thumb, thrilled that she lets you.
"I'm crying because I had to leave you for you to admit to yourself that you needed treatment. My being there couldn't do it, only my absence. Why, Mulder? It used to be just the other way around all those years. We used to give each other strength, not paralyze each other."
"I'm still trying to find the answer to this phenomenon, Scully. The shrink is not letting me off the hook with this, I can tell you. What I have already figured out though is that you are the sole reason I'm still here. Your absence left a hole so vast in me that I couldn't ignore the pain any longer. Believe me, I had tried many ways to numb it, none had worked. One day I decided to give it a shot and called the number you'd written down for me. It was still stuck to the fridge."
"Imagine where we could be if you had called Doctor Summers the day I gave you her number. We could still be together."
How often have you asked this what-if question yourself? Hundreds of times? Thousands? You've learned from said Doctor Summers that what-if questions are not only useless but counterproductive. They keep you from accepting what is and from changing what's in your power to change. The past can't be influenced anymore, only the future, and that's what you're determined to do. You want to build your future life, and you want her to be in it.
"We could work on getting back together. That is...if you want us back together."
She looks at you with a mixture of astonishment and incomprehension.
"What?" you ask. "Would it be so out of the realms of possibility?"
"I'm in a relationship with a very gentle man who has been very patient with me. I can't drop him like a hot potato."
No, of course, she can't. She's far too decent and kind to treat another person like this. She hadn't jumped into this new thing light-heartedly, she really likes this very gentle, patient man. She's gotten involved with him for his sake, not to get over you.
Nausea makes itself felt, you have problems swallowing because of the lump forming in your throat. Has it taken you too long? Have you lost her to another man because you didn't get your act together fast enough? Does she not only like him but has she fallen in love with him? Scully doesn't fall in love easily - head over heels and love at first sight are not her concepts really - but when Scully loves, she loves unrestrictedly and unconditionally. You were at the receiving end of her love and she defended it against everyone who dared to question it; her peers, her superiors, her brother. You won't stand a chance against Mark if she loves him, so you have to ask.
"You can't drop him or you don't want to?"
"Both. Mulder! You can't just come here, tell me you want us back together, and expect me to leave everything and everyone behind and follow you home."
"So...it's over. Between us, I mean."
You wince.
"That's not what I said."
You gasp.
"Then what did you say, Scully?"
"I like Mark, and I enjoy being with him."
She likes him - okay. She enjoys being with him - this you need to be clarified.
"Are you sleeping with him?"
You look into two crystal blue eyes so boring through you they make you shiver. Of course, you know you overstepped the mark. It's absolutely none of your business, but you need to know, so you insist regardless.
"Are you?"
You tilt your head and peek at the roses on the table, pursing your lips and arching your eyebrows. She follows your line of sight, still clearly pissed off by your question. She keeps her eyes on the flowers for a long moment, then sighs audibly.
"Okay, Mulder, if you feel like you want to know...not that I owe you any explanation...but yes, Mark and I have sex."
Now that you know you wished you hadn't asked. You give a short, bitter chuckle.
"What? Are you expecting me to live in isolation just like you?"
"Maybe."
"I wasn't looking for this, Mulder, believe me. But you know what? It's nice to be paid attention to. You didn't even look at me anymore. You took for granted that I was there but you didn't notice me anymore, let alone reciprocate in any way."
"And he looks," you state, unable to keep that disparaging ring out of your voice.
"Yes, he does. He looks at me, notices me, realizes I'm there. He's made me feel like a desirable woman again." She holds your gaze for a moment and you see more pain in her eyes than you're able to deal with. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
"I didn't make you feel like a desirable woman?" The question leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.
"Oh, you did, Mulder," she breathes, and you see the sweet memory flicker in her eyes for a brief moment. "God, you made me feel so alive at a time I didn't want to live. After William was gone, I feared I'd never be able to feel anything again, that I had become completely numb inside. It was the intensity of your love and passion that gave me the strength to love you back and to go on living, but your passion eroded over time. Not your love, I was always sure of your love for me, but I didn't feel your passion anymore. In the end, your world had shrunk to this little room full of dusty files, blurred photographs, and yellowed newspaper clippings. I could step into this room but I couldn't enter your world. You didn't let me in, neither did you come into my world anymore. You'd drifted away from me so much, I didn't know how to reach out to you. We'd lost our connection."
Her voice has become very quiet, the last words were a mere whisper. It speaks for the suffering all of this caused her. You don't have anything to say to this. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.
"I missed our physicality, Mulder, and you didn't even realize it. In the end, I craved it so much, it ached. It's a good feeling to be again touched and kissed. I enjoy being looked at, being told I'm beautiful and wanted."
Every word feels like a slap in your face. You deserve it, there's no doubt about it. You didn't give her what she needed, so living with you had become unbearable for her. You drove her away from you and finally out of the house. It's all your fault.
This insight doesn't come as a surprise to you. You've already figured all of this out together with Doctor Summers. She'd put her finger right in the wound and poked at the raw flesh until you were honest with yourself. It was a difficult step you refused to take for quite a while, but after having walked down that road you started getting better. It had been the first step forward of many and there are still hundreds more for you to make. If you want to heal completely, you have to run a marathon.
"I'm in the process of becoming the person I used to be, Scully. I can make up for the way I made you feel, I promise I will. You'll be treasured and desired like never before. I'll do whatever you want me to do...meditate, eat bee pollen, burn every single X-File in the filing cabinet. You name it, I'll do it. Just give me a chance to prove how much I've returned to my former self in the past year, to the person you once loved. Please!"
God, you're pathetic, begging for her affection like this. But what else can you do? You're desperate and scared to death that you've irretrievably lost her. Not to cancer, the aliens or any dark forces but to another man who happened to be there for her at a time you could only deal with your own issues and with nobody else's, not even hers.
Oh, how you hate this fucking depression!
She sees what's going on in your head. She's always been able to read you like a book, your separation hasn't changed that. Your plea has touched her. Tears are brimming in her eyes.
"Don't do this for me, Mulder. I can't be the sole reason for you to be willing to heal. It's too much of a burden. You have to do it for your own sake, because you want to get better. And by the way..." She cups your face with a hand and caresses your cheek gently with her thumb, "I've never stopped loving you, even when this damned depression had turned you into someone I didn't recognize anymore."
You're paralyzed. You forget to breathe. "You still love me?" you finally croak.
"Of course, Mulder," she tells you with a smile, "that will never change. But we can't be together unless you have this illness completely under control. I couldn't help you back then and I can't do it right now. I see your progress, but you're far away from being through, and you know it yourself. I'm more than willing to support you as your friend and physician, but I can't be more than that. Not now."
"But...one day?"
"If you expect me to give you a guarantee, I can't. There are no guarantees when it comes to personal relationships. I once thought ours was indestructible, but it wasn't. I can't foresee our future, Mulder, all I know is that you will always be a part of my life. As my best friend, my partner in crime, my son's father. You're the one and only person who knows every scarred side of my soul. Maybe...maybe one day you can be my perfect other again. It's not impossible, but it depends on so many factors that I don't dare to predict let alone promise anything. I don't know how far Mark and I will go. What I do know is that I'm humbly happy as it is right now and that I want to give this a try. Can you live with that?"
Can you?
"No promises, Mulder, only chances."
You have to let this sink in for a moment before you're able to answer, but then you know exactly where it leaves you.
"When has the fact that I didn't know where the road ahead would lead me to ever stopped me, Scully?"
The corners of her mouth rise into one of those lovely smiles that make the bridge of her nose crease and you're thrilled because this smile is genuine, and it's meant for you, and the best thing is, you have elicited it from her. You haven't done this in a very long time. After having made her sad for you don't know how long, you eventually made her feel good again, you made her smile. If that isn't a valid first step. There might be a million steps more for you to take, but you're willing to face every single one. Uphill, downhill, through the desert or the Antarctic, you might do a step or two backward at times, but you will keep going. And you will be your former self again. Maybe you'll end up with a reformed version of Fox William Mulder even, freed of some of the traumas of your past that had pushed you to the dark place of complete hopelessness you'd been in a few months ago.
"You know me, Scully. The smaller the chance, the more unlikely the theory, the more determined I am to show you I was right."
"Yes...yes, I know you do, and I rely on it."
You lock your eyes with hers in one of those looks you used to give each other in another life, before the loss of a child and the impediments of an existence in seclusion had taken their toll on your relationship. You connected gazing at each other like this at a time you were each other's touchstones, and maybe this means that you still are.
All has been said, that's why you stand up and move in the direction of the door. When you reach it, you desperately try to think of something else to talk about - the weather, the last book you read, medical research - it doesn't matter, something, anything, just to have a reason to stay. You turn around and find her right behind you, her delicate hand already reaching for the door knob. It seems you've missed your chance to prolong your being here, but then she catches you off-guard when she leans in. For a split-second you think she's going to kiss you on the lips which she isn't doing, of course, she's in a relationship with another man, but she kisses you on the forehead.
The nerve endings start shooting electrical sparks through your body the moment her soft lips make contact with your skin. The forehead kiss has lost nothing of its magic, you realize. It's as intimate an act as ever. You shared a lot of those before you turned your relationship from one of co-workers into one of lovers. More than once, you wanted to travel from her forehead to her lips but never dared. Once you almost did it, but then a bee carrying a deadly virus came in the way. You can't explain why today of all days you feel bold enough to make the journey, but before you're able to rethink, your lips are on hers and the familiar, much longed for sensation is your undoing.
You cannot do anything against it, your body acts on its own. Your hands go into her hair, your body presses her small frame against the front door she wanted to usher you out of mere seconds ago, and your tongue slides over her lips. You've ceased thinking, you're acting on pure instinct and the sensation is too overwhelming for you to be able to stop. You hear Scully moan quietly. Her knees buckle and bump into your shins. When you feel her tongue caressing yours and her body melting into yours, all you want to do is carry her into the bedroom and devour her.
From the depths of your conscience, various memories make it to the surface with a vengeance: how soft her naked skin feels, how her warmth used to envelop you, how you became one when you were buried deep inside her. You've lost your grip on the world around you, of time and space. You plunge head-on into the sensation the moment offers you, although there's this voice at the back of your head telling you that this is not right. It's yelling at you that overwhelming her with your yearning for her is not fair. You're playing her off against her emotions, taking advantage of the soft spot she still has for you.
Not fair!
The voice is demanding of you to stop, to stop it right now before she lets you carry the matter too far and compromise her. It's the most difficult thing you had to do ever, but you grab her shoulders to push your bodies apart and pull back, your mouth leaving hers with a loud smack. Her head falls back and bangs against the door. She's panting with her eyes closed. Her hair is disheveled, her cheeks rosy and her lips swollen. She looks so alluring that it takes all your willpower not to crush your lips right back onto hers.
Both of you are gasping for air, Scully with her back leaned against the door, you frozen into a pillar of salt. You can't believe what you just did. You wronged the women who offered you her friendship overpowering her with your frenzied, base lusts. You stare at her, guilt-stricken and self-conscious. In the not so unlikely case that she throws you out of her apartment and tells you that she doesn't want to see you ever again, you couldn't complain.
It takes her a while to recompose herself and to get her breathing back under control. You startle when her eyes suddenly jump open and two pools of blue transfix you. "God, Mulder," she breathes and you hear shock and disbelief in her voice.
"I'm sorry, Scully, so sorry. I'm beyond sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Please, forgive me. You have to forgive me," you beg.
She takes another deep inhale without taking her eyes off of you. You can't read from her face. There's no way for you to predict how she's going to react. When she starts to speak, you hold your breath.
"And I thought I would have to go to bed unkissed tonight after Mark had left," she says with a deadpan expression.
"I'm such an asshole, Scully. I don't know what had gotten into me."
Her left eyebrow shoots up. "You don't know why you kissed me?"
"Of course I do, but I'm not sure you want to hear it."
Another moment of silence occurs, the unspoken words billowing between you before she speaks again. "Mulder, don't look at me like you've been told you can't have ice cream for breakfast."
"Are you mad?"
"No, I'm not mad. I didn't exactly fight back, did I? It was...nice. I've almost forgotten what a great kisser you are, but..." she licks her lips, "...this doesn't change anything of what I said earlier."
"I listened to what you said, Scully, and I understood. I'm not going to get this wrong, but I will live off it for a long time. The memory will keep me going. The notion of being allowed to kiss you like this again some day in the future will push me further."
"Mulder-"
"No promises," you interrupt her, "only chances, I know. That's enough for me. For now."
Her lips rise into a tight-lipped smile. "You never cease to amaze me, Mulder."
"I should jolly well hope so!"
She shakes her head and chuckles. "What I would've missed if I hadn't accepted that assignment to work with one Fox Spooky Mulder all those years ago."
"You would've been spared quite a bit, Scully."
"But I would've missed so much more. Mulder...I regret nothing."
She keeps telling you this, using different words like 'I'd do it all over again' or 'I wouldn't have wanted another life', but always meaning that she's happy with how everything has turned out. Despite her reassuring you, sometimes you have problems believing it, picturing the life she could have had as a mother to a bunch of beautiful children and a wife to a nice guy. To someone like Mark.
Mark.
Time for you to quit the field. Leaving you alone with her, Mark had demonstrated a certain amount of trust in you, a trust you bitterly betrayed. He's most certainly waiting for her to call him to let him know everything is alright.
Will she tell him about the kiss? Probably not as it isn't the beginning of something, it's no threat to their relationship. You tasted a bit of what your past relationship consisted of when times were good and being together was all that was important. Maybe - maybe - you've also tasted some of your future, you don't know. You hope, but you can't be sure.
You're willing to let her try a normal life. A life with a well-situated, good-looking real estate agent who asks her for dates, who brings her flowers and calls her by her first name. You face the risk of losing her to that mundane kind of life, to a life without monsters and conspiracies where the darkness retreats with every sunrise and doesn't linger on for the entire day, darkening the sky with its heavy, gray clouds. With that risk you have to live, it's the only chance you have to win her back.
"What if you put that beautiful black dress on and I gave you a ride to the art gallery you told me about? Call Mark and tell him you're going to meet him there. The night is still young, you can still have a glass of free champagne."
She tilts her head and squints one eye suspiciously. "Mulder, are you serious?"
"I materialise in front of your door out of thin air with the lame excuse of bringing you two half empty bottles of shampoo and shower gel, I chase your spiffy date away, I yammer about how tough my life is without you, and as if this wasn't enough, I pin you to the door mounting some kind of kissing attack on you...I'd say I owe you one."
You meant every word you said and are therefore veritably flabbergasted that your admission is obviously amusing her. A grin tugs at the corners of her mouth she desperately tries to suppress, in vain. Eventually, she chuckles.
"And I told Mark you'd never lay a hand on me."
"Yeah, well, a slight misconception from your side. I would cut my hand off, though, rather than hurt you."
She gasps. "You heard us?"
"It was impossible not to hear you. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, you didn't."
"Good, good. So...uh, what about that lift to the gallery?"
"Thanks for offering, but no. I'd rather spend the rest of the evening alone. I need to contemplate a few things."
"Okay. Fine. Uhm...are we good?"
"Sure, Mulder, we're good."
"Great. Would you mind if I ever dropped by again? I'd even issue a pre-warning."
She emits another amused chuckle. "I'd appreciate an announcement, but don't call it a warning. I don't need to be warned of you. Just let me know when you're on your way over so I can get dressed and have the tea ready when you get here."
"You could also drive out to the house. There's still some of the organic green tea in the pantry, the one you like so much."
"I'd like that."
"Me too," you reply shyly.
Like it? You'd be thrilled to entertain her. You might even bake an apple pie for her following her mother's recipe which Maggie wrote down some years ago for you on the inside of one of the few cookbooks you had.
"Bye, Mulder. Thanks for stopping by. Despite the...uh...unexpected circumstances, it was good to see you. I'm glad we found a common ground again."
She turns around to open the door, exposing her reverse side and the special spot you've touched a million times at the small of her back. Your hand goes there as if remote-controlled. You could swear you feel her shudder and it feels so familiar for a moment, but this time you come to your senses in time. Everything is different now, so you remove your hand and give her shoulder a friendly squeeze when you walk past her through the door into the hallway.
"Bye, Scully. Thanks for everything."
"Take care, Mulder."
You exchange one last look, then she closes the door and her face is replaced by the numbers you stared at two hours ago: three - seven - nine. You look at your watch and set it to stopwatch mode. The timer tells you it's been eleven months, two weeks, five days, ten hours, fourteen minutes and twenty-five seconds since she left. You press the little button again to reset, it says 0:00:00 now. You press it again and the time starts running.