Title: The Quiet Things

Author: Aeschylus

Rating: PG13

Spoilers: Emily episodes and Fowely stuff

Summary: Diana Fowely enters their lives. Scully faces her anguish of Emily's death and turns to other means of dealing with her pain.

Disclaimer: Nothing X Files is mine.

Feedback: email me at Notes: If you have seen the movie Thirteen a certain scene may be similar to a scene in my story. I wrote this before I saw the movie.

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She got drunk that night. Extremely drunk. The room was tucked away in a hazy fog and she couldn't make it from point a to point b without slamming into something or tripping.

Someone was knocking. She squinted her eyes around the room, trying to locate the door. Ah, she found it. She stumbled over to it and didn't even check the peephole before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

It was Mulder. Great.

Scully said nothing to him and turned around a little too quickly and stumbled her way over to the couch where she collapsed onto it, gulping down the rest of the wine bottle.

She heard him shut the door and walk over to her. She closed her eyes and moved her legs when she felt the couch move under the pressure of his weight.

"How much have you had to drink?" he asked, taking the bottle out of her hand that was carelessly draped off the side of the couch.

Her eyes snapped open as if she just remembered he was there.

"I'm so drunk," she said, licking her lips.

"Yeah," he agreed. He shook a bag in front of her and said, "I brought you dinner."

She groaned and pushed herself up in a sitting position. She heard her stomach growl at the smell coming from the bag. He must have heard it too because he got up and offered his hand to her. She took it and stood unsteadily, almost falling into him. He led her to the kitchen table and helped her sit down.

Once the food was on a plate in front of her, she couldn't help but eat a lot and fast.

"Take it easy Scully or you'll be puking all night," he murmured, eyeing her from across the table.

He sure did know how to make a woman feel sexy.

She pushed her plate away at the thought of puking and said, "Done."

He nodded and took the plate to the sink.

"When you sober up we'll talk," he told her, sitting back down in front of her.

She laughed and replied, "Well then you'll be here for a while because Mulder, I. Am. Trashed."

"It's good to see you smile," he told her, his face completely solemn.

She stopped smiling and looked away, her eyes lazy and glazed over.

"Scully," he said.

She looked at him, trying to focus on his hazel eyes. She wanted to reach out and ruffle his hair or just hold his hand. It's funny the things you admit you want to do when you are drunk.

"Are you going to talk to me this time? I mean really talk?" he asked, taking her hand in his.

She didn't pull away this time and found herself nodding. He nodded too and looked down at her small hand in his.

"You've lost some weight," he told her.

She watched him continue staring at her hand in his and she had to stop herself from spilling every thought that had consumed her mind since Diana Fowely showed up. She wanted to beg him to believe what she had to say about her. She wanted to tell him that her mind was consumed with thoughts of her sister, of her daughter, of her abduction. She wanted to show him every cut on her body.

But she didn't. She just stiffened and looked away.

"No, Scully. You aren't going to shut me out," he said, tugging on her hand to capture her attention again.

She looked at him again and saw how hard it was for him to look her in the eye. That tore her heart out. All she wanted to do at that moment was make the pain go away the only way she knew how.

"I know we don't…we don't really talk about things like this. Our feelings," he paused to search her face.

She nodded her agreement, suddenly feeling incredibly ridiculous and childish.

He continued, "I know I haven't been a good friend to you lately."

Her eyes snapped up to his, bewildered at how in depth he really was going to go with this talk. They just don't talk like this and she wasn't sure what to think.

"I owe you more than that," he stated.

"Mulder, you don't have to owe me anything. You shouldn't feel you owe me anything," she retorted trying once again to pull her hand from his but he held a painfully tight grip.

"I do. I owe you my trust," he told her.

"You truss-ed in her over what I had to say," she slurred angrily.

"It had nothing to do with trust, Scully. It had only to do with me not listening to you. It's hard to listen to something like that about someone who you…." He stopped not sure how to explain it.

"Who you loved?" she asked, her voice cracking.

He breathed out heavily and paused before saying, "Something like that."

"So she means more to you than me?" she asked, letting the alcohol talk for a moment.

His face mirrored her own when they both realized they just crossed some very high borders.

"It's…different," he started.

Her heart was pounding and the pain she felt was unbearable. She didn't want to be touching him anymore. She didn't want to look at him.

"I'm going to be sick," she muttered.

He let go of her hand, startled. She stood up and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

She heaved a few times, emptying the small amount of dinner she had eaten. Mulder knocked on the door and she told him to go away. He didn't listen of course.

"Scully, you ok?"

"I'm fine Mulder. We'll talk more tomorrow. I just want to go to bed," she called, shaking uncontrollably on the floor. The cold tile felt good on her burning skin.

He was silent but eventually left after a few more "are you sure you are ok's". She undressed and slid into the bathtub, not bothering to turn on the water. She just lay against the cold surface and cried. She couldn't stop crying. Then she started screaming. Then she kicked her feet against the end of the tub, willing herself to scream and kick the pain out of her. To do anything but cut again. She needed to stop.

It still hurt. It still hurt so badly. She couldn't get rid of it. She needed it to stop.

She grabbed for her razor and broke off the blade portion. With a swift slash, she sliced her arm open three or four different times above the three that were already on that arm.

She moaned in pain and let the razor drop, landing with a loud clipping sound that seemed to echo in the bathroom. She held her hand over the cuts, watching the blood seep through her fingers.

She must have cut too deep.

The tub was littered with blood spots and when she got up to get a cloth, the blood smeared all over.

She sat on the floor with the cloth pressed on her arm, her back propped on the tub. She felt so dizzy. She threw up a few more times before stumbling into her bedroom and falling into a deep sleep.

XXXXXXX

The morning was hell. Her arm ached, her head throbbed, her stomach muscles sore from the heaving.

She examined her arm. She didn't need stitches, they were just ugly cuts. She felt disgusted by herself when she saw how damaged her arms were. She counted the cuts. Seven on the left arm, three on the other. Ten. She had cut herself ten times.

She tore her eyes away from them and busied herself with getting ready for work. She was up way earlier than she needed to be. She may even have time to run out and get some real coffee and the time to enjoy it.

When she was dressed she noticed Mulder had left his coat on her couch. She picked it up and his badge fell out. She sighed, knowing she would have to get it to him before work.

Scully gathered her things and drove to his house ignoring the comforting scenery along the way.

Once she arrived, she walked slowly to his door, thinking about how pathetic she must have seemed to him last night.

She hesitated before knocking but allowed her hand to raise and knock sharply on the door. She listened for him and heard his heavy footsteps and the creak of floorboards as he leaned to peer out the peephole.

The sound of the lock and the squeak of the door hinges, and she was face to face with him once again.

"Scully?" he asked, groggily.

She lifted his coat and said, "You left this. Your badge was in it."

He took it from her and said, "Thanks, you ah, you want to come in?"

She nodded and followed him inside. She sat on the couch and watched him pull on a shirt and fix a cup of coffee for himself and her. She took it and offered a small smile.

He sat beside her on the couch and they drank their coffee in silence. Finally he set his cup on the coffee table and stood.

"I'm going to hop in the shower. If you want breakfast I think there's still some doughnuts," he told her.

"Thanks," she said softly, still sipping at her coffee.

She listened to him showering. She could make out small sounds here and there like the snapping of a shampoo bottle and the thump of his arm hitting the side of the shower.

Her arm was hurting again. She tried to think of anything else to get her mind off of the pain. She would have to put some medication on it tonight.

When the water stopped she decided to go grab a doughnut. She shed her jacket and walked into the kitchen. She picked out a glazed doughnut and returned to the living room.

She ate the whole thing and was finishing off the last bite as Mulder walked in, dressed for work.

She was feeling better and a little silly about last night when she noticed he was staring at her. She followed his eyes to her arm and noticed that one of the cuts must have opened and blood dotted her sleeve. Her heart practically stopped and she could feel her face grow hot.

She looked up to see his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He didn't look at her face. Not once.

"We should be going," he finally said.

She soundlessly followed him out of the apartment. Luckily he drove her to work that day. Her arm hurt too much to even lift it.