This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I agree with reviewers that they can't just leave it like this!
Scully's apartment
It had been an awkward week.
Mulder had barely made eye contact with her since that awful night... That amazing, wonderful, awful night. The night that she re-lived every time she lay down to sleep, just like now, dwelling on every detail, pondering the 'what-if's. If she had made a different decision that night... She could be in his arms right now.
But instead, he didn't seem to want to even talk to her. There had been none of their usual banter, no dry wit flung her way. He seemed miserable. Surely if there was something getting him down, he would tell her? She was his best friend, right?
Unless he was sulking because she hadn't jumped into bed with him the moment he'd had a whim to do so. Could he really think what they had was worth so little that he'd risk it for a roll in the hay?
The inevitable mental pictures began to form; a hay-barn, a muscled naked back, an ass she could just take a bite out of... She wrestled her mind back under her control. Fantasies are never any good in reality, she told herself. For example, a barn is always about six inches deep in some kind of animal shit. It stinks. NOT romantic.
Ahh, that's a bit better... turned the fire down a little.
Mulder in a firefighter's uniform.
Damn.
Ah well, in for a penny...
She settled back onto her pillows.
He was still in the office, doing more than his fair share of the paperwork. 'For once', he thought to himself. Scully usually shouldered more than her share. But he didn't want to think, so he was throwing himself into the work. He wished there was something more engaging to do than paperwork though; his mind kept wandering to that place where it hurt to go.
She didn't love him.
He pushed the thought away and forced himself to focus on the pages in front of him. For the fifth time, he attempted to read a sentence about motel expenses.
How many motels had they stayed in together. How many times had he lain awake thinking of her in the adjoining room. Wondering if she was thinking of him. As the years had gone by, he had grown more and more confident that she WAS. Had begun to put suggestive comments out there, test the waters... not that she ever took the bait. She was not called the ice queen for no reason. But he had somehow felt that underneath that icy facade, her feelings for him were warm. Hot, even.
But they weren't.
The gnawing ache in his chest gave a particularly painful twang, and he gritted his teeth and read the paragraph aloud, forcing the words into his brain to push out its other contents.
"From September 1, room rates and taxes must be entered separately on form 24.B.2, following policy changes. Room service bills must be itemised; alcohol will not be reimbursed."
That time she had gotten a bottle of champagne from room service for his birthday. The fact that she had done it despite how it would look to the higher-ups was worth more to him than the champagne itself. Surely she wouldn't put her reputation on the line for something silly like a birthday, unless she really cared?
But she didn't.
Her feelings for him were no more than friendship. Her reaction to him that night was nothing but 'a random burst of hormones'. Oh, those words had hit him like nails in the heart. Hormones. Nothing more. That dream he had instigated had backfired right in his face. She was right; a dream meant nothing, and all it had done was cause a 'random burst of hormones' that made her take temporary leave of her senses. And ultimately had answered a question he had been pondering for years. If only he had not done such a stupid thing, he might have gone on in blissful ignorance, believing they might one day end up together. Though, that would just have been postponing the moment of agony. At some point, it would have come to a head, and she would have turned him down, gently and with a look of pity in her beautiful eyes for the pathetic excuse for a human being that was Fox Mulder. Or he would have lost it and jumped her and she'd have shot him. And then left him. Or, she would have met someone, and he would have quietly died inside without ever telling her how he felt.
Better to know now, he thought. Better not to drag it out.
But how was he to work with her every day, to look at her, to want her, and to KNOW, now, to KNOW it would never be.
What was the alternative, though? To somehow get her out of his life, to never look at her, be with her, talk with her? His heart crumpled with the thought. He was damned either way. But he had to make a decision. Which course of action would hurt the least?
Suddenly he hated himself. Here he was, selfishly thinking only of how HE would be affected, deciding what to do based on what would be best for HIM. This decision would affect the course of her life. If he was damned either way, and if he loved her, he should decide based on what would be best for HER. Working with him had only stopped her from living a full life, meeting someone (ouch), adopting children (more ouch), progressing in her career...
Being with her sister...
He was a curse. He was an albatross around her neck. He would get out of her life as soon as possible. Have a word with the boys upstairs. They all thought she was wasted on the x-files anyway. Unlike him, SHE was not the FBI's most unwanted. She did not belong in the basement. Her talents could be used in all sorts of other areas.
He cursed his one-track-mind for immediately presenting him with a picture of a potential talent of hers that he would now never find out about. God dammit. He dropped his head down on the desk, a little harder than he'd meant to.
"Fuck!"
Ouch. Great. Now he had a headache, and probably a nice red mark on his forehead. Attractive. He was a hopeless case.
Tomorrow, he'd go talk to Skinner. Tonight, he'd drink himself to sleep on his couch.
"Did you think I wouldn't have any questions about this?" Skinner was finding it hard to keep his voice calm. "Did you think I'd just wave you on? You're essentially asking to wash your hands of the partner you've been dedicated to for years. What the hell happened between you?"
He did not answer.
"Does she even know you're asking this?"
A slight shake of the head.
"Does she even want this? Or are you just trying to get rid of her? What did she do wrong, Mulder? As far as I can see, she's had your back for years. You'd be a dead man many times over if it wasn't for Agent Scully."
"I know" Mulder sounded like a sulky child, but only because every word the man was saying was true, and he knew it.
"You should be grateful to have her on your team. Lord knows it's a small enough team."
"Yeah."
"Well? What went wrong? I'm waiting."
No answer.
"I can stall this request as long as I want, even if you go around me. I can do that, you know."
Mulder looked at his shoes, maintaining his sullen silence.
"Well, Mulder, when you want to talk to me, you know where I am. Until then, Agent Scully will continue to 'waste' her talents keeping your sorry ass company. That will be all, Agent."
Dismissed, Mulder left the room without looking at Skinner. Great, he thought, resisting the urge to scuff his shoe like a child. Well, I tried.
A small part of him felt a tiny stab of joy that Scully would remain in his life, but the greater part of him was overwhelmed with dread of the time ahead.
The door to the office slammed open, the knob deepening a pre-existing dent in the wall. The figure in the doorway was a study in scarlet; red hair, equally red face, and red flames practically shooting out of her eyes. She stormed towards him, and he physically backed away, forgetting that he was seated and nearly falling off his chair.
She slammed her bag down on his desk and hit him with a wall of sound.
"What the hell is going on, Mulder? Skinner has just told me you asked to have me transferred? Transferred! After everything I've done for you? Never mind how many times I've saved your career, or even your life. Never mind how many times I've traveled to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere on your whim. You've dragged me out of bed at ass-o-clock God knows how many times, and do I complain?"
Shrinking into himself as he stared at his own navel, he muttered "Frequently". If she heard him, she didn't pause in her tirade.
"I spend most of my life on the road, I haven't had a decent night's sleep in forever, I'm constantly covered in mud, or bile, or worse, or up to my elbows in rotting corpses, and when I'm not I'm buried in paperwork, seeing nothing but the 4 walls of this office. I have zero time for a personal life, and I put up with it, for you. Where did I mess up, Mulder? What on earth am I supposed to have done wrong?! What can I POSSIBLY have done except everything you've ever asked me to!"
"Not *everything*." He muttered to his navel, assuming she would miss this too. But she didn't.
"I beg your PARDON? Not everything? What else does his lordship require of me?" The sarcasm was heavy in her voice. "Perhaps I could clean your shoes? Dust your apartment? Would his lordship like a back rub? Seriously, what more can I do?"
The diatribe's abrupt pause left a ringing silence in the air. He couldn't look up at her.
"I'm actually asking, Mulder." She sounded calmer now, as if acknowledging his submissive posture. "Help me out here. I can't think of a single thing I've refused you."
He bit his lip and continued to stare at the floor.
It slowly dawned on her. She had been right. "Oh dear Lord. Please tell me you're not sulking because I wouldn't go to bed with you on a whim. There's almost no limit to what I'd do for you, Mulder, and you should damn well know that, but satisfying your physical needs is not in the repertoire of your best friend and partner. It's not a fair request." She folded her arms. "Quite honestly it's insulting that you consider me an option; Lord knows you could get any woman you want, if you just made five minutes of effort, so why risk what we have, Mulder, just for a screw? Is that all I'm worth to you?"
His eyes had opened so wide it almost hurt. THAT was how she'd interpreted what happened? Had she been referring to a random burst of HIS hormones, rather than hers? Oh God, that changed EVERYTHING.
"I... I can't believe you would think that, Scully." He managed to look at her. "How could you think I would use you like that?"
She looked honestly confused. "Well you seemed to be suggesting that we... I mean... why would you..."
Suddenly he was defensive. "Gee, Scully, what could it possibly mean? I kissed you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I couldn't help it. I wanted you. I told you that. But if you'll do me the *honor* of believing it wasn't a fucking whim, that maybe I'm not that much of an asshole, then, gee, what else could it possibly be? Work it out. You're supposed to be smart."
This pause seemed to stretch on forever, and he didn't take his eyes off her face. So many things seemed to flash across it as she looked at him; confusion, hope, fear, happiness, disbelief, uncertainty... she settled back on confusion.
"Mulder..." She bit her lip. "Why did you make this transfer request?"
He looked down, and said very quietly "Because you're better off without me".
There was a long pause.
"Honestly? Is that it?"
"You know it's true."
"That's not what I asked. Is that really the reason?"
He noticed she wasn't denying the truth of it. "It is."
Another long pause.
"Well I'm sorry but that's a fucking stupid reason, Mulder. I'm a big girl. I can make my own decisions. We've been through this before. If I'm better off without you, I'm quite capable of getting a transfer. Do you know why I don't?"
He took a deep breath, wishing the answer was different. "Because this is your quest too, now. Because you enjoy the work, even though it's hard. You feel challenged, and you need that."
He felt her gaze draw his eyes to hers. They just looked at each other for a long time. Something hung in the air, unspoken. An additional reason that held them together. Each was almost sure what it was. Neither dared voice it.