This chapter contains sexually explicit material.
CHAPTER 4: Product of Derision and Conclusion
"There's a lot of things I understand,
And there's a lot of things that I don't
want to know,
But you're the only face I recognize,
It's so damn sweet of you to look me
in the eyes...
It's all right,
I'm O.K.,
I think God can explain,
I believe, I'm the same,
I get carried away...
The scent of Vaseline in the summertime,
The feel of an ice cube melting over time,
The world seems bigger than both of us,
Yet it seems so small when I begin to cry..."
- I Think God Can Explain by Splender
There she was.
Not even the greatest philosopher known to the history of mankind could explain the tsunami of emotions coursing through Mulder's bloodstreams at that very moment, when he felt like he was being vacuumed into a black hole of absurdity – as if he was about to take a leap forward and he would just be sucked back down to gravity. She was within reach, but he wasn't exactly sure how to reach out.
I should be a philosopher, dammit.
The rain had resumed and it was cascading all throughout the picturesque skim streets of Oxford, forcing a horde of passers-by to settle beneath sidewalk awnings. They crowded underneath with cigarettes in their hands, or cups of tea, even gossip. Mulder, meanwhile, was standing out there with them, frozen in his spot as if he just saw the elusive proof of extraterrestrial life before him within the bar. This proof was drinking scotch out of a shot glass.
"Hello, are you quite all right?" a well-dressed businessman asked him. Mulder answered back with a curt nod, making the fellow move away from him. The businessman shrugged at the other passers-by who were also curious about him.
Mulder continued to stare. He stared as the silence overwhelmed him, as he watched her pin her auburn hair behind her ears. They were longer now, he noticed with amazement. The strands settled up until the small of her back, where he used to put his hand to guide her before, and their tips brushed against the soft skin of her bare shoulders. He stared at her small movements, marveling that even if she had her back to him, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world for Mulder.
God, was he glad that there was no one hitting on her. Well, except for that college-frat boy who was sitting a few stools away from her in the same bar. He was eyeing her slender body that peeked from the sheer black dress she was wearing. Did she dress up that way for him? He suppressed a groan as he realized that the distinct effect she had on him was still there and he felt it stir alive in his groin.
She crossed one leg over the other as a white fingertip flicked over the rim of the shot glass before her. Even if he could only see her back, Mulder had a feeling that she had not changed much despite the longevity of their separation. He could imagine the way she looked as if it was yesterday: her wispy black dress that was low-cut and showed the tops of her breasts, that cross pendant on her neck, her pursed lips, the crinkle at the corners of her blue eyes …
Suddenly, Mulder felt incredibly juvenile. He had a bouquet of red roses on one hand and a briefcase in the other. His trench coat was slung over his tense shoulders. What kind of a fool was he? Should he have chosen something more casual to wear for this occasion? He looked like a man going on a business meeting than a man who was on his way to a meet the woman who could possibly dictate the next few events of his life. Maybe he should have taken the time to change in the airport. But how could he? When he was so excited to see her again that he almost left his checked-in bag in the carousel?
Mulder had not been this close to Dana Scully in a year.
He shut his eyes and imagined himself beside her, smelling the sweet fragrance of her honeysuckle shampoo and letting it fill his lungs while gazing deep into the ocean within her eyes. Her lips would be slightly crimson, parted to reveal some teeth, and it always matched her halo of red hair. Then, if he was lucky, he would be rewarded with that certain flush she emitted when they made love …
His knees buckled involuntarily beneath him.
Scully was there, actually there, inside the bar Maggie had told him to go.
Mulder couldn't fucking believe it.
He was so close to her again …
He was so close to her again …
He was so close.
He was so close.
Mulder opened his eyes in ecstatic shock as those words echoed in his head. Sweat was staining his forehead and they dropped onto his open mouth, onto his panting chest muscles. Looking below him, he paused his movements. The desire to continue was strong and it almost drowned him, his instincts almost carried him away, but he stared from where they were connected – pelvis to pelvis, where she was grinding against him, to the rise and fall of her breasts, to the way she closed her eyes and the façade of sheer pleasure rippling all throughout her body. Her heels dug at his lower back, and she pushed him a bit to signal that he needed to move.
He was kneeling in front of her, watching her naked body writhe in pleasure before him. As always, in total trust, in full surrender of her faculties, her being, her soul to him. The only light of the room from the open draperies of his apartment's windows gave her a dreamlike quality, and he wondered what he ever did to deserve such loveliness …
He was so close to the edge and he could feel, with the way her muscles fluttered around his cock, that she was too.
But …
No. Mulder couldn't do this anymore.
Mulder bit his lip until he tasted blood and blinked back the tears that suddenly pushed back his eyes. He swept his hands over and out her inner thighs to prepare her for his withdrawal. He made sure that there were blankets close to where he was kneeling and slowly, gingerly, he unlocked her heels behind him. With one pull, he disjoined himself from her.
Scully's eyes flew open, and for a moment, he caught the way the bluish ocean of her irises darken with lust and suddenly, turn clear – as clear as her porcelain skin. She knew something was wrong.
He didn't say anything. She wasn't saying anything, too. She instead watched him with no expression on her sweaty face. He knew she was aching to touch him, to ask him what was the problem this time, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.
He covered a blanket on top of her before he jumped out of the bed, as if any minute more there would be the end of him. He searched for his boxers and found it at the foot of the bed and placed it on, mindful of the throbbing in his groin.
On the bed, Scully gathered the sheets over her breasts and studied him. Her eyes then transferred to the bruises he had branded on her arms during their foreplay. He had never bruised her this bad before. Something had been on his mind when he brought her here in his apartment, she knew it, especially when he kissed her with tears glistening in his eyes. She should have asked him about it, but before she could start speaking, he dismissed the subject by stripping her panties off and plunging his tongue inside of her.
It gave her the impression that Mulder was desperately making love to her.
"What's going on, Mulder?" Her voice sounded so small inside the deafening static inside his room.
He stiffened, his back to her, and her voice shattered the howling in his brain. There was no turning back now, no going forward or past or future. This was his final decision. He had to fucking face it … no matter how hard it would be.
Mulder absentmindedly secured his boxers onto his waist and sat down at the edge of the bed. His hand, as if with a mind of its own, cupped her knee.
They both tensed. They were both struggling to not pull each other back into one another's embrace. Mulder took a deep breath to control himself and Scully looked down on his hand over her knee, one eyebrow raised.
"Scully," he started, his voice still sounding as pathetic as he thought it had been the past few days, "I h-have to tell you something. Important."
She didn't say anything. She just stared at him so intently it unnerved him. How could he pull through with this? All he could see were her beautiful blue eyes, her delicious body, those lips that he loved so, so much …
Mulder broke their eye contact and pulled his hand away from her leg. "Scully, I couldn't love you this way anymore."
The words were like hot coal when they spilled out of his mouth. He faced her again and saw the way the question flooded her face. He couldn't control the tears that started to race across his cheeks, and God, did he try to stop them, but he couldn't help it. He was going to hurt her. He was going to fucking hurt her. This woman who had given him nothing but her trust, her love, her body, her soul … he was going to hurt her so fucking bad. He was going to hurt her … to save her.
He loved her that much.
"What, what do you mean?" Her voice cracked as she pressed her legs to her upper limb, her whole body starting to tremble.
Damn it, she looked so little, so small, so vulnerable … Mulder couldn't go on with his plan if he kept on watching her like this. He needed to be strong; he needed her to live. He needed her to live so that he in turn, could live on. Even if he had to live on without her.
"It's our relationship. It's us. We couldn't keep doing this. We are fooling everyone around us. We're fooling ourselves." He steeled himself and remembered the script he had burned in his eidetic memory. His voice now became calm, collected as he recited everything from his mind. "You're Catholic, Scully. I'm sure you've thought that you should act better."
She took that as a direct insult and he knew that she would. It was a fucking low blow but he had no choice. He had to attack her where she was weakest.
Her mouth opened and then closed. She flushed again, this time in palpable anger. "What do YOU mean I'm Catholic, Mulder? This was our decision! Have you forgotten about that?"
"I want to forget that decision, Scully."
It was her turn to cry now when the weight of his words crashed down on her. She cried silently but strongly, as if he had hit her with a bullet. He had already extensively mapped where to strike for his plan to come to fruition: her faith, her chosen path, and the respect she had for herself. He was now selfishly using that knowledge against her. He was an asshole and he hated it, but if being an asshole meant he could save her life, then he would rather be an asshole than nothing at all. Because if he lost Scully … then, he would be nothing at all.
Now, he had to make her believe. He had to make her believe in his lie.
"Mulder, what are you trying to do to me?" She paused, breathing hard. "Why are you telling me this at this point of our relationship? It took us so long to get here …"
He stood up; the mere thought of being so close to her while she was crying almost undid him. "Could you live with this, Scully? What we have here is something so immature that people of our caliber and education should have never attempted in the first place. There are bigger things out there than lust, Scully. We shouldn't let lust get in the way of what we ought to do." The bitterness of his words hit him deep within his gut, and he almost gasped out loud. His voice sounded so foreign to him, as if it belonged to someone else.
On the bed, he could hear her sobs getting louder.
"Then, then, what was this all about? You told me you love me, Mulder, and I believe that. I gave you everything, everything. I trusted you with my whole life! What we have gone through together, what we have achieved together … not everyone share what we have, Mulder! I thought we believe the same thing when it came to us. What more do you want from me? Am I not enough for you?"
Once she had spoken those words to him, Satan must have opened hell up and tightened a noose around Mulder's neck. He felt miserable. He felt stupid. He felt inconsiderate. He felt like a loser. He felt like he murdered someone. He felt dirty, fucked up …
He felt dead.
He waved his hands in the air. "It's not as easy as you think it is, Scully!" His tone sounded desperate, and he felt that he was cracking.
"Mulder, look at me." Her voice was tough and that made him do what he feared all evening: to look into Scully's eyes. Pupil to pupil; corona to corona; iris to iris.
As he expected, she saw the lie in him. She read the lie in him, just as she had done so many times before – he was a book that she had studied all her life and each page of him was imprinted in her memory. He was lying and she knew it.
"Why don't you fucking tell me the truth?" she hissed as she furiously wiped away her tears. She had stopped crying and Mulder found some strength in that.
"This is the truth, Scully," he tried to convince her some more. He tried to regain his composure and missed her gaze once more.
"Oh God," she trailed off, looking down at her feet. A fragment of hope emerged in Mulder's aching chest. Maybe Scully would figure this all out; maybe she could see what he was trying to hide from her. Maybe she would understand his outburst, forgive him, and follow his instructions blindly to the UK. Maybe they would have that happy ending after all. Maybe they would be fine in the end.
Yet, that was only possible if they were in another universe. Scully was no psychic. She was just human, and he loved her for that. She bled when she got pricked, cried when she got hurt. She was so real, so human, while he … he felt nowhere near human that moment.
Because she was so real, the next assumption she breached at him didn't surprise him anymore:
"Is there another woman, Mulder? Is there?" she demanded, voice thick with pain. He jerked his head upward and for the first time in their conversation that evening, he finally told the truth.
"No, of course not."
It was an easy way out, sure, but he couldn't do it. It wasn't him. It wasn't them. She was Dana Katherine Scully – a woman he would always be devoted to. He couldn't lie anymore. He had to stick to what he started and in his head, it was already there, waiting its completion. If he wanted to see her alive, he had to.
"Then what is it?" she sobbed out. Mulder's arms dangled dangerously at his sides. They were so tempted to put themselves around her shoulders to comfort her. But his intuition kicked in and he steeled himself once again.
He took a deep breath and spitted it out. "I don't think I could love you anymore, Scully. I'm sorry, but I don't think I ever loved you the way you think I have."
The words were fucking foreign to him. Mulder wished he spoke that last statement in Spanish or any other language Scully wasn't familiar with.
However, Scully perfectly understood him. He realized this when he saw her shivering body and incessant crying. She cried loudly, shaking, and he knew that the sounds of her sobs would forever haunt him in his dreams every single night.
He clutched the edges of the bed sheet nearest to him. His Scully … he had hurt his Scully … Damn his life. Damn his fucked up life!
"How could you tell me that, Mulder? How?"
Because I have to save you, Scully. Because I would rather lose you this way than lose you forever.
"I. Just. Did, Scully."
"I don't …"
"It's true. I couldn't love you this way, Scully. We have to stop this insanity."
"Oh no, God …" By then, her eyes were more swollen than her lips had been and she was turbulently shivering. Mulder's eyes clouded once more with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He held his fists violently to control himself.
Before him, Scully clutched the sheets around her body protectively and suddenly panicked. In an instant, she was gathering the stray pieces of clothing that were scattered on the floor awkwardly. Her lips were in a thin line.
When she was finished, she stood before Mulder. They stared at each other for a second, gauging how much truth was pulsing through each other's irises. He tried to keep his eyes as dark and blank as possible. She kept on searching, searching his hazel eyes, trying to find a flash of treachery in him, but he kept his stance.
It must have worked, because the next thing he knew was her hand quickly connecting with his cheek. She slapped him very, very hard that it threw his head from one side to the other.
It stung. Not on his face, but in his heart.
He caressed his jaw, and had to steady himself with the bed's edge. Scully's red hair swayed viciously against her face as she turned away from him. He could see her eyes turn as glassy as his were a while ago. He could see the hate in them, and despite it being his handiwork, he was frightened.
"I appreciate that you don't need me to tell you this – but you're an asshole, Mulder. You're one fucking asshole."
She exited his bedroom quickly and Mulder regained some dignity. He called her name out and she stopped in her tracks but didn't look back at him.
"Let me drive you home. It's late," he offered. He couldn't help it. It was his last chance to be with her.
"Leave me alone."
"Scully …"
"What?"
"You realize that working together … would not be a good idea anymore."
"My resignation will be on Skinner's desk tomorrow morning ASAP."
"Scully?"
"For fuck's sakes, what?"
"We still can be friends, right?"
She muttered the word 'fuck' under her breath a couple of times and slammed the door shut behind her. Mulder stood frozen in his position, one hand over the cheek she slapped and another on a chair to keep his balance. Suddenly, he couldn't hold himself up anymore. He fell to his knees. He gritted his teeth to control the pain within him, but it didn't help. One arm circled his stomach, the other on the floor to prevent him from falling face down. He sobbed, cried his heat out, and shouted her name over and over again until he felt he was about to die from the desperation.
After what felt like a lifetime, Mulder picked himself up from the floor and hobbled towards the living room. He grabbed the telephone and plopped heavily on the couch. He dialed a number from memory.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Scully. It's me, Mulder."
"Oh, God. Fox? Are you okay? You did it, didn't you? Oh my, Dana …"
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Scully."
"Oh, Fox … I don't know what to say. Are you okay? My daughter …"
"Scully just left my apartment. I'll be fine. Did Byers give you the ticket?"
"Yes he did, son." He flinched at that word.
"Make sure she leaves within the next twelve hours, please. I have surveillance on her twenty-four seven to make sure she leaves safely. Please call me when her plane departs and when her plane arrives in the UK."
"I will, Fox. God, what you had to do … I'll try everything to make sure she doesn't stay angry at you for long."
"No, keep it that way, Mrs. Scully. She has to stay angry until she's out of the country, until she's safe."
"W-Whatever you say, Fox. Do keep in touch. Dana will probably be here soon and the pain … I couldn't imagine what you had to go through. Thank you, son. I'm sorry." He could hear her voice tearing up and it hurt him all the more.
"Thank you too, Mrs. Scully."
He dropped the phone back into the cradle and that was it. His mission, for now, was done. And he had never felt so fucking bad in his whole life.
He fell back onto his leather couch and snuggled his body into its familiar corners. He closed his eyes as a few more drops of tears slid down his face. He touched the cheek Scully slapped and let it stay there, until he felt like he was losing everything in his goddamn life. Until he felt that he had nothing else to hold onto – he had no one now, no Scully, not even himself, God, did he even recognize himself after what he had done to her? He started slipping out of consciousness and he berated himself to the very end.
He was going to lose it all.
He was going to lose it all.
He was losing it.
Mulder was going to lose it all: his lunch, his composure, his head, his senses, his mind, his brain …
Just because Scully was in a bar a few steps away from him.
Because I have to save you, Scully.
Because I would rather lose you this way than lose you forever.
These thoughts reminded him of what he had accomplished the past year they were apart. He saved her, he guessed, from her sure demise a few months ago. He sacrificed the most important thing in his life – her love – just so that he could live in the knowledge that she was safe somewhere. Without him.
Scully had saved him before – a thousand times ever. He owed her everything; she owed him nothing. She kept him honest, kept him whole … he now needed that honesty. He now needed her to make him feel whole again, even just for one night.
He needed to tell her the truth so that she could save him again. So that he could feel; so that he could feel alive.
He regained life in his body once again and he blindly charged inside the bar. He kept only one agenda in his mind and silenced the others that beckoned at him. He could think about them later when he had finally faced her.
He didn't believe in a God, let alone the God she prayed to, but that moment, he whispered a prayer and hoped that the God she believed in heard him too: Don't let me down. Please.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR