Well, here's chapter two… in a more timely fashion that any of you are used to seeing from me. What can I say? When the iron's hot, it's hot… or something like that.
Warning: If you thought there was a lot of foul language in the last chapter, you may want to steer clear of this chapter, because it gets worse. I don't know why. I rarely cuss, and therefore rarely write with foul language, but for some reason, I think Scully would be using this type of language in this particular situation… because she is absolutely LIVID.
Okay. You've been warned—apologies if it offends you! (go read one of my other stories—they're virtually foul language free!)
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"Scully, enough with the language."
I stare at him incredulously. He's got to be kidding, right? So I ask him. "You've got to be kidding, right?"
He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head, "I think we can resolve this without the use of foul names and epithets."
He wasn't kidding. He was as serious as the heart attack 600 pound me would be having. 'I'll show him epithet' I thought to myself.
"Oh, that is really fucking rich, Mulder. You arrogant, self-serving bastard son-of-a-bitch." I smile at him, wickedly, heartlessly. He's just staring at me. I laugh, bitterly. "You really are a fuckhead, you know that?"
The expression on his face is decidedly comical, and it's all I can do not to laugh at him. "What's the matter, Mulder? Cold-hearted bitch got your tongue?"
That seems to root in his brain, and he starts to speak "Scully, you're making this…"
"Personal. Yeah. I know, Mulder. You've said that already." I say in disgust, rolling my eyes into the back of my head and clucking my tongue.
He shrugs a bit. "Well, it's true."
This, of course, angers me. I don't think he even meant for it to enrage me, but it did. He really is a fuckhead. "That's because it IS personal, Mulder. It's PERSONAL!" I yell, not worrying about the consequences. I just want to scream, because though I know better, I feel like in this moment, right here, screaming will make him not just listen, but actually hear me. "You're goddamn right I'm making it personal, because it is, Mulder. And you're a son-of-a-bitch to say otherwise."
He runs his finger through his hair, "Jesus, Scully… you're so…" he says, not sure how to finish it.
"What? Vile?" I ask, stepping closer to him, "Vulgar?" I laugh. "Well, I'm sorry if my language offends you, or makes you uncomfortable Agent Mulder, but you must realize that such language is only a result of all the shit I've put up with throughout the years. Your shit. I've held off, before, Mulder—I've held my tongue, but so help me God, I will not hold my tongue tonight. I will say what I want, when I want, how I want, and I'll call you every single name in the Goddamn book tonight, Mulder. And when I run out of names from the book, I'll start making em up." I say, smiling none to kindly.
"I think you already have." He says.
I raise my eyebrow. "Fuckhead isn't made up, Mulder. Look it up on dictionary dot com. And it'll just be the tip of the iceberg if you don't get the hell out of my apartment, now."
Her runs his finger through his hair, and I think he's actually considering leaving. I'm torn between wanting him to get the hell out, like I said, and stay so I can make good on my threat of verbal abuse. He thinks what he just heard is vile? He's in store for a major shock.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Mulder nearly burnt my skin off earlier today, choosing her side over mine.
He shakes his head, and I can tell he's worn out. 'Good.' I think. It's what he deserves. He deserves to feel and look as miserable as he made me today.
He sighs, and I sit back down on the couch, pick up my ice cream and resume eating.
"Scully, I've never seen you like this…" he says, still standing there.
I keep my eyes focused on my ice cream. "Aw, gee, Mulder, does it bother you?" I ask, falsely sweet.
He starts to answer, and then realizes how utterly sarcastic I'm being. When I look up to him, I can see a flash of anger on his face, and I clench my jaw. Do it, Mulder. I triple dog dare you.
He starts to speak, then shuts his mouth. After a minute, he says "No, it's just not very lady like." There's an arrogant flare to his words.
My eyes widen a bit in shock, and I start to laugh, bitterly, which I seem to be doing a lot of tonight. "What'sa matter, Mulder? Your bitch doesn't talk like that?" I say as I take another bite of ice cream. His eyes widen and I do a little dance of joy in my soul before I continue… "No, of course she doesn't. You wouldn't want to be with anyone who has a mind of her own—let alone is able and willing to express her thoughts in any other way than a prim and proper manner—in a way that doesn't exactly make you comfortable."
He shifts his weight back and forth, and I can tell he's just that, uncomfortable.
"Of course not, Fox," I say, emphasizing his name—letting him know I haven't forgotten what she calls him, "She doesn't say things to make you upset—she doesn't question your beliefs, she doesn't make you work for a goddamn thing, does she?" I emphasize 'thing' and raise my eyebrows to make sure he knows I'm not just talking about his theories.
He's standing there, seemingly immobilized by my words, and I'm glad. I'm not backing down this time. I've come too far with him…I've come too far for him to not say what I believe now; at what I am almost certain will soon be the end of our long partnership. He is speechless, and I'm once again glad. It would be too gruesome if he got angry too—because I'm mad as hell tonight, and I really don't have any regard for what I'm saying to him. I'm too damn tired, and I'm too damn spent.
I scoff. "Not a damn thing. It's no wonder you went crawling back to her the minute she stepped back into your life. 'Woe is me, woe is me… Scully won't let me walk all over her. Scully won't believe my theories at the drop of a hat. Scully won't crawl into my bed…' I welcomed you to my pity party, Mulder, only because I've had a front row seat at yours for years. And you know what, I'm tired of it. So be with her Mulder. You be with her in every sense of the word, because she'll lie down and take it from you, but I won't. Not anymore, anyway." I finish my speech, and I'm huffing a bit—surprised at the intensity of my words.
I shake my head, imperceptibly, running my words around in my head. 'Scully won't crawl into my bed…' I think I may have gone a bit too far with that one, because I know I would have had he ever asked. But oh well, you can't un-ring a bell.
He's studying me now, still quiet. I'm kind of uncomfortable for a moment, but I'm not going to let him see that. Now I kind of want him to fight back. If this partnership is going to end, it might as well end with a huge bang.
He runs his hand down his face and he looks ragged. "Why is this..." he starts, "Why does this have to be…" he reconsiders. "Why is this about Diana?"
I shake my head in something remarkably close to disbelief, "Well, now, that's personal, Mulder." I say.
"It is?" he asks, somewhat sarcastically.
"Yeah, Mulder." I say around a mouthful of ice cream, about to polish off my fourth pint. "It is. But, I have a question for you."
"What's that?"
"If what happened today wasn't personal, if I'm not supposed to make this, right now, personal, if you don't consider my following you to the ends of the earth—losing my sister, contracting, battling and winning the fight over cancer via some unknown chip in my neck, then Mulder, I want to know. I really want to know, and I hope you can enlighten me… what the hell ispersonal to you?"
I set the ice cream carton down. Mulder was, yet again, silent for a moment, until he shifted almost imperceptibly toward me. "Scully, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm just really interested Mulder, in what you consider personal territory. I mean, God knows especially since she showed up you won't share anything real with me, and I probably should have seen it before… but NO, as usual, I'm conveniently blind to everything going on around me—oblivious to the goings on… and to THINK I even began to think that you could ever be…" I trailed off, realizing suddenly that my train of thought was going to lead me somewhere that I really, really did not want to go tonight. Not tonight. Not after all that's happened now.
Mulder picked up on my discomfort, as he usually does, "I could ever be what?"
I stall, picking up the empty cartons and carrying them to my kitchen. He follows me, of course. I throw the cartons away and head toward the freezer to grab another one. As I pull on the handle I am met with resistance—Mulder's hand stops the freezer door from opening, and I raise my eyebrow at him as it shuts.
"I could ever be what?" he asks again.
There's no way I'm doing it like this. No way in hell. "How about you answer my question first." I say, smiling.
He sighs. "What was your question?" I know he remembers, he just wants me to ask it again. See? He really is a bastard.
I do my best not to let him get to me, and try to ask the question with little to no annoyance in my tone—I'm not entirely sure if I succeed or not. "What is personal to you, Mulder?" I ask, trying not to clench my teeth so hard.
He takes a moment to consider my question, and then shakes his head. "I don't know what you want me to say, Scully…"
My eyes go wild. I can feel it and I can see the reflection of it in his eyes. "I want you to tell me the fucking truth, Mulder. I want you to tell me why the hell I've been following you, only to find out that when push comes to shove, when it comes to some whore in your bedroom, I'm not even ON the personal radar."
"Just tell me what you want to hear, and I'll say it." He's so goddamn compliant that it pisses me off even more—I am clearly not even worth a fight.
I am pissed. I make a sudden move for the freezer door and yank with all my might. He's caught momentarily off guard and the freezer door collides directly with his back, sending him propelling forward. Prepared, I step out of the way, and his face nearly collides with my kitchen counter. I laugh a little and I quickly whip out another pint, and he does his best to collect himself.
I lean against the freezer and smile a smug kind of smirk, one that says 'fuck you, Mulder'—and he can see right through it. As I open the ice cream I say in a smug voice that mirrors my smirk "Tell me, Mulder, what you and Diana do behind closed doors… is that personal? Or is that just professional fucking?"
He's regained his composure from his near collision, and I can see it in his face that he's pissed. 'It's about time.' I think. I see a look in his eyes, and I think that I may have just crossed the proverbial line, so to speak. But, then again, I really don't fucking care tonight.
"What do you want, huh Scully?" he says as he steps closer to me. He lowers his voice, "Do you want to hear all the gory, juicy, glorious details about me and Diana? Is that how personal you want to go?"
Shit. I wasn't ready for this. I wanted to fight, but I don't want to fight like this. Especially because I can't even remember any of the juicy details from my last affair. I steel myself, though. As unprepared as I am to hear this, there's no way in hell I'm going to let him know that.
"You seem so concerned about our relationship—mine and Diana's, so what do you want to know? You want to know what she calls me in bed? You want to know how often we fuck? Where we've done it, how long it lasts, how good she is in the sack? How she screams my name? How I scream hers? Huh? How much do you fucking want to know, Scully?"
I set my jaw, because I feel the tears spring to my eyes involuntarily. I know he sees them, but while I can't help the fact that they're present, I can make sure that I don't let them fall.
"Not so tough now, are we Scully? Come on! Call me something now. Call me a bastard, a son-of-a-bitch. Say it now, Scully." I say nothing. He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and I feel a shiver run through my body. I don't trust myself to speak just yet. "You're the one that wanted to get personal, Scully. So let's get real personal…" I still stay silent. "Oh, I know the real reason you're asking. Let me guess, it's been too long since you've had someone scream your name that you want to live vicariously through me." He smiles again, the same mirthless smile, "I get it now." He says condescendingly, leaning over me.
I can't help it. After all the shit he's said about Diana, screaming his name, but mainly him screaming hers—I can't stand it. And then he insults me like that—even if he is right, he had no right to take it that far. I really, really can't help it. I see red. I go fucking nuts, and I feel as if I may be having an out of body experience. I watch myself raise my hand high in the air, dropping the silver spoon I was holding to the ground. I hear the clink of the metal as it lands on the tile, and I feel my open hand coming down, hard and fast, and I hear the smack and feel the amazingly brutal sting of flesh against flesh—my open palm coming down hard on Mulder's face.
And it feels fucking good. So, so, so, SO good.
The force of the blow sends his head to one side, and I can already see a red spot forming where my open palm hit him. I swear I hear him exhale, under his breath "bitch," But I'm not entirely sure. Either way, I'm not shocked at my actions, I'm rather nonplussed on the outside, and I suppose on the inside I should feel mortified—but I don't. I feel justified. I feel a strange sense of vindication wash over me.
I know that slap hurt him and I'm glad that it did.
He shakes his head slightly, bringing a hand to his cheek—the five o'clock shadow evident on his face. He rubs his jaw slightly, trying to ease the pain. He licks his lips and then looks at me, smiling that cold smile again.
I say nothing.
His hand still soothing his flesh, he looks at me. "What'sa matter, Scully?" Smirk. "Jealousy got your tongue?"
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To be continued.
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