Hey kids, sorry it's taken me so long. Sometimes I really suck at life.
Reviews brought me back though, I swear it.
This one isn't as biting as the previous ones--it was somewhat hard to channel that immense anger being as bogged down as I am.
But, Scully can't stay completely mad forever, now, can she?

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For a moment, I'm speechless. He has hit the nail on the head, and his smug look cuts right through to my heart. I avert my gaze from his eyes and focus on trying to keep the tears at bay.

I chastise myself again for letting him get to me like this. I take a deep steadying breath before I smile a little, give a little ironical laugh.

"Fuck you, Mulder." I say, enunciating the phrase perfectly with venom coursing underneath the sweet exterior.

His eyes flash something unreadable, "Sorry, sweetie, job's already taken." He says, leaning over me.

I feel the need to vomit. The first pet name Mulder's ever called me and he's using it sarcastically. Fan-fuckingtastic. When did my life get so good?

"You are such an asshole. No, I really mean it, Mulder. I've dealt with a lot of men in my life—all shapes, sizes and degree of assholedom, but there is no doubt in my mind that you asbo-fucking-lutely take the cake. You sonofabitch." I nearly choke on the last word as I spit it out all at once.

"Wait, there's a phrase I've never heard."

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"No doubt in Scully's mind. Wow. I wish I had a tape recorder for that one."

I look at him snidely. "Like I said, Mulder, Fuck You."

He scoffs. Scoffs. The asshole actually scoffs. "And like I said, Scully…"

I don't let him finish. Instead, I push my hands into his chest unexpectedly and he moves backward enough for me to get out of the way. I slam the pint down on the counter and leave the kitchen heading for the living room.

I can't hear his steps but my heart knows he's following behind me.

"Aw, no more ice cream?" he says, sickly, falsely sweet again.

I turn on my heel and look at him, making sure there's enough distance between us. I don't know that I'm fully responsible for my actions tonight, and I may end up slugging him the next time we make contact.

"No. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach—and seeing as I was feeling fine until an asshole showed up at my door, I think it's directly relational to you. So thanks, Fox, for ruining yet another thing in my life!"

"Oh, God, give blaming me a rest tonight, will you? How 'bout you take some responsibility for your actions."

"Oh wait, this is amazing—Fox Mulder, reject of the FBI is going to lecture me on taking responsibility for my actions."

He flinches a little at my insult. "Yeah, Scully, you've followed me—you've been there. But I never asked you to."

Ouch. That hurt. A lot.

I choke back the feeling as he continues "I never asked you to be there by my side. So maybe you should stop blaming me and ask yourself why you've chosen to follow me."

I already know the answer. I've always known the answer. But I'm not telling him what it is.

"Fine, Mulder. I'll do some soul searching. But if I'd have known this whole time that you didn't want me by your side, if you would have told me that, it could have saved us both a lot of trouble." And a lot of fucking hurt.

"I didn't say that." He says, nice for the first time since this fight became two-sided.

I say nothing.

He just stares at me. I want so badly to be angry like I was a few minutes ago, but all I feel is hurt. Deep hurt coursing through my veins, making its way through my entire body and I feel almost like I can't breathe. I don't know how to play this anymore. I'm so tired of playing, of wanting, of being…this. Whatever this thing is between us that just became so toxic today.

It's suffocating me, and I don't know if I have the energy to do it anymore. Any of it. The fighting, the flirting, the laughing, the crying—I just don't know if it's there.

"What?" he asks, clearly sensing a change in my mood.

I look at him—and I think. I think about today, about the things I've said, the things he's said—I think about our partnership and all we've been through together and I hurt but I set my jaw. If it's going to end, it'll be tonight—here, on my terms.

I feel my eyes glaze over and I feel my mood shift—coursing back into anger, although it's more like mock anger now because I can't feel anything except the hurt.

"What's it like, Mulder?" I say, taking a flippant seat on the couch.

He sighs. "What's what like?" he asks, an exasperated look passing over his face.

I pick up a magazine and casually begin flipping through it. Inside, my stomach is in knots—I don't want to do this, but it's all I can think to do.

"Being with her." I say nonchalantly.

He closes his eyes.

I continue flipping the pages, "I mean, really, tell me all the gory, juicy, glorious details like you promised. I mean, what's she like? What's it like together? How often?" I start flinging questions at him, the pace getting faster as I try to keep my stomach from curdling.

"Scully, don't." he says on a breath.

I look at him then, in mid-flip, "Come on, Mulder. I really want to know." My eyes are cold, I know they are—a drastic guise to cover the real emotion up—"How good is she? On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, where does she fall?"

He sets his jaw, too—and I know I've made him angry again. "She's off the charts, she's the best I've ever had." He says, looking me square in the eye.

The tears spring to my eyes again, and I look down at the magazine, the words blurred by the tears. I concentrate on not allowing them to make their way to my voice when I say, "Good. That's good. I know it's been a long time since I've had an orgasm at someone else's hand…" I begin with surprising meanness, recalling his earlier statement, "but with a record like yours I'm sure 'the best you've ever had' is a wonderful compliment."

He moves closer, unsure of his next move. "Scully…" he begins.

"When did it start, Mulder?" I ask, unable to play anymore.

He shifts his eyes downward. "Scully…" he says again, softly.

"When did it start?" I question again curtly, but not harshly.

He comes to me then, and sits next to me on the couch. My eyes stay glued to the magazine, I can't afford to look at him now. If I do, it'll all be in the open—it'll all be there in my face, everything I feel, everything I've been feeling for years, and I can't afford to lose that tonight, too. My dignity.

"Look at me, Scully."

"I think I deserve to know."

We say these phrases simultaneously. I ignore his request.

"You do deserve to know. Look at me, Scully." He says again.

"God, you really are a sadistic bastard, aren't you? You want me to look at you when you say it? Fine." I raise my eyes to meet his. "There. I'm looking at you. How fucking long has it been, Mulder? When did it start?"

He sighs again. "It didn't."

My mouth falls open in an expression of what can only be described as incredulity.

"Don't fucking patronize me, Mulder. I've had about all I can handle tonight."

"Jesus, Scully, I'm not patronizing you. It didn't start. Diana and I are not fucking. We haven't since she left years ago."

I am speechless yet again, but eventually recover my sense of speech, "So this was just… what? A game? A game? Is that all this was to you, a game?" I feel the anger rising again.

"No." he says.

"Then what the fuck was it, Mulder?"

"I just though that…" he trails off.

"Oh this'll be good. You just thought what, Mulder? That you'd waltz in here and hurt me like that because you felt like it? And you talk about not being personal!"

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Scully, I came over here to apologize!"

"Then why did you say those…things?" I say, throwing my hands up in the air.

"Because I was pissed, Scully."

"You were pissed?"

"Not when I first came over here, but when I said those things, yes, of course I was pissed. And you were jealous."

I avert my eyes. "Fuck." I say, not quite knowing what to say next.

"God, Scully, won't you just say it? Won't you just admit it?"

I take a deep breath—"Yeah, I was jealous."

"That's not what I want you to admit. Just say it Scully. Tell me why you were jealous."

I don't say anything—I look at him, and I see something in his eyes that I'd convinced myself I hadn't seen since Diana came back into his life. I can never quite give it a name except to say that it's beautiful and right and pure.

"Tell me."

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TBC

I was planning on finishing it all tonight
That [clearly just didn't happen.
Thanks for reading.
I'll try to update relatively soon.
Reviews would be nice to ease my troubled mind if you're feeling up to it.