Classification: SRA
Rated: Strong R
Key Words: Mulder/Scully Romance
Spoilers: Post-En Ami
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to
Chris Carter and 10:13, but I have them
on loan for this story.
Archive: Gossamer, please. Email me before
archiving elsewhere. I don't see why I'd refuse.
Summary: A misunderstanding. A lie. A truth.

Comments: Thanks to Vickie for her wonderful,
encouraging beta! :) She helped me feel
more confident about this story.

Also, a big thankyou to Circe Invidiosa, for
the time and effort she put into creating a
beautiful web page to house my fic. Her
collages are amazing!

Finally, just a general thankyou to everyone
who's sent me supportive feedback or
recommended my fic at their site. Thanks
guys!

--------------------------------------

"I weave for you
The marvellous web
Glow in the dark threads
All neon like...

...don't get angry with yourself
I'll heal you

With a razorblade
I'll cut a slit open
And the luminous beam
Feeds you honey, heals you

Don't get angry with yourself..."

- Bjork, 'All Neon Like'





Scully is no longer who she seems to be. Not to him.

All day after their argument, and the day after that,
she tries not to believe it. But a simple truth is not
easily denied.

Mulder has stopped trusting her.

It doesn't matter what she's done or what she'll try to
do, or what he's said or hasn't said. She has lost his
trust, and blaming someone won't change the situation.
Nothing will change the situation.

There are too many options in her desolation. Too many
'or's and 'maybe's. Scully had never expected there to be
so many options. She thinks that maybe getting drunk or
smoking cigarettes might dull the pain. Or maybe not.

More disturbing - and confusing - are the questions she
finds herself asking. If she is no longer who he once
thought she was, who is she now? And who was she before?
She was a woman he trusted, of course. What kind of woman
was that? If she acted in a way that was true to her
personality, then she didn't change at all. He was wrong
to trust her if he doesn't trust her now.

And if he is indifferent to her now, does she exist at
all?

Mulder doesn't crack jokes. He doesn't make passes at
her, or even faux-pas at her. He is cool and polite. He
doesn't eat sunflowers or throw pencils at the ceiling.
It seems he is too busy hating her to do any of these
things.

She eats salad and watches him writing a report, wishing
he would complain about the paperwork or make it into an
aeroplane. If only he would do something annoying and
unexpected, or exciting. Or get excited about something.
If only he would call her in the middle of the night to
chase demons through a forest or stake out a haunted house.

There are rows of shoes in her closet, waiting to be
ruined by mud or alien slime. Donna Karen suits, freshly
pressed, waiting to be torn by claws or tree branches.
But here she is, clean and healthy, watching him from
the corner of her eye.

Scully realises it's been two weeks since he
smiled at her.

-----------------------------

Throughout his life, Mulder has been abandoned and
betrayed. He has been tortured, physically and
mentally, and he has tortured himself. He hurts all
the time, about everything. He feels guilty about
everything, and blames himself for everything.

He often thinks he can't possibly hurt any more. But
then something always proves him wrong.

Sometimes he can't tell when he's angry or worried.
There are too many 'or's sometimes. Too many 'maybe's.
Maybe Scully betrayed him, because of the person he is.
Maybe she has abandoned him, just like everyone else in
his life has. Obviously, he's not worth the effort.

Maybe he's just being an asshole.

But she's Scully, of course. She wouldn't leave him.
Even if she wanted to go, she would stay.

Scully is watching him again, from the corner of her
eye. He wonders what she's thinking. She might be
hating him, or loving him, or doing both at the same
time. He's never figured her out. Then again, he's
never really figured himself out either.

He knows he's doing the wrong thing, but he can't
seem to stop. It's her turn now, to make up with him.
Her turn to pass his muster.

There have been many times when he did what he had
to do, against her wishes. Many times he was forced
to decide - to make an impossible choice. Follow a
lead, jump on a train, or lose a connection. Leave a
cryptic clue or ignore her completely. Keep on
swimming or sink to the bottom.

All of those times he almost died, and she saved
him or tried to save him. The times when she lost
sleep and bit her nails to the quick, and wanted to
remain stoic even though everyone could tell.

The times she thought - he's left me behind because
he thinks I'm unnecessary.

Afterwards he was met by her stony silences, her cold
eyes. For hours, for days. Sometimes even for weeks
or months. Always until she felt he'd suffered enough.
The old silent treatment, dished out time and time
again. He was too afraid of her to apologise, because
she was so aloof. So able to survive without him.

Weeks have passed when she never even smiled at him.

He has nightmares where she leaves him because she
doesn't care. Because she doesn't carry his depth of
feeling.

Well, he thinks, turning his attention back to
the report. Well. Let her see how well I can survive
without her. If she can get away with this, then so
can I. Goddamn it.

He's not sure why this kind of revenge is necessary.
He's not even sure if it's revenge.

------------------------------

At five p.m., Scully packs her briefcase and walks
to the door. She pauses when she reaches it, then
turns back to face Mulder. She says, "I'm leaving,"
and tries not to sound melodramatic.

"Okay. See you tomorrow." He mumbles the words
into his open laptop.

"No, Mulder. I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" He's looking now, all right. "As in,
leaving?" Scully notes his utter disbelief, and
feels both guilty and successful.

She tries to look as cold as she can, straightening
her spine and raising her eyebrows slightly. "Mulder,
I've put in for a transfer. You obviously don't find
me necessary as a partner any longer, and I feel that
I no longer have a purpose here. My skills will be
more useful in -"

"Cut the bullshit, Scully. What are you saying?"

"I'm leaving Mulder," she empties her voice of all
emotion. "I'll send you your key."

"Scully, can we talk about this?" he stands up and
walks over to her. She braces herself for his
emotional outburst, which is sure to come soon.

"No. It's not your decision, Mulder. Nothing you say
can change my mind."

He looks on the verge of shouting, but then...

Then his expression shifts, becoming something else
entirely. He was furious, and now he's...well, now
she doesn't know what to think. She knows she was
wrong, but is too horrified to process why.

Instead of making things better, she has made them
infinitely worse.

Scully recalls the time Mulder cried by her hospital
bed at night, when she was dying of cancer. He held
onto her arm like he was dangling from a great height,
and she was all he had to cling to. He thought she
was asleep.

Sometimes he is all that keeps her from falling, too.
She wants to explain this to him.

But before she can say anything, Mulder has pushed
past her and is out the door. He slams it shut and
she can hear him running down the corridor. She has
never seen him move so quickly.

She opens the door and races after him, but the
elevator is almost closed. "Mulder? Where are you
going?"

He doesn't reply.

-----------------------------------

Scully is sobbing in the shower. The water scalds
her skin, turning her whole body scarlet. She
doesn't notice.

She lied to Mulder. She tried to manipulate him,
telling him she was leaving when really she has
no intention of doing this. She hasn't requested
a transfer.

Scully compares herself to Diana Fowley and Phoebe
Green, and decides she is out of their league. She
has far surpassed them in hurting Mulder. She has
sunk lower than both of them combined. Suddenly,
all of the hatred she's felt for them is turned
on herself.

"I wanted a reaction," she mutters into the shower
wall. "I just wanted a reaction."

Well a reaction was delivered, Dana, she thinks.
Just not the right one.

She'd wanted a heated argument. Some passion, maybe.
Like a fist slammed onto the desk, or a slap. She'd
wanted him to push her against the door and maybe
kiss her. Or something. Anything.

Enduring three weeks of his impassive face was more
than she could stand. But instead of telling him
this, she lied to him.

In an effort to bring him out of himself, she has
destroyed him.

She's never seen that look in his eyes before.
Actually, she hadn't thought such a look existed.
Because it wasn't a look. There was no look - there
was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. Before her
eyes, in a few seconds, he became a statue.

The opposite of a masterpiece. She has chiselled
him away. Broken him down to this.

Suddenly she is afraid for him.

------------------------------------

"Mulder, please. Let me in."

Scully imagines him with a gun pressed to his
throat, about to pull the trigger. Or already
slumped across his coffee table, blood and brain
matter splattered across his wall. Bile rises
in her throat but she can't stop seeing Mulder
as a cadaver. Mulder with eyes blank as marbles,
or maybe with no eyes at all.

She lets herself in with his key, while thinking
that she'd never send it back to him. She'd never
even consider doing such a thing. Never.

His apartment is dark and silent, but smells
familiar and warm. She is almost too afraid to
keep going, but manages to walk through sheer
force of will. "Mulder?" she calls, when she
reaches his living room.

He is lying on his sofa, unmoving. He's staring
at the ceiling but he isn't blinking.

Scully is going to black out. She never wants to
see light again.

Or maybe not.

Because he blinks. He doesn't even seem to be
breathing, but he blinks. There's enough light
coming from the street for her to see the
movement. His soft eyelashes flicking his skin.
Then his eyes, opening again. They don't seem to
have pupils in the light. They are dark as
obsidian.

Scully kneels beside the sofa and waits for him
to move. When he doesn't do or say anything, she
speaks instead.

"Mulder, I lied," she says softly, not touching
him. "I didn't request a transfer and I'm not
leaving. You can call Skinner to make sure I'm
not lying about this, if you want. I'd understand,
considering what I've done."

He doesn't move.

"I hope you can forgive me," she whispers, her
voice about to break. "I hope you can still
trust me, even after all of this."

Then she realises he is moving, in a way. Tears
are running from his eyes and trailing down his
cheeks. His eyes shift to meet hers. "Scully."

Suddenly everything is very clear, and bright.

---------------------------------

Mulder's kiss presses her into the sofa. His
lips are hot and rough against hers. Trapped
between his body and the leather, she becomes
smooth and fiery, like liquid metal in a mould.
She feels herself twisting inside and out, being
reshaped by Mulder's passion. Who knows how she
will end up?

He is burning her up. He is boiling her. Rational
thought floats from her head, light as steam.
Ignited, she moves beneath him like a flame.

They are kissing too much to speak - they can't
even manage names. His hands slide beneath her
shirt, stroking and plucking the bare flesh they
find. She gasps when he unhooks her bra, but
doesn't start seriously moaning until he finds
her nipples.

She feels absolutely sick with lust.

His passion is what she missed the most. What
she needs the most. And only now, when he's
finally touching her like this, can she see how
much she values it. He is so focused, so
relentless. Covering her body with his hands and
lips, making sure she feels him all over. Her
undressing is so swift that she doesn't notice.

The same passion rises in her - the same need for
him to really see, to really feel. For him to know
what he does to her. He has to know that his taste
is the only taste and his smell is the only smell.
That he's more important than the universe itself.
He has to know.

After working his shirt over his head, she tries
to taste every inch of his chest, leaving new
moon crescents with her teeth and nails. He makes
sounds like she's never heard, and she just wants
to hear more. She undoes his jeans and runs a
hand along his length, while his sharp noises of
ecstasy explode into her mouth.

They stop kissing as he pushes into her, and
she finds her voice. "I love you."

He buries his face in her neck, his tears searing
her skin. "Scully," he says, moving deeper inside
her. So deep she feels his pressure in the fine
nerves around her eyes. "Oh, I love you. God,
Scully, I love you."

His voice is guttural, primeval. She cries out in
response. Already sweaty and steaming, they are
reverting to their most basic natures.

Scully arches in pleasure, exposing more of her
skin to his roaming mouth. "Deeper," she whispers,
digging her fingers into his back. He obliges by
pulling her knees up to her breasts, and sinking
inside another inch.

If he was anyone but Mulder, he would be filling
her too much. As it is, she can't seem to get enough.

"Oh God," she groans, when he begins to move,
"Mulder, how can you feel this good? How can
anything feel this good?"

His response is to start moving faster, harder.

He's pushing her out of this world, into another
dimension. Their expression of love is too big for
this place. It belongs in an alternate plane of
existence, where there is nothing but magma and
nuclear explosions. It belongs on a hotter star
than the sun.

Their eyes are white heat, burning into each
other. They are two galaxies about to collide.

When he trails his fingers down her belly and
starts slowly circling her clit with his thumb,
the contrast between this and his sharp thrusts
forces her into oblivion.

For a few moments, there is no Scully. There is
only a body, writhing and screaming. A bundle
of singing nerves and burning blood.

Mulder follows her, out of existence.

-------------------------------

They lie meshed together in his bed.

Scully runs her hands over his shoulder blades as
he caresses the small of her back. She watches
headlights flash over his features, illuminating his
eyes. They are full of love and guilt - she doesn't
know which emotion is greater.

"I'm still not sure why I acted the way I
did," Mulder says, finally voicing the
conversation they've been having since they
moved from the sofa. "Scully, I think I wanted
your control."

"My control?"

"Your control over me...your power in our
relationship. I don't think you understand
how much you dominate me."

Her anger is almost automatic, an involuntary
reaction. She starts untangling herself from him.
"Mulder, what I did today was wrong, and I
apologised," she whispers, afraid that if she raises
her voice any higher she'll be shouting. "I've never
tried to manipulate you before, and I never
will again."

"I'm not saying that, Scully. Not that at all," he
says, panicked. He pulls her back into his arms and
she relents, sensing the deep fear in his tone. She
realises that no matter what he says, she has to hear
him out. She has to let him explain.

"Go on," she says, rubbing her nose against his
heartbeat.

"You don't do it intentionally, Scully. It's just
that no one can hurt me like you can. You can make
me feel worthless with just one look."

"Mulder, you're worth more to me than anything in
the world." She leans up to kiss him, but is stopped
by his palm to her lips.

"You're my whole world, Scully," he murmurs, "There's
a difference."

"I don't know how I can love you any more than I
do," she looks him dead in the eye, trying
desperately to make him believe her. "I don't know
if it's possible."

"I know, Scully, I just -"

Her anger takes control again, and she doesn't
let him finish. "Mulder, these past weeks...I
didn't know what to say to you. Are you telling
me you put me through this just to test me? To
see how much you can hurt me?" Her eyes never
leave his, and he feels like a specimen. A body
she is dissecting.

But he understands her intensity, and ploughs
on. "Whenever I'm angry and hurt I tend to do
stupid things, Scully. I wasn't consciously
testing you - I just wanted to lash out. I wanted
you to feel like I've felt, when the roles were
reversed. I thought it was about revenge, and by
the time I wanted to stop it was too late. I'd
already hurt you so much -" he swallows and breaks
their eye contact, staring at her chin. "I'm sorry,
Scully. For being like I am. I wish I could give
you more."

She tilts his head, forcing him to look at her. A
sudden clarity comes over her, and she knows exactly
what to say. "Sometimes I wonder why I deserve you,
Mulder."

"You deserve me? Scully -" he shakes his head, smiling
in his self-deprecating way.

"It's true," she says, "No one has ever loved me as
deeply as you, and no one ever will. You give me
everything you can Mulder, yet you still wish you
could give me more. And I struggle just to give you
tiny pieces of myself. I struggle to let go of
being alone."

"Then we're struggling equally, Scully," he whispers,
too seriously for her liking. He's trying to convince
himself, not her. "We're both afraid of being hurt," he
adds, stroking her hair behind her ear, then leaning
down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "We just
avoid each other in different ways."

"No, Mulder. That's not entirely true. You've spent the
past few years wishing you could give me more, while I've
spent them wishing I didn't love you at all."

She sees his eyes glitter with pain, so she reaches to
cup his jaw, smoothing his cheek with her thumb. "But I
do love you, Mulder," she says, "and I'm not going to
suppress it anymore. I don't want to suppress it anymore.
I'm not sure what to say to make you understand...I just
want you to know that I could never leave you. It would
be like leaving myself."

---------------------------------

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