"Divided We Fall" by Dianora 1/8 Started sometime in December 1995 (I think); completed 4/96. I'm going to have Author's Notes at the end of this part, explaining my reasons for doing this. Right now I'd like you to jump right in. Rated R for language and adult situations. This story is full of third season spoilers, so beware. The X-Files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other character in here who appeared on "The X-Files" belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. Cecelia and Colin are mine. Cecelia is a reappearance of a character I created in a non-XF story I wrote in college. Right now this story is for the EMXC; please don't distribute it anywhere else unless you ask me first. I promise I'll say yes. This is not a romance. The UST level, however, is off the chart. :-) Thanks to Ubershlamp and XFScully for acting as my technical advisors on New Orleans. Thanks to KMNAHILL for the free medical advice. Special thanks to MD1016 for raving about this story and thereby encouraging me (as well as helping me iron out a few plot points). Also thanks to KMNAHILL and Kuusamo for their support. :-) I don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours I don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey Hidden in the bottom drawer I don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine Lend me some fresh air I don't want to be adored for what I merely represent to you I don't want to be your babysitter You're a very big boy now I don't want to be your mother I didn't carry you in my womb for nine months Show me the back door Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6 Well I already know that you'd find some way to sneak me in and oh Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom You see it's too much to ask for and I am not the doctor I don't want to be the sweeper of the eggshells that you walk upon I don't want to be your other half I believe that 1 and 1 make 2 I don't want to be your food or the light from the fridge on your face at midnight Hey what are you hungry for I don't want to be the glue that holds your pieces together I don't want to be your idol See this pedestal is high and I'm afraid of heights I don't want to be lived through A vicarious occasion Please open the window Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6 Well I already know that you'd find some way to sneak me in and oh Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom You see it's too much to ask for and I am not the doctor I don't want to live on someday when my motto is last week I don't want to be responsible for your fractured heart and its wounded beat I don't want to be a substitute for the smoke you've been inhaling What do you thank me What do you thank me for --Alanis Morrisette, "Not the Doctor" The police station bustled around us in a flurry of activity as I listened to Officer Jensen hit on me. I observed his style objectively, with scientific interest, almost like a sociologist, taking mental notes on the Mating Habits of the Rural and Desperate. He wasn't that bad-looking really, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a dusting of freckles across his nose. It was just his youthful eagerness that was so damn annoying, that made me want to pull my hair out at the roots rather than hear another hayseed line come out of that thin-lipped mouth. Still, I forced myself to listen and smile pleasantly, since making nice with the local law enforcement had practically become part of my job description. "So I guess you've seen some pretty gross stuff, huh," he was saying, his hands fiddling with the brim of his uniform cap. "Yes, I have," I said coolly. I looked into his blue eyes and wondered if mine had ever held such child-like innocence. I felt old, suddenly. Old and almost as desperate as he was. "Wow. Most women wouldn't be able to handle that sort of thing -- I mean," he added hastily, seeing my raised eyebrow, "uh, most women I know wouldn't...that is..." I smothered a grin as he floundered. Poor kid. "Report's filed," came a deep, familiar voice from behind me. I turned gratefully to look up at my partner. Rescued at last. "Ready to go?" he asked. "Yes," I said quickly. "Officer Jensen, it was a pleasure meeting you." I turned my most brilliant smile on him for fun and was gratified to see his eyes widen. "Yes, ma'am," he gulped, eyeing the possessive hand my partner had placed on my back. "Have a good day." We were more than halfway to the car in the municipal parking lot before I got it. "Hope I didn't break up plans for a hot date," he said predictably, in his usual deadpan. "What's the matter, Mulder? Afraid you'll be left alone to the adult film selection of the night back at the motel?" "Not afraid, Scully. Hopeful." I glared at him, and was rewarded with one of those maddening grins that made me want to throw him down on the pavement and fuck his brains out. Not that that would ever happen. Well, maybe someday, but who has the luxury for that sort of fantasy? I settled instead for giving him a slight punch on the arm, which he accepted good-naturedly. I was so glad he seemed to be in a better mood today, now that Lisa Hayes was safe and sound at home with her mother. Now that we knew for sure that a sick man, who was now behind bars, had been responsible for her abduction, and not little gray men. Mulder had, of course, tried to pretend throughout the investigation that the situation wasn't eating him up inside, wasn't tormenting him the way these abduction cases always did, but I knew better. I was the one who had held him every night for the past two weeks until his nightmares subsided. I silently prayed that tonight would be different, that we would both get a good night's sleep. He noticed me studying him--I wasn't even consciously aware I had been doing so-- and shot me an inquisitive look. "What is it, Scully?" "Nothing," I lied, and waited for him to unlock the car. **** I awoke in the middle of the night to the familiar sound of screams emanating from the room next door. Jesus Christ, he's going to wake the whole motel, I thought tiredly. I hopped out of bed and threw open the door that separated our adjoining rooms. I was greeted with an all too familiar sight: Mulder thrashing about in sheets soaked with sweat, his cries drowning out the low sounds of the television he had left on in an effort to stay awake. I shut the TV off and approached the bed, saying his name softly at first, then gradually louder. "Mulder! Mulder, wake up." I hesitantly reached out to shake his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't lash out at me in his sleep, as he had done on numerous occasions. Instead his eyes flew open and he jolted upright in bed, looking around the room with an unseeing stare for heart-stopping seconds until he finally settled on me. Relief flowed through me and my shoulders sagged as recognition flickered on his face. He exhaled loudly. "Scully." "I'm here, Mulder." I sat down next to him on the bed as he reached for me. He held me tightly for long moments, smoothing my hair, assuring himself of reality. I breathed in the scent of him, of stale aftershave and sweat, and wondered if he had any idea how draining these late-night sessions were becoming for me. He finally released me, but kept one hand resting on my arm, clinging to normalcy. "I want you to take a sleeping pill," I told him. "No." It was a familiar argument, one I was getting tired of repeating. "Yes." "No! You know I hate what those things do to me." "I just want you to take one. Please." He opened his mouth to protest, and something snapped inside of me. "Godammit, Mulder, has it ever occurred to you that maybe *I'd* like to get a good night's sleep for once on this trip?" As soon as the words were out, I covered my mouth with my hand in horror. My God, did I really just say that out loud? The haunted look on his face assured me that I had. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "You're absolutely right. I'll take the pill." "Mulder, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" "I said I'll take the damn pill, Scully." Like an automaton I went to my room, retrieved the small white pill, and handed it to him wordlessly. He swallowed it dry without looking at me and curled back up on the bed in a heart-wrenching fetal position. Guilt and regret hammered at me until I climbed in beside him and placed my hand on his bare back, ignoring the physical effect the contact had on me. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," I ventured in a conciliatory tone. "Okay," he whispered. And I stayed, gently tracing soft circles on his back until he slipped into unconsciousness, and then finally I drifted off as well, snuggled up against his warm skin. **** When I woke the next morning, he was already showered and dressed and adjusting his god-awful tie in front of the mirror above the dresser. "Good morning," he said. It took me a minute to remember why I had been sleeping in Mulder's bed. "Sorry, Mulder," I yawned. "I must have fallen asleep last night before I could make it back to my room." "Sure, Scully. Was it good for you, too?" he asked, mock-innocent. I threw a pillow at him, which he calmly batted out of the way before pulling his trenchcoat from the closet. "Where are you going?" I asked, having a feeling I already knew the answer. He avoided my eyes. "I'm just going to stop by the Hayes house before we have to leave for the airport, make sure Lisa is okay." "Mulder, I don't think that's a good idea. We've already filed a report. Our job here is finished." He slipped on his coat, did a routine check for gun, wallet, ID. "Can we please not make an issue out of this?" he scowled. I stared at him stonily, refusing to let him get away with this, if for no other reason, than for his own mental health. "You made this an issue the second you became too emotionally involved with this case. This has been the Lucy Householder/Amy Jacobs case all over again with you. And after that, you were depressed for weeks." I did not want either of us to have to go through that again. His eyes narrowed, and I instantly knew I had made a major tactical error. "I'm so sick of this judgmental attitude!" he exploded, and I flinched in spite of myself. "You never become too attached to a case, do you, Agent Scully? Or have you forgotten Kevin Cryder? Or Luther Lee Boggs?" I froze at the mention of that last name. "That's not fair, Mulder. That was different," I said softly. "If you say so, *Dana*." I winced at the harsh tone he used on my first name. And suddenly he was gone. **** I heard the door to his room open and close forty minutes later, but refused to go to him, spending the rest of the morning instead reading the paper and having a big breakfast courtesy of room service. The ride to the airport later passed in oppressive, tension-filled silence until finally I couldn't take it anymore, even if it did mean me giving in first. I silently promised myself that next time I would hold out longer. "Did you get to see Lisa?" I asked, proud of myself for being the one to offer the olive branch. "She was sleeping," he said evasively. "Mrs. Hayes didn't let you in, did she, Mulder." A quiet statement of fact, but you'd think I'd accused him of murder from the way his shoulders hunched up and his fingers clenched the steering wheel. "No." As I looked at his familiar profile my maternal instinct kicked in and I wanted nothing more than to take him in my arms like a child and tell him everything would be okay. But I knew I would just be lying. "Did you really expect her to? She and her family have been through enough in the past two weeks," I said gently. "Scully, I know I've been a total asshole," he said by way of an answer, changing the subject with his usual skill. "And what I said earlier, about Boggs...that was out of line." "Yes, it was." He stared at the road in front of him, his knuckles white from the death grip he had on the wheel. "And I know you think I got too close to this one, but I didn't. Not any more so than usual." For such an intelligent man he was extremely dense when he wanted to be. "Mulder, that's exactly it," I said quietly. "You get like this every time we have an abduction case. And every time you worry the hell out of me." "Scully, I already have a mother, and one is more than enough," he snapped. "Is that how you see it?" I demanded, shocked, suddenly regretting wanting to take him in my arms. "I'm *mothering* you?" "Forget it." Not in this lifetime. "No, I will *not* forget it. Everything I do for you I do because I'm your partner, Mulder. Your partner and your friend. And if you have a problem with any of that, just let me know, because I sure as hell could use the free time." He pulled the car to the side of the road, shut off the ignition, and turned to me. I braced myself for a verbal onslaught, but to my surprise he unhooked his seatbelt and slid over to me instead, resting his hand gently on mine. "God, I really am an asshole," he said with an air of self-reproach. "I get all worked up over these cases and then I take it out on you. I don't know why you put up with me." "I'm a masochist," I grumbled. He *almost* cracked a smile at that. "Look, everything I said in this car, forget it. It never happened." I caught his gaze and held it, refusing to let it drop that easily. "Why won't you just open up to me?" I whispered. "Let me in, Mulder. Tell me what you're feeling, what you're going through, and I can help you. Don't you trust me enough to do that?" He shook his head sadly. "It's not a matter of trust, Scully. It's a lot more complicated. And I don't want you wrestling with my personal demons any more than you already have to." "Don't you understand?" I asked, finding it hard to believe that even after all this time, he just didn't get it. "That's what friends do for each other. They listen. And they help." He didn't say anything, just looked at me with that same haunted look from the night before and restarted the car. **** I came home, as usual, to an empty apartment, the room dark and the light on my answering machine glowing steadily, unblinking. I tossed my luggage aside, got out of my work clothes as quickly as possible and slipped into my ratty, oversized terrycloth robe. I toyed with the idea of fixing myself a drink, but soon decided I didn't need anything messing with my emotions or my libido, making me even more depressed. Instead I made myself a steaming mug of hot cocoa, complete with mini-marshmallows, and curled up on the couch with the latest Anne Rice novel, determined to enjoy a quiet evening relaxing, forgetting about work, about the case, about him. Within minutes the book was set aside and forgotten. Nice try, Dana, I thought ruefully. My mind would just not let go of the look on Mulder's face in the car that afternoon, that lost little boy look that tore away a piece of my soul every time I saw it. Why, after all this time, did he still refuse to let me in? And why did I keep pushing? What was I getting out of it? Night after night of sitting in an empty apartment, pretending that the gaping loneliness didn't bother me? I absentmindedly rubbed the scar on the back of my neck, as I had been doing all too often lately. Images came flashing back to me unbidden, the white light, Ishimaru looming over me, and those women, those damn eerie women holding up their implants in little glass vials... ---searingburningpiercingblindingwhereamIwhat'shappeningtome--- I shook my head violently, pushing the thoughts aside, refusing to linger there in my head, refusing to consider the implications that Betsy Hagopian dying a slow and painful death held for me. The first few times the memories had started to come back I found myself hunched over the toilet, retching. At least I was starting to handle it a little better. I was so sick of it all, I realized wearily. Sick of thinking about the damn implant, sick of constantly looking over my shoulder, sick of feeling for the comforting weight of my gun every time I turned the key in the lock of my apartment door. Sick of Mulder needing me desperately and at the same time pushing me away. Hell, I was even sick of the goddamn X-Files. Just plain sick. But what could I do about it? Go to Club Med? Jump on a plane and fly the friendly skies the hell out of here? Not likely. But then again.... Why not? I certainly had the time saved up; I didn't even know what I was saving it for. A vacation. Alone. Time away from the X-Files, from the FBI, from wearing business suits every day...and time away from Mulder. I wasn't sure how I felt about that last part. I would miss him, absolutely, I would miss him desperately, but I would also be free. Free from nightmares, from frenzied quests, from panicked phone calls in the middle of the night. God, that was so selfish. Mulder needed me, I had no illusions about that. He'd needed me from the instant he realized that even if I thought he was crazy, I'd never mock him, and I'd always go along for the ride. But what about my needs? What about the fact that I felt like I was hurtling toward burnout with no one there to catch me when I fell? Maybe just a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks somewhere remote, somewhere I could lose myself in being just another person. I'd at least give it some serious thought, I promised myself, and picked up the Rice novel again, which was a vacation of sorts in itself, really, even if it was only for a few hours and all in my head. **** The phone rang in the middle of the night, jerking me awake, making my heart race and the blood pound in my ears until I gained the presence of mind to pick up the receiver. "Hello?" "Scully? Sorry to wake you." "That's okay, Mulder. Another nightmare?" I yawned and checked the clock. Three A.M. Wonderful. "Yeah," he whispered. "Pretty bad." "Do you want me to come over?" "No." "Do you want to come over here?" "No. I just....needed to hear your voice." "Okay." It was as if we were reading from a script, we had been through this so many times before. "Could you maybe just...just stay on the line until I fall asleep?" he asked. "Just so I know you're there?" "Sure. It's your phone bill," I joked lamely. "Yeah." I forced myself to stay awake until Mulder's breathing slipped into the deep breaths of slumber, then I allowed myself to fall back to sleep as well, telephone receiver still pressed against my ear. End Part 1. Author's Notes: If you're reading this, thank you for staying with me this far. This story evolved out of a couple of things: the first, the fact that I enjoy writing in first person more than third person, and just about every non-XF story I've ever written was written in first person, so why not an XF story? The second factor was a desire to portray Scully as a real flesh and blood woman, as a *real* human being, and as a sexual creature, which I feel often does not come across in the show. The third factor was that this season has increasingly made me wonder just what the heck a woman like Scully is doing with a freak like Mulder. Not that I don't love the man myself, but he's not exactly every woman's dream. Why hasn't she gotten sick of him yet? And what would happen if she did? Finally, I just wanted to get inside Scully's head. :) I want to stress that this is *my* interpretation of Scully, and it is not necessarily the "right" one. You are more than welcome to disagree with the way I am presenting her. I just hope you can enjoy the way I am interpreting her, even if you disagree with it.:) And BTW, there will be more of a plot than you've seen here, I promise. I would love to get feedback on this story, since it really is my baby -- I put a lot of effort into this one. Let me know what you think at Dianora2@aol.com. end part 1