of a Heart
Author: Gabi Fisher
Feedback: I'd love some :)
Disclaimer: CC, FOX, and everybody down in LA owns them, not me. I'll give 'em back when I'm done playing.
Summary: Scully reflects over the night's events.
Dusk had settled, and the stars were beginning to peek through the dark, velvety sky. Stars, glistening like they were tonight, always reminded me of tears. I don't really know why, but they do.
I donít even know how it started. All I do know is that I am alone now. Alone and staring through my tears at the mess our anger caused. Shattered pieces of our mugs lay in pools of tea, cold long ago. If I had had any energy left, I would have gone to clean it up. Instead, here I sat at my kitchen table, reflecting over our harsh exchange of words.
We had both been tired. Tired and stressed. Not a good combination. I had questioned his beliefs, and he had questioned my motives. We both questioned each otherís trust. Anger soared, a fight ensued, and he stormed out, leaving me somewhere between angry, hurt, and repentant.
As hard as I tried, I could not think of anything else. Slowly and painfully, the evening replayed itself in my mindÖ
* * *
We had finally finished our case out in the middle of nowhere and flown back into DC, weary and exhausted. We decided that neither of us was in a mood to be alone. I only wish I had known then how wrong we had beenÖ I invited Mulder to my apartment. I said we could rent movies or call in dinner or just talk. Something. Anything normal people did in their spare time.
He agreed, and instead of dropping me off and then continuing home, Mulder came up to my apartment with me. I kicked off my shoes after entering, and Mulder made himself comfortable in a kitchen table chair. I quickly called for some pizza to be delivered and set about making some tea. Chamomile tea, to be exact. My favorite kind. Mulder seems to like it too, since of the small variety I keep in my cupboards, he always chooses chamomile. While I worked in the kitchen, Mulder sat, facing me, at the table. He said nothing, but watched my every movement. Once, a long, long time ago, it used to bother me when he watched me like that. I felt unnerved and conscious of my every action when his hazel eyes followed my movements. Now, it is almost comforting.
I poured the steaming water into two mugs, added two scoops of sugar to mine and three to his, and brought them both to the table. I sat down across from Mulder. "Theyíre very hot," I warned him. Mulder took a sip from his anyway. "I like it hot," he replied.
I shrugged and wrapped my hands around the mug, to warm them while waiting for my tea to cool. "You know, sometimes I wonder which lies to believe," Mulder stated.
I looked up, questioningly. He continued, "The truth, the *real* Truth, is hidden under so many layers of lies, that to get to it, one must first unravel the web of deceit. We are so immersed in the lies that, at times, I wonder which ones we should trust. Which ones will lead us to the Truth."
I sighed. "Sometimes, Mulder, I think that there is no Truth. I think that the Truth itself is a lie. An idea fabricated for those like you, who are willing to give their entire being into attempting to find it," I said. I had not meant for it to be hurtful, I was just commenting on what Mulder had said. But he took it the wrong way. I could sense it. Before I had a chance to try to mend my err of my ways, he spoke again, angrily this time.
"What do you mean? That everything I have ever done has been in vain? That everything Iíve ever looked for is not really there?"
"Have you been part of this fabrication? After all, you were sent to work with me to spy on me. To shut me down," Mulder yelled. By this point, he had stood up. He swung his arm, and either intentionally or accidentally the mug flew from his hand. It hit the nearest wall, and with a loud crack, shattered into dozens of small ceramic chips. The tea splattered across the wall and the floor. Slowly, it dripped down the walls onto the floor. Neither of us paid any attention to its path. We were too busy glaring at each other. "Are you in on this, the biggest of lies? How much *do* you know about it?"
Now I became angry. Only, whereas when angry, Mulder yells, my own voice becomes quietly lethal. "How *dare* you question my role in the X-Files? I have worked *just* as hard as you have since I was assigned to them. I give my all to my job. It is no longer even just a job. The X-Files have taken over my life. Every decision I make revolves around either you or them. Almost everything I have lost since I started working with you has been due to my job. Every death, every illness can be attributed to it. *All* of it, Mulder. I am just as deep in this as you are." At one point, while I was talking, I had stood up. Inadvertently, in the process I had knocked my own mug to the floor. The hot water splattered across my bare feet, but I barely acknowledged the pain. It was overshadowed by my anger.
"What have you lost Scully? Your father was not on Their side. Your mother did not stop acknowledging your existence years ago. It was not your sister who was abductedó" Mulder started to say when I interrupted him.
"I *did* lose my sister, Mulder!" I shouted. "They were trying to kill me, but instead they killed my sister! Do *not* try and tell me I have not lost as much as you. I lost months of my life, which I will never recover, and most likely never even discover what happened to me during that time. My body was invaded by an unknown cancer. I live in fear everyday that it will come back, that I am not rid of that curse. I know for a fact that you sure as hell do not. You donít worry about every nose bleed, every pain in your body. I play my cards fairly. They are clear to everyone to see. I do not play games with others. I do not trust them one moment, and then revoke that trust the next." More quietly, I added, "I donít know how much longer I can go on like this. I live in almost constant fear, and I donít even know where I stand with you anymore. Itís like a constant game of push-and-shove, of tug-of-war. What I donít think you realize is that one can only be pushed so far. One day the rope will break, and by that time differences can not be mended. Bonds will be permanently broken." My anger had dissipated, leaving behind the pain of a bruised pride, and a deep sadness over the situation. Tears welled in my eyes, and I fought to keep them from rolling down my face. I could not crack. Not now. Not in front of Mulder.
For a moment, Mulder was speechless. Finally, he spoke. His tone was overly controlled, and yet still taut with unspoken anger. "I suppose you are right. Maybe we need time apart. Maybe what we need are reassignments," he said. He stared at me for a few seconds longer, before walking out of my apartment.
With the slamming of my front door, I sank back into my chair, resting my face in my hands, and gave in to my tears. By the time I had calmed, the sun was already hidden below the horizon. I felt hollow. Like my insides had been shredded, my heart and soul flushed out by my tears. I knew I was wrong though, because the pain I felt needed a heart and soul, for the pain I felt was that of a broken heart and a crushed soul.
* * *
Eventually, I rose from my chair. I walked into the kitchen, barely feeling the pricks of the ceramic shards that were strewn across my floor. I picked up the broom, and began to sweep up the broken pieces of mug. As I swept, I compared the mugs to Mulder and me. Incredibly strong, and yet at the same time incredibly fragile. If not handled properly, it could easily be shattered into a thousand pieces. Once broken, almost impossible to put back together. Even if it was possible to put back together again, it would never be the same as before and it would never again be whole. Pieces would undoubtedly be missing, gone forever.
I just prayed that our relationship was not as splintered as the mugs I swept into a dust pan and carried to the trash. I prayed that it was not our life blood spilled on my kitchen tile as the tea was. For if it was, I do not think we could ever put ourselves back together.