Series: Emily Dickinson 1 Title: The Soul and The Emperor Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. Summary: M/S relationship. S, A, Deals with Arcaida SPOILER:::::US6, this is about the trust issue AUTHOR"S NOTES::: I'm going to start a series with Mulder and Scully's relationship being defined and growing within the Emily Dickinson poems. ADDITIONAL NOTE:: Thinks Soul=Scully, Emporer=Mulder ~~~~ The Soul and The Emporer ~~~~ The Soul selects her own Society-- Then--shuts she Door-- To her divine Majority-- Present no more-- Unmoved--she notes the Chariots--pausing At her low Gate-- Unmoved--an Emporer kneeling Upon her Mat-- I've known her--from an ample nation-- Choose One-- Then--close the Valves of her attention-- Like Stone-- #303, Emily Dickinson ~~~~ The music coming from her apartment was loud and crashing, like an airplane plunging into the sea over and over, with the screech of ripping metal, the engines exploding, and the rush of vacuum being filled. An electric guitar whined and he paused at her door, listening to a heavy bass progression and a clash of cymbals and drum beats. He gave up on knocking. She knew he was coming anyway. Screams issued from the speakers along with a kind of gorilla like roar of pain. Mulder opened the door with his key, hearing the tumblers in tandem with the speakers' issue of cacophony, an odd sound to place amidst the noise. He looked and saw her relatively spotless apartment, the hint of dusk making Midas jelaous with the sunset's golden hues stretching along the floor. The CD player switched noisily, though it was a welcome relief to the horrendous sounds that battled into his soul. A sorrowful voice started in with the lyrics to the next song, and he cocked his head to see if he could place the group. "I keep thinking of ways to die alone. . ." Mulder shuddered and pushed her key back into his pocket, shutting the door softly behind him, not wanting to make any more noise than the stereo. He walked in, moving to possibly turn down the man's soft crowing, before it morphed into the well known screaming alternative bands were mocked for. No screaming yet, just heavy guitar work and endless drum cymbals. As he leaned forward, he noticed a figure on the couch, and turned to see Scully, her hair all wild and spilled along the pillow like a brush fire on the plains. Eyes closed, her breath even and spaced, she was sleeping lightly. The beige of the couch highlighted her skin, tinted a healthy pink by the sun they'd gotten on their last case, and her cheeks, reddened by a bit too much sun. Silverchair. Mulder nodded to himself. He could hear it in the song now, the faint sounds of boys turned men during a career started so childish and yet, not ending as youth gave way to the better part of maturity. He wondered where she had gotten such an eclectic music selection, with her classic and soul and alternative mixed together as if they were all the same. She was asleep. Mystery of mysteries. How could she sleep with such a racket? The stereo was turned up so loud he was surprised that none of her neighbors had called the police. He notched down the volume and sat down on the chair beside her couch, resting back into it as he decided what to do. But her eyes popped open as soon as the music softened, as if it had the opposite effect of an alarm, the quietness bringing her from sleep. She saw him sitting there and blinked rapidly. "Mulder?" He nodded. "What were you doing?" She raised her eyebrow. "Why are you here?" He shrugged. "I thought you knew I was coming." She shook her head no and waited for him to continue his explanation. He really didn't have one. "How can you fall asleep to all this?" he said, switching the subject. She let it go. "It's the only way I *can* fall asleep, lately." He cocked his head and stood, gathering the CD case from the top of her stereo. "Godzilla Soundtrack?" he said, raising an eyebrow and glancing back to her. She shrugged. "Has some of my favorite bands." "The movie was pretty crappy, Scully." "The music's not." He moved back to the couch, sitting down by her feet in time to catch a slick 50's version of some Sam Spade wannabe tune that sounded out of place among the garage bands. She curled up on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her in classic defense posture. Mulder wondered how long she'd been doing that before he just now noticed. She was waiting for him to say something, to make some excuse for being at her apartment. He thought quickly, trying to come up with a plausible reason for being there, in her space, pulling on her legs as he was right then, letting her toes wrinkle in his palm. She waited, smirking almost, eyebrows raised and her toes curling, then relaxing, then curling again as his fingertips tickled her skin. Mulder finally shrugged. "I. . .I can't come up with anything good. I just wanted to be here?" As if he really wasn't sure that he wanted to be here. As if asking her if he did want to be here. She blinked, surprised and caught off guard. "You what?" He frowned. "Are you going to make me say it again?" She shrugged, as if dismissing him. "So. . ." He grinned softly, understanding her delimma, the lack of anything to say when he wasn't over for a good excuse, when they didn't have a pretext to shrug off. "Why can't we talk, Scully?" he said, knowing the answer. "We can talk. . .let me think of something," she said and frowned. He grinned larger, then smoothed his thumbs along the arch of her foot, watching as her hips curled in response. Erogenous zones were always where a person was the most ticklish. Mulder filed this away under 'fantasies' and began to rub her feet -- Scully never liked him teasing her like that. She wasn't thinking straight, and not about topics to discuss, but her mind caught on something that she didn't want to even think about. Trust. She was letting him touch her feet, one of the most ticklish places on her body, she was letting him into her apartment with no explanation, and she was letting him stay right where he was -- deeply embedded in her heart. And he didn't even trust her. "Scully?" he said, pausing to regard her face. She blinked and looked up at him, disguising her thoughts with a false smile, one that looked even more fake on her stern face. He shook his head. "Okay. What have you thought of? What kind of problem came up?" She grit her teeth and looked away, wriggling her feet to remind him of his massage. She would not let him patronize her anymore. Just because *he* couldn't come to trust her completely. She had given her trust, and she had given it freely, choosing to *stay* with him when everyone else told her to run, and he couldn't even trust her in return. As if she hadn't earned it a million times over. How do you forgive something like that? "Scully. Something's obviously wrong. And it's been wrong for awhile now." She rolled her eyes. "Really, Mulder? What gave you that idea?" He took in a breath and shook his head. "All right, I deserve that." She sighed. "No, Mulder. You don't deserve it. . ." He glanced up at her, eyes sorrowful, lips pouting as if he had an idea of what he'd done, but had no idea how to fix it. "I'm just frustrated." He nodded. "I am too. I thought that undercover assignment would be fun, something to get us back on track." She looked at him with a soft smile, reaching down to take his hand. "It just wasn't the right time, Mulder. It rubbed salt on wounds I didn't even know were there." Mulder's face looked up in surprise and she realized she'd said more than she ought. Licking her upper lip, she moved her eyes from his line of sight, wishing there was some other way to explain her fears without exposing so much of her inner self. Inner self. Ha. As if her every dream and thought and idea about Mulder wasn't clearly seen in her actions at every second. Needling him about Diana, ignoring him when he refused to tell, commenting about his nasty video habits, finding a crazed lover in every woman who came close to him. . .this had been her litany the past few months, the past few *years* -- it was surely obvious. Ha. Mulder let it drop, but his face was thoughtful, his eyes searching for some kind of glance from her, some signal about what he needed to do. He was tired of doing the *proper* thing; he wanted to do the *different* thing. The happiness thing, the love thing, the life thing. She could be jealous sometimes, could be so annoyingly obtuse about how obsessed she was with him, but she didn't ever retaliate. No. She pulled tighter into herself, lashing out at him when his own defenses were down, turning her countenance to stone. All of the former touches, the affection, the thoughts that poured from her eyes were simply turned off. Gone. It was like a void opening in his soul. Most women flirted and showed off, made an effort to get the guy back, but not Scully. No. He snorted, making her look up at him in a mixture of surprise and anticipation. She thought he might have decided something, he might have finally come to a conclusion about them. He met her eyes, hands absently rubbing her feet. How could he understand their relationship when she constantly changed on him? One moment, he thought they could be anything together, that they could be so united, so *one* that nothing could stop them. And the next second, she was so far out of his reach that he felt it hopeless. She sensed his hesitation, and turned her eyes away. Angry, even frightened this would be it, this would be his final chance, he grabbed her arm. Scully merely rose her eyebrows, as if nothing had passed between them, as if their silent communication had never happened. "Don't *do* that!" he said, growing furious. She blinked. "What." He shook his head. "You just change on me. One moment, I can see everything in you, and the next you're like stone." Her face hardened even further and he could tell he had said something very wrong, something to hurt her without meaning it. "Don't you mean ice, Mulder? That's the name, right?" To anyone else, her voice was steady, solid, but to Mulder, he knew he had deeply wounded her. Would she cry if he left her here alone? The crushing knowledge was, he *didn't* know. He slowly shook his head, letting her see that he meant his words with all seriousness. "No, Scully. I mean stone. Living and breathing stone. You're not cold, not in the least. I saw you cold, trapped in that green chamber. . .I never want to see that again." She blinked again, finding it hard to stay resolute as he switched topics. Always changing, Mulder was. Changing the subject, changing his moods, changing his concern. "I trusted you. . .I trusted you." He bit his lip. "What's changed? Scully, tell me nothing's changed." She sighed; Mulder looked desperate. "Everything's changed." He shook his head. "Why do you shut me off? Because you don't trust me?" She shook her head no, then stopped, freezing with the thoughts. Looking down at the couch, watching his still hands on her calves, fingers stroking her skin, she slowly faced her own truth with a whisper of words. They were almost too easy to say. "Yes. Yes." He was devestated. Sick. He wanted to cry. She'd never made him want to cry before. Not consciously. Cancer, yes. This was worse. But a determined look shone in his eyes. "How do I change that?" She was blinking away tears now, not surprise. "By trusting me. . .I trusted you to trust me when it matters, trust me *all* the time, and you don't." He shook his head. "Scully, I *told* you-" She stood suddenly. "Well maybe you should stop talking and start believing it." He stepped back from the couch, stunned, hands coming to his gut as if he'd been shot. She closed her eyes and turned away, moving back to her bedroom. It was a clear signal. Don't follow. She was on her own, cut free from him now. She wasn't going to let him back in again. ~~~~ end adios RM