Shambles By RocketMan lebontrager@iname.com Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No infringement is intended. Dedication: This is for Lori, my manager, friend, and encourager while we're at work. You have to put up with a lot, babe. Hope everything goes well for you in your new job. CONTENT::::M/S UST, This is SEASON 1, simply because it fits in better. Scully is a bit more innocent, a bit more unsure of herself. Mulder still isn't sure if he can completely trust her, but he knows she's important to him and his work. ~~~~~ Shambles ~~~~~ "what does this mean to see walking men wrapped in the color of death, to hear from their tongue such difficult syllables?" --Lucille Clifton, 'seeker of visions' ~~~~~ She walked through the door again with the tattered edges of her dignity clutched in white knuckled fingers. Slipping past his look, her eyes drifted off to the places her mind had forged from harshly worded phrases and the accusations of jealous men. Dana Scully could not tell him what she had heard. She could not ask him to think of such things. But the truth churned inside her like magma angry for lava, angry for release, and she sank to the chair in front of his desk in surrender. "Scully?" It was a soft frightened sigh from his lips that reached into her, plucking the harp string that sung now, the cord one of discontent, of half assured fear. "Yes." She speaks hushed, cowed by the meeting she was called to only three hours before. Three hours. It must have really been days to her, it must have been thirty years of oppression and only now was she giving up her rebellion, only now. "The meeting, Scully." As if he would have to remind her. He stood and crossed before her, to sit on his desk, so close, too close, maybe. Maybe he was always too close and only now would she notice this. Before, it was simply Mulder. Before. Only now would this be a sure sign to her, only now would their words hurt her. "They . . . Mulder, they're accusing you of sexual harassment." His eyes shaded over and his face reacted to her news with what she thought was disbelief. "What?" His hands were catching the edges of the desk like a man drowning, reaching for the edges of a rope that hadn't been tossed to him yet. "Sexual harassment, Mulder. For three hours, they . . . tricked me." Now it was betrayal, echoed by her own eyes, reflected in his set mouth, tensed shoulders. "Tricked." he said hollowly. She didn't want to be saying this to him, and she didn't want or understand the full consequences yet. "Their questions didn't lead there at first. They were innocent, although strange. I didn't think they'd take my words and twist them . . . twist them to that." "What are you talking about?!" he cried and lurched on the desk, his face so close, too close. Her flinch made him stop, horrified. "You think I harass you. You think they're right." There was no question. He couldn't believe it. He felt crushed, lost, desparate. The truth. The truth. She couldn't answer. He leaned back, away, closed down the parts of him that depended upon her acceptance of him, which meant he was little or nothing at all. Grabbing his coat, Fox Mulder shut the door on his partnership. Shut the door with the intention of forever. ~~~~~ "I did not want to be stuck one second longer than I had to be there, stuck inside the door. I'm always scared I'll slam my fingers in the door, Cause the last time that I left I slammed my fingers in the door. When you want to get out, you get up, and walk straight to the door." --Lisa Loeb, 'Split Second' ~~~~~ When she walked in again, (again, it was always again,) when she walked in *again* there was no dignity to clutch with the white knuckled fingers that fisted in the air. She sat down in his chair and mindlessly shuffled the papers around on his desk, ignoring the heavy scrawl that made her want to curl up and cry for him, for them, for what she hadn't meat to do, but had anyway. She picked up the phone and dialed his home number again, again, she was always repeating her actions, hoping that once, just one time, he would actually be there. Praying, praying, she listened to the machine Mulder call out a monotone version of her own machine Scully and begged him to answer. She was startled when a hiss sounded over the line and she realized that he had yanked the answering machine from the socket, just to rid himself of her voice. Replaying all that was said that afternoon, she attempted to understand what had been wrong with it all. It was so obviously a set up, an attempt to get the X-Files shut down, or at least have Mulder's reputation and hers ruined, that she couldn't understand why Mulder was going along with it. Why didn't he rage into the night about his personal persecution? Did he think he had harassed her? Did he think that she thought he did? She didn't know if he had or not. The conditions they laid out, the very clear terms of 'hostile environment' that the committee had spelled out for her, it all could be . . . it had the possibility of looking that way. Did he harass others? Certainly, it was part of his job, of their job. They had to harass suspects, sexually if that's what it meant, make things uncomfortable, even for victims, if that's what was needed to solve the case. These things they could argue. But the things she had unwittingly admitted to could not be construed any differently. Hostile . . . he had been hostile to her before. He had said things to her, made her uncomfortable, but she could take it. She'd gotten it before. And with Mulder it was different. How could a committee understand that? They didn't and wouldn't and because of her idiocy, Mulder would not speak to her. The hand on her back. The lips near her ear. The look that undressed her. The touch along her side. The words . . . the words that could take her from strong and callous and hard, to weak and ill and soft all in the space of a phrase, a gentle whisper. And it was all, all, counted as sexual harassment. But she would not press charges, she could not. This was Mulder, this was what she *liked* and that's what frightened her the most. That he would know this, know that his touches, his words, comforted her, held her together, gave her the weakness that kept her from being too unfeeling, kept her from eroding away inside. If he knew such a thing, he wouldn't understand, he would see it as weakness only, a weakness that could not be tolerated. Not by a partner, not for a spy . . . She had so much to prove to him, and this could not help at all . . . A memory flashed through her and she sank into the desk top, cradling her head. A motel, a blackout, and mosquito bites that had scared her more than she was ready to admit. He surely thought she had set him up, now. With such an event, so recent, too odd for a new female partner to trust him . . . He thought she had set him up, pulled him into a plot to shut him down. And what nagged at her the most, what made her shake, was that he was not fighting. He was not fighting them. He wasn't fighting her. Betrayed, beaten, hurt by his only friend. That was what he thought, and in so many ways, it was true. She'd been stupid, she had seen things, known things about his work, and still, she had let those men trap her into saying things that could be twisted to hurt him. She'd hurt him. It was all her fault. He'd never trust her again. ~~~~~ "Life's the fruit she longs to hand you Ripe on a plate. And while you live, Relentlessly she understands you." --Phyllis McGinley, 'The Adversary' ~~~~~ The door was growing harder as she pounded on it, her fist more numb, fingers more bruised. She wanted to sob, but she couldn't let him see her, hear her weak. If he saw that, he'd never let her in again. Again. Everything in her life happened in rounds. She could remember her father's anger, pounding on his door, begging to be understood for such a decision, such a choice as the FBI, and his resolute silence. Like Mulder's silence now. And her father loved her, her father cherished her, and Mulder . . . Mulder thought her a spy. What chance did she have now? She pounded harder, not seeking to be understood, merely forgiven and tried again. If anything, she never wanted him to understand her. Such a thing was too frightening, too close to real and pain and love and she could not do those emotions, those things again. Again. Was she already loving him, real to him, in pain for him? She knocked again, feeling her throat choke on sobs, struggling for all her strength to keep her own self out of this. She couldn't be caught caring for him, not when he thought she was a spy. "Mulder . . . Mulder." It was a litany on her tongue now, rambling from her mouth in no conscious thought to get it there, only in the desparation of her innocence. She wanted to explain to him, wanted to make him understand, she realized this now. Just like her father, his silence spoke things that she did not want to hear. "Mulder, please . . ." She felt the sob and heard it escape and she hated herself for it, and scratched at her eyes with a broken fist, and a broken will. She turned, to cleave herself of him once and for all, telling herself that this was unsalvagable, this was dead between them, whatever she had hoped was growing was stagnant, shrivelling. And the door opened. She stayed perfectly still, eyes squeezed shut, tears forced back to the choked up place in her chest that hid her crying until there was a better time, a more appropriate place. He stood there, watching her back shake as she controlled herself again, wondering what it was in her that made her so determined. She had not lost a sister. She could not know that kind of motivation. Yet she was in his hall, had been for hours, slamming a weak fist into his door. He would not move to her; he was wary. She turned, eyes bright, face young and too hard for such a beautiful smile that tried to struggle forward. "I . . ." She stopped, suddenly surprised. She hadn't thought through this far. "I didn't think you'd open the door." "I didn't think you'd cry." Her back tensed and she bit the inside of her cheek. He sighed. "Is that something you termed 'hostile work environment,' Agent Scully? Because maybe crying is a sexually oriented activity and so therefore, if I speak about it, I'm harassing you?" She was furious now. He wouldn't even listen to her before lashing out. "I never said anything like that. They asked me questions about working with you. I thought they were trying to see how I was, being a relatively new agent, maybe attempt to head off any problems before they got started. See if I could handle it. I *can* handle it. They twisted my words around. They --" "You said those words." She wanted to hit him, to slap his face and make him see. Make him understand. "No! I didn't say it like they said I did. I meant it as good. I meant for them to see how . . ." Her words choked away. She stopped. "See what?" he asked, leaning back, as far from her as possible. He would think her weak, needy; he would think that he had to protect her all the time, that she needed him. Or he could continue to think she was a spy. "I meant for them to see . . ." She took a breath, closed her eyes for a second, trying to recall her father's face when she had ended up begging his forgiveness. Such disappointment in his eyes, when she had begged, such sorrow that she would let herself do that. She still had to prove herself to her daddy time and time again. She had to prove herself to Mulder now. Saying this might prove only one thing -- that she was weak. Too weak to be of any help to him. "Nothing." She whispered the word and turned in the hall, biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from crying, shoving it back into the place in her that kept her tears. When she got to the car and realized he had not come after her, had not tried to listen, she sank into the seat and lowered her head to the steering wheel. The tears had been pushed so far back, that they would not come out. She shivered. It was the first time that she could not cry. The first time that the tears did not come. The first time she felt the gaping hole where her tears had slid down, the broken shambles of herself that had cracked as she denied her feelings, denied herself. She could not cry. ~~~~~ "But you're going to have to hold on, hold on, Or we're going to have to move on, move on." --Cranberries, 'Ridiculous Thoughts' ~~~~~ Her bed was too hard, her pillow made her head ache with a thundering kind of pain, one that said she hadn't cried, and needed to. Standing, refusing to stay in bed, sleepless, she shivered in the chill and tiptoed to the thermastat, fiddling with it and hoping she still had heat. The dark night was soft lit by the blankets of cloud reflecting the street's eery glow, the natural design of city lights and apartment buildings. She watched the absence of activity on the sidewalks, the flickering of shadows as homeless people turned in their sleep, and wished she had managed the strength to tell Mulder. How she had tried to make them see how comfortable she was with him. How she had wanted to show them how wonderful an angent he was, how great a mentor, how inspiring a human being. How beautiful a man with a determination that left her raw. She closed the curtains and walked to the closet, dragging on jeans and a heavy sweater, then her coat, thinking nothing and knowing that she dared not try to examine this right now. ~~~~~ The door came open immediately, with her own wince as she split open the bloodied heel of her hand, and his surprise. She was equally surprised he was up and opening the door to her. He sighed at the question in her eyes. "I was waiting for the Chinese takeout guy . . ." She gave him a brief smile. "Can I come in?" He paused, as if he had to *think* about it. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he said finally. "Shouldn't you?" Her own courage was frightening her. "No," he said pointedly. "I try not to." Her face softened with his words, open curiousity on her face. "Why not?" she asked, stepping forward. "Am I going to need my attorney present for this conversation?" He regretted his words as the pain lanced across her face. She felt the tightening in her chest and had to clamp down again on her tears. "I just don't, Agent Scully." That hurt just as much as his biting remarks. "You can call me Dana," she said softly. At the look on his face she shook her head. "Scully . . ." she said then and glanced back at him. He nodded. "Scully." "Mulder . . . what I couldn't tell you before . . . somehow I've found the courage . . . maybe the stupidity to tell you now." He said nothing, his face gave her no ideas. "I was trying to make them see . . . see how you've changed me . . . taught me more in a few months than I could ever have learned on my own." It wasn't what she wanted to say . . . She did not drop her gaze, simply stared back at him with clear eyes that did not beg, did not plead for his understanding. She could do this. She could tell him the truth and have him see her words as the truth without fear. It mattered to her what he thought, but she would not be ashamed, would not fear, the truth. His face was breaking down, his eyes swimming, his mouth quirking. He gently took her arm, reflex more than anything, and simply watched her. He was studying her, she thought, he was making sure this was the truth, deciding even now if he could trust her. "I'm not against you, Mulder. I want the truth just as much as you." He was again surprised at her determination, at the fount of strength welling in her that seemed to come from nowhere. No sister had been taken from her, no life ruined. And yet, such resolve for the same quest he had embarked upon, equal measure intelligence and uncompromising persistence. "Mulder?" she asked, looking up at him. "What am I going to do?" he said softly. It had been on his mind all day, rotted through his soul all night. She blinked, turned around by his words. She had been expecting confirmation of her words, some kind of emotion or revelation in turn. She shook her head. This was Mulder. He was not emotional, nor revealing, unless he was entering the mind of a killer, the soul of a psycho. "Scully, this could destory me. People get smeared, ground into the dirt with accusations like this. And never recover." She bit back her anger, tried hard to be good now, to be worthy of the forgiveness he had instilled in her once more. She had screwed up, and he was taking her back. But her anger overflowed. "Yes, I suppose it could destory you, Agent Mulder. It could also destroy me. You think I'll ever be trusted again, by anyone in the government? They'll see me as you do, a spy. A betrayal to --" "Scully." She stopped, her mouth closing as she realized she had gone off on him for something he could not control. "Scully. I do *not* see you like that." She paused. Did not . . . not see her like . . . what? "But I . . . I gave them everything they needed to shut you down . . . I fell right into their trap and --" He took her shoulder in one thin fingered hand and squeezed it softly. "I tried to blame you for that, Scully, believe me. It doesn't work." He shrugged and moved to the couch. She stood there, staring after him, wondering where exactly that left them now. "So, what am I -- we -- going to do?" His face turned to hers in the darkness of his apartment, the moon casting shadows of fright across his nose and cheeks, and the still air kissing his lips with the hint of chill. She wanted to shiver and run home to her own bed, jump into its warmth and blankets and never come out again. Again. But she elaborately shrugged her shoulders and went to sit in his armchair, placing herself gingerly down with as much dignity as she could. She found it clutched in her hands, slightly tattered and torn, but wearable, usable. Making a fist, she curled her legs under her body and stared over at him. "We'll think of something, Mulder." He glanced off into space and his own hands twitched, searching for his own dignity among the cobwebbed corners of his empty apartment. "Mulder, you probably don't need to be told this, but you don't mistreat me. I've never had any complaint for the way you respect me." She gazed at him, eyes bright again, speaking truths that he caught hold of tightly, taking them deep inside, to places where he stored away these moments. His hands were full. She came and sat down next to him, the couch dipping down with the slight weight of her body and the air he breathed suddenly light. "All I want is the truth," he whispered. "Is that so much to ask?" ~~~~~ ~~~~~ Shambles II ~~~~~ "Drag this neurotic to hysterics Leave him balked and unfulfilled holding inside outward- ly patient 'till the time he'll call it Alluring exotic twisted hero Leaving him more lonely. . ." --'How Much Longer' Eve 6 ~~~~~ The room was too cold that morning and she twisted in her seat as Mulder came in, late as usual, his tie skewed from the straight lines of his lean body. She turned around front to face the inquisition, her mouth pursed, eyes narrowed, and posture unforgiving. Chief Blevins sat at the head of the table, his eyes old and blood shot, mouth worked into a kind of unforgiving frown as he stared Mulder down. Mulder seemed to be unaffected. She wanted to scream. When she had left his apartment at one that morning, they still had no idea what to do. Crazy thoughts had surfaced in her mind, then run rampant as she imagined the panel's reaction if she said such things. Everything from 'we're secretly married' to 'Mulder was replaced with clones' had taken residence in her head and the one she liked best was the first. However, she had a feeling that would be even more detrimental. Skinner had not been invited to the meeting, she saw, and Blevins' friends were perched in their chairs like vultures circling potential road kill. Scully waited, body tensed and ready to pounce, to beat back their twisted lies with her own logic, her own sense of decency. They could not do this to them. Not when they'd only been paired for a few months. Blevins was watching her from the head of the table, as if determining whether or not she was on their side. Her glare made him hastily avert his eyes. He cleared his throat to gain the attention of the quietly talking members, glancing over his shoulder at the older gentleman who had stationed himself against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Then, with a grandfatherly voice, he said, "We've called only a few members of the Office of Proffessional Conduct in order not to waste the time of others, and maybe get to the bottom of this matter faster. Now, in regards to Agent Scully's testimony and subsequent -" Scully interrupted. "Sir, I do not believe I testified at any moment to you or anyone else about Agent Mulder." "Agent Scully, we will get to the bottom of these allegations quickly if you will-" "Sir, I'm sorry. Allegations?" "Yes. According to your testimony and eyewitness accounts-" "Sir, is there an official charge against my partner?" Mulder glanced over at her for the first time, his look clearly telling her to quit questioning the Section Chief: she could get blasted. "Yes, Agent Scully, by yourself, if I-" "Oh? Well then, sir, I believe we can get to the bottom of this much quicker than we all expected. I have no charge against Agent Mulder and whatever allegations you may have can be dropped. Now, I'm sure we all need to get back-" "Agent Scully. You will remain quiet for the duration of this inquiry and wait until you are called upon to give a reply." Mulder might have laughed at the look of fury etched on her face, and at the way her mouth dropped open with Blevins demand. Except this wasn't funny. "What?!" she said, her presence looming in the room. She could command an audience, for he sure did want to reach over and smooth her ruffled feathers. "The OPC recognizes the level of danger to your job that such allegations would pose, therefore, your assignment is being taken under my authority, so that Agent Mulder or others may not blackmail you into dropping the charges." "But there were no charges made in the first-" "Agent Scully! You will cease talking this instant." Closing her mouth, Scully slumped in her seat, defeated for the moment. They were trumping up some false charge and laying it at her feet. "Agent Mulder, we are here today to understand whatever unappropriate behavior may have occurred in your office, or in the field. Due to the sensitive nature of this investigation, we ask that you refrain from bursting out as your partner has done, and that you keep all emotions in check." Mulder simply nodded. "Would you describe for us the nature of your partnership with Agent Scully?" Mulder seemed calm, in control of himself. Scully was ready to scream at Blevins, or else, speak up and make him see that nothing was wrong, that Mulder had never, never harassed her. "Our partnership is only a few months old, as you know, Section Chief, and so we are not as close as some." Scully glanced quickly to him, crushed just a bit at his words, although she knew she shouldn't be. "We work well together, with her more practical approach to solving cases and my more. . . out there methods. I hold a great deal of respect for her as a person, and as a doctor, and her abilities and insights are invaluable to me." Scully wanted to smile broadly at him, wanted to take his hand and squeeze it tightly, let him know how much his words meant to her. To know that he valued her rather closed minded view on their work. She always thought she held him back. "How do you spend time with her in the field?" Mulder seemed confused by the question. "How? On the case. Doing the job." Blevins shook his head, as if that was not what *he* had heard. "In one instance did you not stay in your room the entire night, Agent Mulder? And did not Agent Scully come to you in only her bathrobe?" Scully's mouth dropped again, remembering their first case, but furious that Blevins was using that to indict Mulder. That was certainly not anything at all related to him harassing her. "I don't see how that's relevant. She came because the lights went out. She wanted to know if I had some candles or our flashlights because she couldn't find either. We ended up talking about the case." She sighed. It was a lie, but only roundabout. She had come because the lights went out; she'd been spooked. And they had ended up talking about the case . . . sort of. "We have reason to suspect your attitude in the field, Agent Mulder, from some very reliable sources." At Blevins words, a tape recorded voice echoed eerily from the speakers set about in the room. "Does it make you uncomfortable while on a case?" It was Blevins' voice, a question Dana remembered well. She grew furious because she knew what her reply was. "Yes. I guess so, sometimes-" And the tape was cut off quite abruptly. Mulder was staring over at her; she felt crushed. "Play the part before that tape, Sir. You know that wasn't what I was talking about. We were talking about methods! Not harassment. . .this is quite illegal. You never once said I was being taped, and you have taken my words completely out of context." Scully had stood somewhere in her fury, brows knitted together in a kind of mental pain as she remembered more of her conversation and the many, many things that she'd said that could be used against them. Blevins was looking at her in shocked vehemence, his eyes wide and face red. She pulled away from the table, shoving her chair angrily in, and turned on her heel. "I won't sit here and let you use my words against us." She looked once to Mulder, then began to walk out, knees jelly filled and stomach tensed for the sound of the Section Chief's rage to belittle her once again, like her father's punishments. As she got to the door, it closed behind her heavily, sounding like a prison door slamming on her future. She had probably single-handedly thrown her career away. Suddenly feeling sick, she slumped against the wall, then hung her head, taking in short deep breaths. The door slipped open and she jerked to a standing position, turning to face whoever came out, determined to be strong. It was Mulder. He was smiling at her. "I walked out." He nodded. "Yes, you sure did." She clutched her hands together to keep them from shaking. "I . . . what did they say?" He smiled brighter and took one of her hands, pulling her along with him as he began walking back to the elevator. "They hate you." he said and grinned like a fool. She closed her eyes and slumped a bit more, sighing. "Isn't this great?" he chortled, then led her into the elevator car and pushed the button for the basement. "No!" she said, slumping to the wall panel. "Scully. . . that was awesome. They were stunned. But I was kidding. They don't hate you . . . I don't think. " "Mulder, I'm going to fired, you know that." "No way, you were right. The entire thing was bogus and they know it. I mean, it would never be allowed in court like that. You didn't know you were being taped, they're using excerpts that aren't even relevant. . ." The doors opened and he pulled her from the car, then placed his hand on the small of her back, rubbing his fingers up and down her spine. "So what did you mean by uncomfortable?" he said, suddenly serious and pensive. His face was guarded, arm stiff, but his fingers still soothing her. "Not you. . .just the methods, the things we have to deal with," she said softly, realizing that this was probably something she didn't want to have to tell him, but that she now had to. "It *should* make you uncomfortable. The things we deal with are inhumane, Scully." She was relieved that he did not think any less of her for it. "Scully?" She glanced up at him as he ushered her into the basement office, taking deep breaths as his heat sidled close to her, calmed her tensed body. "I . . . what you did in there. . . no one's ever done that for me." He turned away quickly, sitting at his desk, hiding his face. She watched him, stunned. No one? ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ "And I'd be lying if I said I had not tried to leave a time or two But every road that leads me Leads me back to you." --'Every Road' Amy Grant ~~~~~ She was bothered by his last words to her. In the waning light of their basement office, his fingers snapping out a constant rhythm on the keyboard, she watched him concentrate on everything except her. She wanted to ask him why no one had ever done that for him. She would do it for him again, and again, and forever. He was. . .more. . .she could not explain it right. Just more. More wonderful, more good, more honest and innocent and naive and caring and hopeful and even trusting. He trusted her, and she wasn't so sure she'd have the strength to trust anyone if the same had been done to her. He deserved to have someone stick up for him. She sighed and tried to return her mind back to the paperwork before her, attempting to derail her thoughts from him. She always tried to mother him, and he always refused it. The lights flickered for a moment and he looked up, just as she did. Her eyebrows rose and she smiled at him. "No theory?" she said lightly, pausing in her work. He was staring at her. "Nope." She felt the awkwardness and glanced back to her makeshift work station, the table slightly rickety and piled high with his files and scraps of information. "Scully?" She sighed and refused to look up. "Yes?" "Let's get out of here." She was surprised and looked up, meeting his eyes. "What?" "Let's go get some dinner." She paused and put her pen down, then slid back from the table. "Okay," she said softly and stood, smiling suddenly, a dazzling grin that made him grin back reflexively. He relaxed and took her arm, then led her from the basement, to the elevator. "My treat, Scully." ~~~~~ As she unlocked her apartment door the smell of hyacinth wafted out at them, making a wonderful welcome. He came in behind her and pushed her through the door, then grabbed her arm and took her coat and his own to hang up in the closet. She went into the kitchen and hastily grabbed a bag of popcorn, then shoved it in the microwave, setting the timer. He came in behind her and sank against the counter, and she turned to face him. "Thanks for dinner, Mulder. That was a great place." He nodded and smiled softly at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. She wanted to smile, to well up with bursting bubbles of happiness for the way he was paying attention to her, smiling at her, enjoying her company. He acted like what she said mattered; he respected her opinion while still disagreeing with it. And she found she liked arguing with a man who knew when to shut up and when to press the conversation. She pulled the popcorn from the microwave and yanked on the edges, letting it cool off before eating it. He grabbed the bag and set it down on the counter behind him. She frowned, wondering at his actions, then stiffened as he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him for a quick hug. Before she could relax, he let her go and smiled almost coyly. She peered up at him, still close, still feeling the warmth of his chest seep through her. "Thanks, Scully. This has been great." She smiled but felt her confidence waver. He couldn't be . . . he didn't harass her. . .he didn't. He led them into the living room and sat her down on the couch while he messed with the VCR. The movie appeared and he jumped back and onto the couch beside her. When he felt her stiffen again beside him, he pulled away quickly, a small look of panic crossing his features. "I'm not. . .bothering am I? Just tell me Scully. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." She swallowed her earlier feelings and guilt blossomed within. He was being nice, respectful, keeping her feelings above his as always. "No, you're not at all bothering me. I'm just. . .tense a little." "Because of me?" She wanted to crawl away to the other side of the couch, but she forced her body to relax against the cushions. "No. The whole day has been. . .strange. Exciting and frightening at the same time." She looked up at him, complete trust radiating from her, and he nodded softly. "I should go." She wanted him to go. She wanted to crawl back within herself for awhile, find a place to assimilate everything that had happened. "You don't have to." She didn't really know him. That's what kept flooding through her mind. She didn't really know him. "I'll let you sleep. You did a lot today. Vanquished the enemy and put up with me all through dinner." She shook her head. "I enjoyed dinner. It was fun, Mulder. I wish we did that more often." He glanced at her. "We can." Her mind was screaming 'too much, too much' but her heart was beating rapidly. All the new feelings welling up in her were conflicting, confusing. She wanted to curl up and ride them through. His hands found her neck and began massaging gently, making her relax involuntarily. Her father used to do this to her all the time; coax her into a drowsy mood after studying or maybe when she couldn't seem to fall asleep. He pushed her down the couch and she fell into the cushions willingly, amazed that this felt so good now, when before, his hug had thrown her off. Soon, her eyes had drifted shut and her entire body had relaxed into softness. His hands trailed down her back and poked at the muscles running along her spine, then dug hard into the ones at her shoulder blades. Just as she was about to fall asleep, he bent down and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Scully." he whispered and pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and onto her body. "G'night," she mumbled and fell into sleep. He quickly left her apartment, managing to lock the door behind him. ~~~~~ end adios RM