***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

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Coda
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Story, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST, Rated PG

Spoilers through "En Ami"

Summary: Coda (n.) -- A more or less independent passage added
to the end of a section or composition so as to reinforce the
sense of conclusion.

Author's note: It's been a while, but here I am, leaping into
the post-ep pool with both feet. Oh, and I'm going with the 1993
pilot date, so don't yell at me for it. <g>

Thanks: To Brandon and Luperkal ... and a source who wished to
remain anonymous but was most helpful. :)

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Coda
by shannono


After everything, even anger eluded her.

She wanted to be *furious*. She wanted to rant, and curse, and
throw a tantrum like a child; to lash out at the closest thing
until it hurt the way she hurt. All the way down to the bone.

She didn't. What would be the point? 

She stewed in her embarrassment, and hurt, and bewilderment,
but she couldn't build up enough interest to get mad.

Fooled by the one man she'd sworn would never fool her, and she
didn't quite know how it happened. Had she believed him because
he hadn't lied to her the first time they'd actually spoken?
He'd appeared in her apartment just a few weeks before and told
her Samantha was dead, and it was the truth, even if it burned
as deeply as the smoke that clung to him.

What did it matter now? 

It was over.

She sat on the end of her sofa, jacket crumpled in a pile on
the floor, shoes lying at odd angles where she'd let them fall.
A single lamp burned on the end table, sending out a low golden
glow to break the dimness of the early evening. Her legs were
drawn up on the cushions next to her, and the soft, sage-green
throw she kept on the back of the cushions was draped across her
shoulders. It didn't keep out the chill in the air, nor thaw the
ice around her heart.

She heard low noises coming from the kitchen as Mulder made
tea. She hadn't asked him to come up, but he'd simply turned off
the car, climbed out, come around to open her door, and escorted
her inside, all without touching her. As if he knew she'd break
if he did, like fine crystal falling onto hard wood.

At least he would look at her now. That much was an improvement.

Neither of them spoke during the drive back from the deserted
office building, but she needed no words to know what he was
thinking. She could see the cloud of disappointment and hurt
that surrounded him, a faint, low-simmering anger coloring its
edges. He held it all back, only because the both knew she had
plenty to deal with inside her own mind. She didn't need him to
keep telling her she'd screwed up.

She had her proof in the emptiness. Empty disk. Empty office. 

Empty soul.

She felt as if she'd lost her innocence all over again, like a
naive girl when she first learns the world isn't so perfect
after all. Her thirst for truth and justice died a little more
every time reality slapped her in the face.

Why fight, with no hope of victory?

A soft clicking noise from a few feet away drew her attention,
and she lifted her head to see Mulder setting a mug of tea on
the table in front of her. He slipped away silently, settling
into the chair at the far end of the sofa, shoulders slumped,
eyes downcast. Scully leaned forward to collect her tea, sinking
back into her little nest with her hands wrapped around the warm
mug.

She sipped at the tea, expecting him to speak at some point. He
wouldn't lash out; he was more injured than angry. But if he
waited for her to start the discussion they had to have, she was
afraid he'd wait a long, long time. Because she didn't know
where to begin.

She'd lied to Mulder. That was the worst of all, she realized
now -- telling an outright, blatant lie, knowing he'd find out.
It didn't matter that she'd done it mainly *because* he'd find
out. She knew he'd follow up, even at the risk of causing her
mother more worry. She'd not only expected it; she'd hoped for
it, wanting him on guard, on the case, but unable to risk direct
contact.

Problem was, she still hadn't explained that to him. 

She could, she knew, go on the attack. She could remind him of
all the times he'd ditched her to go running off with some
shadowy informant or questionable contact. If he'd done it, why
couldn't she?

She wouldn't use that argument, though, because she knew it
would be both unfair and dishonest. It had been a long, long
time since he'd done that to her. He still ran off, but not
without telling her he was going, and usually not without
telling her *where* he was going. And why.

But she had never done anything like this before. Not to
Mulder. More than hurt, Mulder was confused. He didn't
understand how and why she'd gone, and she didn't know how to
explain it. She wasn't sure *she* understood. All she knew was
that she was becoming more like him every day, and the role
reversals were happening more and more frequently.

She'd gone for the cure, of course. One of those chips was in
her own body, she'd seen the scars on the boy and the old woman,
and she'd wanted to believe it was real.

That was it.

"I wanted to believe, Mulder."

Her voice surprised her; she spoke before she even realized she
was going to. But the words were right; she saw Mulder nod once,
slowly, and knew he grasped at least that much.

"If it *was* all a setup, which it probably was," she said, "it
was a setup designed specifically for me. He pushed every single
one of the right buttons." She shook her head. "They've been
watching me for at least seven years, Mulder. If they don't know
me pretty well by now, they haven't done their jobs."

She fell silent, letting the sound of their breathing fill her
ears. Her half-empty mug of tea was cooling rapidly, and she set
it on the table beside her, tugging the blanket back around her.
Her body was warming, but she was still cold inside.

"I lied to you, Mulder, and I'm sorry," she said. "You know why
I did it. Because I knew you'd find out the truth, and I didn't
have any other way to tell you. Part of the deal was that I
couldn't contact you, but I guess you figured that out." She
paused, then added, "I won't apologize for going with him,
Mulder. It was a mistake, and I'm sorry it hurt you, but it was
my mistake. I know you may not see it that way, and I understand
why."

Mulder shifted in his seat, but he still didn't speak. She was
glad; his silence could be unnerving, but she needed the chance
to finish.

"I'm sure you're angry with me for not telling you," she said,
her words coming faster and faster, unraveling like an out of
control thread. "I feel terrible, *felt* terrible, for doing it.
I don't really have an excuse. I should have told him to go to
hell. I did, to start with. But I was blinded by what he was
offering, the way they knew I would be, and I didn't see any
other way. If it had been anything else, Mulder, anything but a
cure for cancer ..."

Her voice caught on the word, and she closed her mouth before
it could develop into a sob. Her chest hurt suddenly, a
throbbing settling in behind her breastbone. Her head ached and
her nose was stuffy.

She needed to cry. Crying was a luxury for Scully, something
done almost exclusively in the solitude of her own home, and
only when she was desperate for the release. Crying was
intimate, as intimate as sex, and nearly as difficult for her to
share.

At least she'd shared her tears with Mulder before.

This time, the tears would have to wait, she decided, taking
several deep breaths and blowing them out to calm herself. This
discussion took precedence. She could allow the emotion, and
that would be a step forward for them. But if she broke down
now, she wouldn't say what had to be said, and they'd be right
back where they were months ago, before they'd starting trying
to be more open with each other.

She finally felt steady enough to go on. "They designed this
for me, Mulder; I know they did," she said. "But I think it was
more than that. I think I was supposed to die."

She heard Mulder suck in a long breath but didn't look at him,
just went on. "They shot at me, Mulder. I was a sitting duck out
there, alone in a boat in the middle of an inlet. There is no
reason why I'm not dead now, unless someone got to the shooter."

She stopped, wanting Mulder to reach the same conclusion she
had. Needing it. She knew when he did; she could feel him tense
and relax from halfway across the room.

"Spender," she confirmed for him. "He was the only one who knew
where I was. All I can think is that he knew I was a target, so
he followed me and shot the sniper." She shrugged. "I don't know
why. I can't pretend to understand his reasons. I suppose he was
double-crossing his bosses, colleagues, whatever. He's certainly
done it before. He ended up with the disk, so he's got all the
leverage now, no matter what his motivations were."

She closed her eyes and brought up one hand to press her
fingertips against the spot above her right eye that was
starting to pound. "This whole scenario was meant for me, and
it's mine to deal with," she said. "But I know it's affecting
you, too. That's the other thing, Mulder. I think they did this
to make you doubt me, to put up another obstacle between us. And
the worst part is, it's working."

She laughed ruefully. "God, they had no idea just how much I've
changed," she said, half to herself. "I sound *exactly* like
you."

She lapsed back into silence, still rubbing her forehead though
it wasn't making a difference. She ached all over, inside and
out, from tension and sleeplessness and activity. She wanted
nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there for a week,
to hide from the world for just a little while.

Surely it wouldn't miss her that much.

She heard a rustling sound but didn't bother to open her eyes.
He was getting up to leave. Her words hadn't helped, or they'd
brought out his anger and he no longer trusted himself to speak
without hurting them both. Either way, it didn't matter. He was
leaving, and she could curl up and cry for as long as she
wanted, then emerge in the morning, slip into her armor, and
pretend nothing had happened at all.

His touch came as a complete shock. His hands slipped under
her, and before she could react she was being lifted from her
cocoon on the couch. Her first instinct was to struggle, to
strike out at him. How dare he manhandle her like that?

But something held her back, and once her initial reaction
faded she realized what it was. It was the way he held her, like
she was made of eggshell china, fine and precious. Like he was
still afraid his touch would shatter her, and yet she was such a
treasure that he couldn't help himself.

Her eyelids drooped as she relaxed, for the first time in days.
He carried her into her bedroom, setting her down atop the
comforter and reaching to pull up the blanket that lay folded
across the foot of the bed. He slid her pants legs up one at a
time, drawing off the trouser socks she wore, and she let him, 
knowing he would stop there, even if she'd be more comfortable 
in pajamas. He would never take advantage of her like that, 
not like Spender had. She trusted Mulder.

Did he still trust her?

The thought roused her from her hazy half-doze, and she opened
her eyes just as he lowered himself to perch on the edge of the
mattress next to her. His hand came up to brush back her hair,
and she quelled a shiver at the gentleness of his touch.

"Mulder ..." she murmured, but he moved his hand quickly,
laying his index finger across her lips and shaking his head.

"Rest," he said softly, the first thing he'd said in hours.
"We'll worry about everything else later."

She started to speak again, but something in his eyes stopped
her. No anger resided there, only understanding and tender
concern. No, they weren't finished with this, but he was willing
to let it go for now and let her sort things out for herself.
They'd get through it, and come out stronger on the other side,
just like they did every time.

She let her eyes fall shut again, felt her breathing grow deep
and even, as his hand slipped through her hair in a soothing
caress. Morning will come soon enough, she thought hazily. 

Everything else can wait until then.

===FINE===