Fascination II By RocketMan Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No infringement is intended. And if you sue me all you will get is a check for sixteen dollars because I just got paid for tutoring. =-) Rating: PG-13 ~ this is dark~. Content Warning: UST, V, Scully and Mulder A, self mutilation is the topic here. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ FASCINATION 1 THEN YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND ============== Fascination II ============== He won't leave my side. I told him he could stay over out of this odd sense of fear, but now he won't leave me alone. I am fixing dinner, and here he is. I am trying to get a shower and he's following me into the bathroom. Only a cold look of unappreciation made him stop. I hate this. I'm going to tell him to go home. I'm not going to hurt myself. Not anymore, that is. I walk to the couch and sit down beside him, neglecting the towel I left in the floor of my bedroom and trying not to think of how bad it will smell once I actually hang it up. I have more important things to think about. "Mulder, I'll be all right now. You can go home and sleep. Okay?" He frowns. "Scully ... I don't think it's a good idea." "Look, Mulder. I'll call you if I need anything, all right?" "But Scully --" "Mulder! I'm just tired, all right. I'm going right to bed and sleeping, so don't worry." "But what if ... I mean ... if you ..." his voice slows at my look. "Mulder. No offense. But I can take care of myself. I don't need you hanging at my side." His eyes recoil and I mentally slap myself. He is only trying to protect me. He stands and hastily gets his briefcase and other work things, making the fastest retreat possible. I feel good for getting rid of him. He nods at me and opens the door. When he turns and looks at me with those eyes of his that are so infintely sorrowful, I feel bad. "Scully ... Call me if you need anything. Please." His plea is so honest, so incredibly sad, that I want to say never mind, come back inside. But I don't. I need some solitude. Some time to think. "I will. I promise." He seems to be soothed by this, externally at least. But inside, his eyes still show me he is at war. He leaves anyway, probably wishing I would call him back and hating himself because he's too cowardly to stay and force it. I don't think he's a coward for leaving. I think he's brave. He goes home not knowing if I will do it again, not knowing what will happen if he can't be beside me. He doesn't know. And not knowing for anyone is a scary thing. But I won't make him wish he had been here. I won't do that again. I'm okay, really. Why did I make that other cut? I look to my fingers, each bandaged innocently, each tightly cutting the circulation. One is innocent, the other is guilty. The one shows my own hatred of this disease I have, one shows the fear I have about it. It shows that I have no control. I have no control. That is my fear. That is fear. I no longer have control over my own body. It's in rebellion against me. It prevails against me. Out -- out -- Damn spot! I don't want this. I want control again. I want it out of me forever. I would do anything for a cure. I am Not ready to Die! I will Not Die! I will save myself. I will get rid of it. It will shrivel up inside my blood, the cells will rot away and cease functions. I will vanquish it. I will win the war! Blood. Falling down ... sliding down ... dripping down my nose. I will NOT let it beat me I can't let it beat me I don't want to die! I run to the bathroom and pull Kleenex from the box and wad it up, applying it to the traitor. This blood oozing down, staining my upper lip, herald of my death. This blood. My enemy. I hate it. It has to be wiped out. I angrily swipe the tissue across my nose, the blood starts again and I rejoice inside. It is leaving, it is falling down and leaving. It is the one who is losing. It is retreating. See how it runs? Yes, run on down. I let it slide down my neck, to stain my clothes, making a trek down my skin, forging a path down the collar of my shirt, tickling down my breasts. This blood, my enemy, dripping freely. It doesn't stop on its retreat until it has reached my belly button. There it ceases flowing. No! Start again. I want you out of me! I will have control of my body. "I will!" I will be in control. I will ... Oh God, what am I doing? I'm not in control ... I'm not on control of my own mind! Stop this. Oh, God, stop this. I wipe away the blood, strip away my shirt and run warm water over a washcloth to get at the blood down my chest. My hands shake. My eyes are watering. I can't even focus on doing this one little thing. I can't make my hand stop shaking. I can't make myself stop crying. I'm not in control. My life is this tilting spinning carousel that won't stop and let me off. I'm not in control of it and it has complete control of me. Oh, God, Stop! Stop shaking, stop freaking out, stop ! Stop ! Stop ! I run to the bedroom, digging madly through my drawers, looking for another shirt, looking for my sanity. I can't even see, I'm so out of control. I need Mulder. I never should have made him leave. I'm unstable, out of control. At least I don't have to think when he's here. I don't have to remember how to be me. I just am, when he's around. The phone, Where is it? I need his voice, of only that. Here's the phone, and his number, what's his number. God help me! Oh, his number. Start dialing it'll come back to you. A ring. A ring. A voice. "Mulder?" Was that really me? "Scully? You called the cell phone!" "Mulder." "I'm coming over. Right now. I'm still on the freeway. I'll get off at this exit and turn around." "Thanks." I whisper and slump to the floor. He finds me that way, slumped, the phone still in my hands, asleep. I wake at his touch and ignore the sorrow in his eyes, the failure. He picks me up, ignoring himself, that I have no shirt on, just a bra, and some boxers, and settles me on the bed, stroking my hair. "Why am I doing this to myself?" His face looks pained, his eyes dull. "I don't know why Scully. But I understand. I understand." Has he done this before? Mulder? "Mulder, I don't like it. I don't like it at all." He smiles, genuinely. "Good. It means it hasn't taken hold of you." "I hope not," I say and close my eyes. "I'll stay tonight, all right?" "Thanks. Maybe tomorrow, too?" My eyes are still closed but I can feel his shock. "Yeah, tomorrow, too," he says then pulls the sheets up around me. He leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips barely brushing my skin. I move, just slightly and kiss his cheek. He sits up and keeps his hand on my stomach, his thumb rubbing it softly. He doesn't leave. I sigh and fall asleep. I really am out of control. I kissed Mulder back.