***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.
"Solidify" and "I Shall Believe" belong to Sheryl Crow.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

==========

Solidify
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Story, Angst

Rated PG-13

Summary: A fight leaves Mulder and Scully wondering what
went wrong.

Comments: This was originally set in 1998, but I decided
to drop the year, so you can set it either in 1998 or
1999, depending on your opinion of which is the true
sixth anniversary of the M&S partnership. (grin)

==========

Solidify
by shannono


Dana Scully's apartment
March 6, 8:33 p.m.

Dana Scully sank down lower into the cushions of her overstuffed
armchair, eyes half-closed, a half-empty -- or was it half-full? --
glass of wine in her hand.

"What a shitty day," she muttered. "Hell, what a shitty week."
She took another long swallow from the glass, leaned her head
back against the cushions, and closed her eyes with a sigh.

Music poured from the speakers of her stereo across the room as
she replayed the last five days on the insides of her eyelids.
Things had not started well, with a 5:30 a.m. wakeup call five
days earlier, from her partner, of course, telling her their
services were needed in some God-forsaken cornfield in Iowa,
and they had an eight o'clock flight to catch.

Three hours later, sitting beside Mulder in a cramped coach
seat, fortified with nothing more than caffeine and a bag of
peanuts, her mood for the week was set. The case file was
spread across her lap where she'd dropped it, and they were
already arguing ...

==========

Somewhere above the Midwest
March 2, 8:37 a.m.

"Mulder, you've got to be kidding," she said, biting the words
out and trying to ignore the headache forming behind her eyes.
"Two people die of apparent electrocution during a raging
thunderstorm, and some drugged-out teenagers *claim* to have
seen a UFO, so that makes it *our* case? It should be obvious
that, a, the people were killed by lightning, and, b, those
kids were so far gone their own *eyelashes* could have looked
like UFOs to them!"

"Then how do you explain that the people who were killed were
standing under an oak tree that appears to have been untouched
by the supposed lightning strike, and that more than two dozen
people, all highly reliable and stone-cold sober, reported
seeing UFOs the same night?" Mulder snapped back, his face
twisted into a scowl of disgust.

"'Appears' is the operative word, Mulder," Scully retorted.
"According to this file - " she thrust one finger at the
report on her lap - "the tree has yet to be inspected by any
kind of authority on lightning strikes. The lightning could
very easily have damaged the inside of the tree, something
that would not show up from a cursory examination." She
slammed the file shut and bent to shove it into her briefcase
where it sat at her feet. "As for the UFO sightings, there
were more than 2,000 lightning strikes and several tornadoes
in Iowa yesterday. Those people could have seen cloud-to-cloud
strikes, ball lightning, even debris being carried along with
the storms."

"Fine," Mulder fairly growled. "You think what you want. But
we *are* going out there, and we *are* going to investigate,
whether you like it or not. So you might as well pry open
some little part of that sealed-up mind of yours and acknowledge
that we should at *least* look into it."

"I will do no such thing," Scully said. "I will go, and I will
investigate the facts. But I believe this is a pointless waste
of time and money. And I will maintain that belief until I see
some kind of irrefutable proof to the contrary."

==========

Scully's apartment
March 6, 8:47 p.m.

Shifting in her chair, Scully sighed again and lifted her hand,
finishing off the wine before setting the glass on the end table
next to her. That disagreement -- hell, that fight -- on the 
plane had been just the beginning. Once they'd reached Iowa, 
her assessment of the case had been proven right, with a
meteorological expert determining that the lightning strike had
indeed run the length of the tree's center, although only a
small black mark high on the trunk indicated the hit. The
teenagers in question had all been found under the influence
of various substances, and not one of the 25 other reported
UFO sightings had yielded any proof, conclusive or otherwise.

Unfortunately, the development of the "case" had only served to
fuel Mulder's anger. All week, even after they returned to the
office and the mounds of paperwork that had been piling up for
days, he met every comment from her mouth with derision, shooting
off snide remarks with astounding regularity. After two days of
this, she'd given up even trying to speak to him unless she
had to, and they worked on their forms in an oppressive silence.

Finally, late in the afternoon, she'd asked him about a missing 
expense report, and everything had blown up. She's stormed out, 
furious with him. She didn't care at that point if she ever went
back.

She did go back, of course. She had more integrity than to leave
a job without notice. But she'd come in to an empty office
the next morning and an e-mail message from Skinner telling her
Mulder was consulting on a VCU case. She was relieved, then a
bit sorrowful. She and Mulder had been partners for six years,
and suddenly they couldn't stand to be in the same room with
each other. Even that time when they had argued a lot a couple
of years before hadn't felt this -- intense.

Then she'd realized what day it was. March 6. They'd been partners
for *exactly* six years, today. And he hadn't even seen fit to
show up in the office.

Scully had worked on case updates in silence all day, leaving the
basement only long enough to grab lunch at a deli down the street.
Mulder never made an appearance or called in. She drove home in
silence, not even bothering to turn on the radio as she usually
did.

Once home, she heated and ate a frozen dinner, then sat in front
of the television for nearly an hour, idly channel surfing and
rarely stopping for more than a minute. She was exhausted from
the week, but she felt restless, like she was going to crawl
out of her skin if she didn't do *something*. Trouble was, she
didn't know what to do.

Finally, she shut off the TV, grabbed a stack of CDs, and shoved
several in the player, setting them for random play. She poured
herself a glass of white wine, curled up in her favorite chair,
and tried to relax.

It wasn't working. The music was fine, even interesting at times.
The wine was good, but it wasn't helping to settle her down.
Instead, her mind kept going back over the week, trying to figure
out why everything had exploded between them *now.*

They'd disagreed about cases before, without getting so hostile
with each other. And even when they *had* gotten hostile, it hadn't
taken long to work it out and get things back to normal.

Why did she feel like that wasn't going to happen this time?

Why did she feel like maybe she didn't want it to?

Scully's eyes flew open as she realized what she'd just thought.
"My God," she said aloud. "How could I even *think* that? Why
wouldn't I want us to get back to normal?"

A sudden silence made her jump, and she realized the CD player
had shut off, having finished the three CDs she'd put in. She
stood up automatically, switched out the CDs, and started
another random play.

She made it back to the chair as the music started and was
sitting back down when the words started. She didn't recognize
the song.

But it recognized her.

>>Pouring in and around the great wellspring of simple feeling
I need bearings in the face of your cool, cool fire
Walking backwards with the pounding of your voice makes my
soul tired
Concrete is as concrete doesn't
And voices can drown

Why should I?
Why should I?
Why should I?
Why should I?
Solidify
Make me real, so you can see me

I guess you thought I'd hide the sun from my liquid thoughts
and make ice for you
You thought I'd seed my clouds with the rain of your
personal dreams
I guess you thought I'd throw confetti at your parade of
lofty thoughts
I guess you thought I'd shine good morning in some good
morning jack
Surprise

Why should I?
Why should I?
Why should I?
Why should I?
Solidify
Make me real
So you can see me.<<

Scully sat stock-still as the song faded out, feeling all her
shock and anger drain away, leaving only a strange emptiness.
"That's me," she whispered. "I'm not real to him. He doesn't
even see me. That's what's wrong. He sees his partner, but he
doesn't see *me.*"

She sat still another few minutes, letting the idea sink in.
For six years, Mulder had taken the lead in nearly every
investigation, throwing out his crazy theories with wild abandon.
She'd then attempt to find a rational explanation, but he nearly
always brushed off her conclusions. Until, and unless, they were
proven right. That didn't happen every time, but it *did* happen.
Unfortunately, even her successes didn't stop him from doing the
same the next time. And the next.

She didn't expect him to buy into her theories every time. His
unorthodox beliefs and methods were what got him the X-files in
the first place. But she didn't burst his bubble every time, so
why did he feel the need to do it to her?

She had thought he did it on purpose, maybe trying to get a rise
out of her. Now, she wasn't so sure. Maybe he just never had
acknowledged to himself that she could be right sometimes.

Maybe he still saw her as an assigned partner, not an equal and
a true friend.

And if that was the case, then he'd never see her as anything
else.

Scully felt tears welling up and pushed them back down. "I will
*not* let him make me cry," she told herself. She fought for
control, succeeded, then considered her next move.

Finally, she rose, walked back to the CD player, and shut it off.
She pulled out the CDs and found the one she needed -- Sheryl
Crow, she discovered -- and skimmed the liner notes to make sure
she had the right song. Placing the disk back in its case, she
crossed to her desk, pulling out pen and a large envelope. She
wrote three words on the outside, then slid the CD inside and
closed the clasp. Picking up her purse, she left her apartment.

==========

Fox Mulder's apartment
March 6, 9:43 p.m

Fox Mulder shoved his door closed behind him with his foot,
already working off his jacket and tie. He was exhausted.
Drained. Just plain dog tired.

He crossed to the couch and threw himself down on it, kicking
off his shoes and propping his feet on the table. Closing his
eyes, he exhaled deeply as he linked his fingers, slid his
hands behind his head, and leaned back against the wall.

He lasted all of five minutes like that before he was up again,
pacing the length of his entryway and living room. As tired as
he was, he was just as antsy. Worked up.

Hollow.

He had a feeling he knew what was wrong. The week had not been
a whole lot of fun, to say the least. He'd actually been
sleeping, for a change, when the call came from Skinner just
before five in morning, telling him to get on a plane to Iowa.
He hated calling Scully, knowing she wouldn't be happy about 
the rude awakening or the case. He didn't like the sounds of 
it himself. But Skinner had insisted, so they were going.

Even now, five days later, he didn't know what had gotten into
him on that flight. He'd read through the case file during the
15 minutes or so between his arrival at their office and hers.
It was so obviously bogus that he'd almost laughed. But then
she'd come in on a slow boil, apparently mad at him for no
good reason, and he'd rebelled. By the time they'd arrived in
Iowa several hours later, they were practically at each others'
throats.

Things had only gone downhill from there ...

==========

J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building
Basement office
March 5, 4:18 p.m.

"Mulder, I thought you said you turned in the expense forms
for our last case!" Scully exclaimed, breaking the heavy
silence hanging between them.

"I *did* turn them in," Mulder said. "Last Thursday. I dropped
them off on my way out."

"Then why do *I* have an angry memo from Skinner, demanding to
see them before five today?"

Mulder looked up to meet her angry gaze with a glare of his
own. "I wouldn't know," he growled out. "I did *my* job. Maybe
*somebody* didn't do theirs."

Like a shot, Scully was on her feet. "What exactly are you
implying, Mulder?"

He stood up as well, his fists clenched as tightly as his teeth.
"I don't know, *Agent* Scully. Maybe I just mean that *sometimes*
the screwups are not *my* fault."

Scully was seething. "Well, you *certainly* haven't given anyone
any reason to give you the benefit of the doubt," she snapped.
"And maybe I'm getting a little tired of covering for you all
the time."

Mulder was in her face in an instant. "Well then why are you
still here, Agent Scully?" he retorted.

Scully's face froze. Without another word, she turned away from
him, snapped off her computer, grabbed her briefcase and jacket,
and was out the door.

==========

Mulder's apartment
March 6, 10:02 p.m.

Mulder stopped pacing and rubbed his forehead in frustration. It
had taken him all of a minute to realize exactly what he'd said
that afternoon, and he'd kicked himself soundly in the ass for 
it. He'd gone after her, only to see her taillights as she
swerved out of the parking garage.

When he got back to the office, he found a message from Skinner
directing him to report to the VCU to consult on a case. It was
after midnight when he got home, and he'd been on the case all
the next day, without even a chance to call Scully.

Not that he really wanted to do this over the phone. He'd been 
an ass all week, and she deserved more than a quick, impersonal
apology. He needed to do it in person.

Unfortunately, the case he'd been assigned to was leaving him with
some late nights, and he didn't think now would be a good time to
show up at her door, unannounced.

He turned toward the kitchen to get a drink, but then he heard a
footstep outside his door and stopped. After a moment, he saw the
edge of a piece of paper slide under the door.

He immediately stepped to the door and opened it, to see a plain
brown envelope with writing on it sitting on the floor just
outside. He leaned out into the hall, but could see no one.

Leaning down, he squinted to read the words: "Play track five."

Scully's handwriting.

Mulder picked up the envelope, stepped back inside, and pushed
the door shut behind him. He opened the clasp on the envelope as
he walked and pulled out a Sheryl Crow CD. Turning it over, he
read the title to track five -- "Solidify."

He stopped in front of his stereo and set the CD to play on the
track, then lowered himself into a chair and listened.

>>Pouring in and around the great wellspring of simple feeling
I need bearings in the face of your cool, cool fire
Walking backwards with the pounding of your voice makes my
soul tired
Concrete is as concrete doesn't
And voices can drown ...

Why should I?
Solidify
Make me real, so you can see me

I guess you thought I'd hide the sun from my liquid thoughts
and make ice for you
You thought I'd seed my clouds with the rain of your
personal dreams
I guess you thought I'd throw confetti at your parade of
lofty thoughts
I guess you thought I'd shine good morning in some good morning ...

Why should I?
Solidify
Make me real, so you can see me.<<

Mulder sat in stunned silence as the song ended and the CD
played on. *That* was how she was feeling? Like he couldn't
see her? Like he expected her to abandon everything she was,
everything she believed in to support *him* and *his* beliefs?

Then it hit him. That's exactly what he'd done. Over and over
again.

His thoughts ran back through their cases. How many times had
he shrugged off her rational theories, no matter how far-out
he own thoughts might be? So many of those times, she had been
proven right. And, more than once, her scientific backing had
saved his life.

What had he offered in return? He'd scoffed at her. Run off without
her. Even when he'd been trying to help her, he'd left her alone,
never telling her his true feelings.

He had thought she knew how he felt. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure.

He picked up the CD case and scanned the titles as his mind raced,
trying to decide what he should do. He knew he needed to talk to
her, but he wasn't sure she'd listen.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on the CD's final track. He reached for
the player and programmed the song, then listened:

>>Come to me now, and lay your hands over me
Even if it's a lie, say it will be all right, and I shall believe
I'm broken in two, and I know you're on to me
That I only come home when I'm so all alone
But I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way you think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly you won't give up on me
And I shall believe
I shall believe

Open the door and show me your face tonight
I know it's true, no one heals me like you, and you hold the key
Never again would I turn away from you
I'm so heavy tonight but your love is all right, And I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way you think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly you won't give up on me
And I shall believe
I shall believe
I shall believe
I shall believe.<<

Mulder smiled slowly. An opening. Just the one he needed.

==========

Scully's apartment
11:12 p.m.

Scully padded out of the bedroom, having changed into her satin
pajamas after her late-night trek to Alexandria. She had given
up on the wine as a sleep aid and was turning instead to hot
cocoa.

As she walked past the door, she was surprised to see the edge
of a brown envelope sticking out. She opened the door and glanced
around at the empty hallway. She squatted next to the envelope,
recognizing Mulder's scrawl, and read, "Play track eleven."

She followed the instructions.

>>Come to me now, and lay your hands over me
Even if it's a lie, say it will be all right, and I shall believe
I'm broken in two, and I know you're on to me
That I only come home when I'm so all alone
But I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way you think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly you won't give up on me
And I shall believe ...

Open the door and show me your face tonight
I know it's true, no one heals me like you, and you hold the key
Never again would I turn away from you
I'm so heavy tonight but your love is all right, And I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way you think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly you won't give up on me
And I shall believe ...<<

Scully felt tears running down her face as the song ended.
"He understands," she whispered. "He knows."

The soft knock came as no surprise. Scully was already halfway
across the floor, and almost as soon as the door opened, she
was wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face
in his chest as his arms came around her.

Mulder sighed at the feel of her. "Oh, Scully," he whispered.
"I'm so sorry, for everything. I'm so sorry."

Scully lifted her face to see the tears on his cheeks as he
continued. "Scully," he said. "I do see you. I've always seen
you. You're the only real thing in my life. I almost lost you
because of my own stupidity. I won't let that happen again."

Scully lifted her hand to wipe his tears away. "And I won't
give up on you," she said. "I won't."

He smiled at that. "Good," he said, tightening his arms around
her. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

She returned his smile. It was enough. For now.

==========END==========