NEW: Tearing Down Walls 1/3 by Shari Long Options 1 message - Collapse all Scullysfan View profile More options Apr 10 1999, 11:00 am Title: "Tearing Down Walls" Author: Shari Long Classification: SRA Rating: PG-13 Distribution: Do not archive at Gossamer. I'll take care of ATXC myself. Anyone else, please ask first. Thanks. : ) Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are not mine and no copyright infringement is intended. Summary: When a case strikes close to Scully's heart, Mulder must find a way to overcome the walls she builds between them. Author's thanks and notes at the end. Feedback: Any and all comments longed for at Scullys...@aol.com. ~~~~~~~~~ "Mulder, I don't fucking believe this!" Had she spoken those words in the office, they might have more forcefully conveyed Scully's anger. An anger borne from utter exasperation with the man standing in front of her.... daring to grin as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trench coat. They would have reverberated off the filing cabinets stuffed with case files, off the walls littered with tabloid articles claiming Elvis was living in the Lincoln Bedroom and heralding Mulder's newest favorite theory that sunflower seeds increase a person's sex drive by 75%. No wonder she kept finding the damn things in her bed. But as it happened, Scully's words were all but lost in the vastness of the forest where they stood. Picked up by the light wind swirling through the red and gold leaves blanketing the early October chilled ground. "What's wrong, Scully?" Mulder had sense enough to wipe the shit-eating grin from his face, but not enough to limit himself to one question. "You aren't enjoying our little trip to the forest?" Though the sun was low in the sky and only the occasional ray found its way through the trees, it still managed to turn Scully's hair even more red as she stood there with her hands set squarely on her hips. If Mulder could take his eyes from her flashing ones, he'd bet he would see she was tapping one foot. "No, Mulder, I'm not. I frequently find it difficult to enjoy pointless trips out of our way to investigate cases where none exist. Especially when we arrived back in town just last night. Not to mention that Skinner expects a report by tomorrow morning, and we still need to come up with an explanation for how you managed to..." He was doing it again. Smiling that insufferable grin that either made her want to plant a sharp heel into his instep or throw him down and kiss him silly. It bothered her that the former held more appeal lately. "What?!?" Should he tell her what he was thinking? About what put that look on his face? That he'd hardly been listening to her rant because he was too preoccupied trying to decide if she looked more beautiful at that moment than she did many a morning. Sitting naked astride his hips, her hair falling against her cheeks as she stared down at him with eyes soft and luminous, sunlight streaming in the window and washing over her skin. "I was just thinking that you're beautiful when you're angry." He had known the chances of her putting a matching scar in his other shoulder were good if he dared utter the thoughts running through his head, but evidently his brain had not advised his mouth of the danger. "Mulder, what does that have to do with the point at hand? With the fact that we are standing in the middle of Shenandoah National Forest on a Sunday afternoon looking for signs of a werewolf which you, and =only= you, I might add, think is here." "It's not just me, Scully." His voice tinged with stubbornness, Fox Mulder settled in to present his case, all the while shuffling his feet, kicking the leaves back and forth. "I told you.... a park employee contacted me to report his suspicions that a werewolf was responsible for the attacks to four visitors to this area." Despite the temperatures falling with the setting sun, Scully was getting hotter under the collar every minute. Any other time she might enjoy getting Mulder alone in the woods. Preferably after the skies had just opened up with a sudden downpour of sleeping bags. Right now, however, she had a rock in one of her shoes and a terrible foreboding that a month long quarantine might be in their futures. As a result, the tone of her voice was approaching the peeved level. "That park employee was a sixteen year old kid whose credibility lies in too many late shows, Mulder!" Scully forced herself to take a deep breath, the smell vaguely reminding her of a forest-scented air freshener and a late night stakeout that seemed to have been a lifetime ago. Maybe if they reviewed the facts Mulder would see they were wasting their time and consent to go home. Taking a hot bubble bath was what she wanted to do first, and if Mulder would leave this asinine theory here, he was welcome to join her. But every minute they spent arguing in the woods meant less time they had to repair the damage they were currently inflicting on each other before settling down to work. She wasn't =really= trying to be difficult. Was she? It wasn't like Scully looked forward to going home and writing this report. Just thinking about what she was going to have to do sent chills totally unrelated to the falling temperatures up her spine. Transcribing notes for the hardest autopsy she'd ever performed. Reminding herself once again that she lived in a world filled with monsters. Monsters who brutally murdered little girls just because they could. But the report had to be written. It did. And Scully had to be the one to write it. Not Mulder. Her. It was penance. It was punishment. She'd failed to keep Emily safe, and now she was doomed to describe crushed larynxes and slashed little faces for the rest of her life. It was poetic justice. Scully, who could never seem to bring to bear the men responsible for her own tragedies, could provide a sense of closure for some child's mother. And she could fool herself into thinking it eased her heartache. So she =had= to get home. Perhaps another tactic would work. Stepping closer to where Mulder was absentmindedly kicking leaves into a large pile, Scully held out her hands as though he were a shy puppy she had frightened and began to speak in a calmer, softer voice. "Okay. This employee is suggesting that lycanthropy is the explanation for the reported deaths. What makes him think that?" "Scully, all the bodies were found mangled... practically shredded by something with extremely powerful claws. Clumps of hair not from the victims were found on the bodies..." "Mulder..." With a tired shake of her head, Scully sighed. "Park officials, local police officers, and even the county M.E. classified these incidents as bear attacks. Probably by one of the North American black bears known to inhabit this area, to be exact. Of course clumps of fur were part of the evidence collected. And I'm certain every attempt is being made to take down this animal before it kills again." "Do bears have calendars tacked up on the walls of their caves these days, Scully?" Mulder took one more look at the enormous pile of leaves he'd managed to rake together using only his feet and turned to face Scully, his voice regaining its teasing tone. "Because I'd really like to know how an animal decided to maul four people, each exactly a week apart." "Mulder, I'll admit that's a bit odd but not out of the question. They were coincidences!" So much for attempting to win him over with reasoning. Irritation had fought the good fight and won. Having drawn closer to him with every rebuttal, Scully was now standing almost toe to toe with the man who seemingly couldn't make up his mind from one day to the next whether to push her buttons or fondle them. Now, catching that gleam in his eyes and the slightly upturned corner of his mouth, Scully guessed he was thinking roughly the same thing. She was well aware that he often found their verbal sparring to be arousing -- at first to his intellectual side and then to his more primal nature. Hell, it had the same effect on her. Scully just wondered why Mulder had to pick =now= to have this discussion. The possibility of this being a legitimate case for them was shaky at best, even for Mulder. "Like I've asked before, Scully... if coincidences are just coincidences, then why do they feel so contrived?" It seemed to him like a good thing to say at the time. A quick quip. Something to remind her of days past. Maybe a way to diffuse the head of steam Scully had been building since they'd started their trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. To salvage what Mulder had hoped would be a relaxing afternoon for both of them, couched in a story even Mulder truly didn't believe. A time to forget images of little girls lying in drawers in a county morgue, each patiently waiting her turn for Scully's scalpel. Instead he'd succeeded in reminding himself that despite Scully's short stature, she was a force to be reckoned with. And, Mulder thought wryly, he reckoned he'd made a big mistake. Unfortunately, self-realization came seconds too late. Definitely not in time to stop Scully from planting her small hands firmly on Mulder's chest and shoving. Hard. "Hey!" Mulder's startled cry came as he stumbled backwards. Arms pinwheeling wildly he fell with a crunch and a thump into the reddish-gold cushion behind him. ~~~~~~~~~~ Mulder had been asking for it. As surely as if he sported a sign around his neck reading "Take Me Down". That self-satisfied grin. It was the exact one he wore on those occasions when his talented hands, or better yet, his tongue, succeeded in driving her past words -- to the state where gutteral moans and breathy sighs were an acceptable form of communication. Unfortunately for Mulder, his hands were in his pockets, and his tongue... Well, it was busy wrapping itself around a question that evoked memories of a lonely old man and the not-so-picky eater Scully inherited from him. So all it took was one spontaneous, even unconscious, shove, and Mulder was falling faster than one of the forest's hundreds of pines under a snarling chainsaw, arms flailing and hands grabbing for purchase in the unaccommodating air. His protesting "Hey!" barely had time to register with Scully before a myriad of emotions washed over her. A spark of annoyance ignited by a deep frustration, quickly snuffed out by shock. Scully had never used her hands on Mulder for anything but soothing. And lately, inflaming. Shock faded into a flitting moment of worry. But amusement won out at her witness of the rollercoaster shifting of Mulder's own thoughts. Surprise. Respect. Then mischief. All flowed from one into the other across the Etch-A-Sketch of Mulder's face. "Wha...?!" Reaching down to give him a hand up, Scully's startled cry was snatched from her throat as Mulder's hand snaked up, grabbing the front of her trenchcoat and yanking at the same instant his left foot shot out, sweeping against her ankles in a well-executed take-down. Even Mulder's self-defense instructor at the Academy would have been proud. Scully landed hard on Mulder's chest, air whooshing from both of them at the sudden, but not unwelcome, pressure of two bodies meeting. She'd barely had time to replenish her lungs' necessary supply of oxygen when Mulder rolled her underneath his body, his hands pinning her arms down on either side of her head. "Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" The question had barely left her mouth when Mulder made his intentions quite clear. Tracing one side of her jaw with his nose, Mulder nudged her chin until she bared her throat to him. Tiny phantom kisses tiptoed down her neck, stopping at the hollow where the softness of her throat met the hardness of her collarbone. There Mulder's tongue lapped at her skin as a thirsty man might drink from an oasis pool. Even as Scully's legs parted allowing Mulder to sink more completely against her, her mind fought this. She couldn't have it. Not yet. No matter how much she wanted it. Wanted Mulder to make her forget. To feel something besides the gnawing pain this case had renewed. A pain that grew with every perfect, tiny body she'd cut open, a quiet pain that had nearly crippled her with the last victim. Unseeing, saucer-sized blue eyes. Two rows of little, snow white teeth. Corn silk blonde hair. Small. Rounded with unshed baby fat. The characteristics of thousands upon thousands of little girls. Except Scully saw only the one stolen from her. The one who had never really been hers. No. She wasn't ready to forget yet. Not until she had put little Audrey Akins from Jefferson City, Tennessee to rest. And that was not going to happen lying here in the middle of a pile of leaves, trapped between the warmth of Mulder's body and the cold of the ground. So, loathe as she was for him to stop the rhythmic rocking his hips had begun against hers -- oh, at least three thoughts ago -- and the spine-tingling suction currently being applied to her left earlobe, Scully attempted once again to distract him. "Mul-derrr..." Scully's earlobe slipped from Mulder's mouth as he buried his nose in the hair at her temple, his breath rustling the strands. "There's a werewolf running willy-nilly, Scully. You should be more on your guard." "Running willy-nilly?" "Running amok?" Mulder drew back to look down at her, his head cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised in an expression Scully knew he'd picked up from her over the years, yet never faltering in his body's languid thrusts into her softness. "There's nothing running through this park except a ravenous bear and several campers not following proper procedure for the storage and/or disposal of food. They've paid the ultimate price." Pulling one arm free from its gentle restraint, Scully smoothed her palm over Mulder's sandpaper jaw. Stroking it. Seeking to erase her earlier less-than-gentle contact with him. "Now can we please go? I need... I need to finish that report." Mulder stilled against her, his suddenly serious eyes staring down into hers as they begged him to understand. To accept her entreaties without question. "I just wanted you... wanted =us= to have a break. I know the circumstances of this case have been difficult for you. Hell, it's been hard for me to see..." Scully wrenched her other arm from Mulder's grasp and pushed until he rolled off her, allowing her to scramble to her feet. She began brushing leafy debris from her backside as Mulder, giving forth a great MulderSigh, stood up beside her. Before he could continue, Scully rushed ahead, determined to thwart any potential comfort. "Mulder, I'm fine." Scully's rendering of her patented Mulder Defense System was sharp. Until she finally forced herself to meet his sorrowful hazel eyes, still darker than normal from the recent close contact of their bodies, she didn't realize =how= cutting. God, his eyes. Matched with the stubborn set of his jaw -- that little muscle on the left side jumping erratically -- his lips still wet from roaming the expanse of her neck. Scully was transported back to the hallway of the New Horizon Psychiatric Center. To another One no more believed than the last one. Well, she could do a better job of convincing him this time. Reaching out, Scully ran her hand down Mulder's arm, stopping to entwine her fingers with his, and she pretended not to feel the desperate way he grasped hers. The soft pad of his thumb smoothed over and over the inside of her middle finger, polishing it with the same slow strokes she imagined Michaelangelo must have used on David. She smiled, the gesture not quite showing up in her eyes, and tried again. "I can handle it, Mulder. It =has= been a rough few days, but I'm just tired like everyone else who put in 20 hour days on this one. The sooner I can finish transcribing the notes from the last autopsy and put it all into some semblance of order for Skinner," Scully tugged on the hand she held until Mulder's body was flush against hers. "... the sooner we can put it behind us and move on. Maybe even take next weekend for ourselves?" Mulder's hands now grasped her upper arms, his eyes searching hers for the deception she knew he knew was there. Understanding, or at least a reluctant acceptance, came in the form of a nearly crushing hug. Scully wrapped her arms tightly around Mulder's waist, tilting her head up to rub her forehead against his neck -- much like an affectionate tabby marking its human as her own. Mulder's voice rumbled from his chest. "Okay, Scully. We'll do it your way. For now." Standing on tip-toes, Scully pressed her lips to Mulder's cheek, and leaned back to look at him as she answered. "Thank you. Besides, you've got to figure out how to tell Skinner why, in the middle of Jefferson City's town square, there's a pMhhmmm..." Mulder's hand covered Scully's mouth, cutting off her words. "Don't remind me, Scully." Scully's hand covered Mulder's, pulling it away so she could say, "I'm sorry. But you must admit I warned you it wasn't a very good idea to..." The inevitable revelation of Mulder's latest dastardly deed was silenced this time not by his hand, but in a more delicious fashion. Soft lips pressed against Scully's own -- touching, tasting -- pulling away only to be drawn back by some strange magnetic force. Her face cradled between his hands, Scully was no longer exactly sure what she'd been about to say, but whatever it was, Mulder's method of communication suddenly held more appeal. A sudden strong breeze picked up the leaves they were standing in, swirling them around in a poor man's imitation of a twister and drawing a shiver from Scully despite her close proximity to Mulder's warm body. Breaking the kiss, Mulder grinned down at her and teased. "Why are you standing here gabbing in the cold, Scully? We could be home in a hot bath." With an exasperated sigh and a shake of her head, she let herself be led through the pines, heading toward home and one final torturous task before she could tuck Audrey and her memories of Emily and the loss of all she represented back into the tiny little box she kept hidden from everyone. Even from herself. End part 1 of 3 NEW: Tearing Down Walls 2/3 by Shari Long Options 1 message - Collapse all Scullysfan View profile More options Apr 10 1999, 11:00 am Part 2 of 3 Disclaimer and other specifics in part 1. ~~~~~~~~ In the end, their shared bath had been postponed, Scully opting instead for a quick shower, claiming to be in a hurry to get to work. Mulder accepted a series of half-hearted kisses and a promise of tomorrow night as a token attempt to soothe his disappointment, but with the sound of the bathroom door closing came harsh realization. Scully was avoiding him. Leaning against the kitchen counter, listening to the unmistakable sounds of a wet, naked Scully -- it puzzled him how he was able to hear that, but he could -- only a few feet away, Mulder alternated between bites of the macaroni and cheese he'd found in the refridgerator and thoughts of exactly when this avoidance had begun. This case had been a difficult one emotionally for both of them. While the brutal taking of any human life was always difficult, exposure to that sort of thing was to be expected in their line of work. Still, it seemed he and Scully were destined to be forever scarred by the tiniest of victims. So, from the discovery of the very first body, Mulder had been witness to Scully shuttering off her emotions, closing them up tight and safe against the maelstorm raging around them. With each new body laid out before her, she withdrew from him a little more. A couple of veiled attempts on his part to draw her out, coax her to let him in on what she was feeling, failed miserably. Then there was his more direct approach earlier that afternoon. He'd hoped by letting her know he understood the impact this case had on her, and of the effect it had on him, it might give her the confidence to unloose a shutter. To allow him more than an outsider's glimpse of her pain. Instead, Scully had met his efforts with... what? Fear? At the thought of facing her own pain long enough to share it with him, perhaps. But, Mulder mused as he sat the empty macaroni and cheese container in the sink and moved on to the fruit salad concoction, that fear had been couched in a desperation he'd rarely seen in Scully's eyes. She'd been desperate to get home. Desperate to avoid what he was determined to talk with her about. So she withdrew. Walking by her side through the forest, Mulder had felt as solitary as he ever had. What hurt him most, however, was being relatively certain Scully understood the feeling all too well. The car ride home yielded no more promising results. The quiet enveloping them wasn't foreign -- even in the deepening of their personal relationship, they'd retained their propensity for silence. It was comforting. Once, in a rare moment of Scully sweet-talk, she'd said to him, "Most women want a man who's easy to talk with. I'm happier that you're easy to be silent with." Tonight's silence was different though -- pregnant with pain and sorrow... Mulder winced at his mind's tactless punning. Fully absorbed was he in the restless and sometimes unwelcome wanderings of his thoughts as he cleaned out the creamy remnants of the fruit salad with one long forefinger, he failed to hear -- or smell -- the approach of his freshly-showered Scully. "Mulder, that's disgusting." She grimaced as she breezed past him on her way to the refrigerator. The scent of her followed in her wake, and Mulder eagerly breathed it in. Apricot-scented something or other. Mixed with a smell that always reminded him of Hawaii. Never mind that he'd yet to ever visit their fiftieth state. "Says the woman who regularly puts guacamole on her face and calls it 'beauty treatment'," teased Mulder, almost sighing in relief that Scully hadn't closed herself off to him so completely that she wouldn't accept his playful barbs. "I'm going to grab myself something to eat..." She stopped, peering into an emptier refrigerator than she had before he had been left unsupervised in her kitchen, and then throwing him a quick look of disapproval. "... if there's anything left, that is -- while you jump in the shower. Then we can get to work." "You think I need a shower, Scully?" Looking over her shoulder as she rummaged in a drawer for the can opener, Scully dipped her head slightly as though she were looking at him over the top of the glasses she wasn't wearing, and with the smirk he =knew= she could do in her sleep, replied, "After rolling around on the ground this afternoon, and if you plan on sleeping with me tonight, yes." Mulder recognized a gift horse when he saw one, and he sure as hell wasn't going to look it in the mouth. At least she was letting him close enough to sleep with her. Send him off to shower with her soap, but don't let him know she's upset. Curl up beside him under the lightest, warmest down comforter he'd ever felt, but never let him see her cry. Strangely enough, those conflicting signals gave Mulder more hope than he'd had in over a week. Heading for the bathroom, Mulder tossed back over his shoulder. "Okay, okay. You have something besides that frou-frou bath gel that smells great on you but gets me lingering glances from Agent Brannor?" "Don't push your luck, Mulder." Scully's voice held resigned amusement as she called out to him. He reached for the water control in the shower, almost missing her final comment on the subject when the spray began to beat against the wall. "And check for ticks!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mulder scrubbed his hands over his face in a futile attempt to erase the boredom he felt seeping from his pores. If his efforts to put a positive spin on what took eight volunteer firemen, a sheriff's deputy, and a local welder to handle got any =more= tedious, it would be time to pull out the pencils and test just how strong Scully's ceiling really was. He had been disappointed to emerge from his shower and find Scully already immersed in her part of their report. Any thoughts of pursuing the lighter mood present before he'd left had vanished as she'd barely looked up when he entered the room. Now he was going to count on her continued absorption in order to indulge in a little Scully-observing, hoping to figure out how to breach the wall she'd placed around her. Papers spread across the table in front of her couch, her laptop and a supply of coffee at the ready, Scully sat hunched in the floor, the fire she'd built in the fireplace reflecting off her glasses. She appeared deceptively soft, dressed in grey cotton leggings and an oversized Washington Redskins tee-shirt. Drying naturally, her hair was loose and more curly than she normally wore it. The toes on her bare feet wiggled now and then, rejoicing in their blessed freedom from those three inch high-heeled prisons she'd taken to wearing lately. Mulder wished he could say she looked young, but the truth was, the burden of the last few years and the additional weight of this latest case had aged her. It didn't matter what state she was in when that most obvious of revelations crossed his mind. Images of a few of those states flashed on his mind's projection screen, rivaling even the most wonderfully air-brushed Hollywood movie: Crouching over a carefully constructed pile of sticks, knocking two stones together in a determined attempt to recreate man's oldest invention. Lying in a hospital bed, her face pale and gaunt as she offered herself to him, not for his pleasure, but for his salvation. Her body flushed and quivering, reaching for the release he offered. Even standing over the broken body of a little girl who looked enough like Emily to have Mulder hovering outside the autopsy bay, silently offering the support he was afraid she'd never request on her own. Mulder ducked his head, feigning an intense dedication to his task as Scully got up to change the CD in the player. Once she had made her selection and returned to her place in front of the fire, he allowed his gaze to settle on her again, his thoughts going back to that last image and the memories it evoked of yesterday. He'd watched her the entire time through the small window in the door. Stood there without blinking or turning away as she had replaced the young heart silenced too soon. He thought it was the least he could do for her. But it had cost him -- had exacted from him a high price -- one he knew couldn't begin to measure up to the one Scully had paid. With the heavy weight of the doors blocking out all sound, Mulder had felt as if he were viewing a silent film as he watched her stitch up the incisions she had made. Then, rather than leave it to an assistant as any other pathologist would have done, Scully had wrapped the body carefully, almost lovingly, in a clean white sheet. Seeing her cradle little Audrey in her arms and place her on the cold, metal tray had almost been his undoing. But then he would have missed seeing her cross the room to where her briefcase sat on a lone shelf. Would have not recognized the small picture of Emily she pulled from the side pocket of the leather bag and stared at for long moments. And he wouldn't have witnessed Dana Scully turning to lean her back against the hard cement block wall and slowly slide to the floor, her forehead coming to rest against her bent knees. He'd gone to her then, the creak of the door pulling her up as though she were a marionette's puppet being jerked roughly by its strings. She was just tired, she had said... overworked. And then she'd asked if maybe he could speak to her department head about that. When her little joke fell hopelessly flat, she'd reached out and grasped his hand, whispering, And with that lie, she'd left him standing there. The final brick in the Great Wall of Scully in place. Mulder's renewed resolve pulled him from his memories and returned him to her apartment where he realized she'd set the CD player to repeat the same song over and over. It wasn't one he recognized or could understand, for that matter -- he =did= recognize the soloist was singing in German. He guessed that was part of the reason Scully had chosen this particular song, since she had studied the language for a time. However, he suspected it wasn't just something as simple as being able to understand the words of the song. Leave it to her to listen to a piece as haunting as this one while writing her autopsy report. Was that it? Did she choose to play music reflective of her feelings? As the CD player whirred quietly, rewinding the disc, and began playing once more, Mulder listened closely this time, hoping to catch a clue that would help him know which area of Scully's wall to attack first. But all he managed to decide was that his mother had been right when she told him he should take a music history course at Oxford. Perhaps then he could have noticed more than despite the often frantic pace of the music, one that reminded him of a galloping horse, and the feelings of sadness and fear were underlying the entire song. Mulder was brooding over these thoughts when he felt two questioning eyes gazing at him from the living room. "Are you finished, Mulder?" He stretched before getting up and walking toward her. "As finished as I'm ever going to be. I'm just going to let Skinner chew my ass out and then hand him my bank card to cover the damages." Sinking down onto the couch behind Scully, he added. "Always worked before." Scully's soft chuckle left his heart flip-flopping in his chest, and he wondered idly if she had those electric paddle thingamabobs stashed in a closet in case she laughed again and he needed resuscitating. Leaning forward, his legs bracketing Scully's body, Mulder placed his hands on her shoulders and began to work the muscles. "Jeez, Scully! What are you packing in your shoulders? Rocks?" "You'd be surprised... ohhh...at how a little hard... ouch!" She cried out and jumped when one of his thumbs began to dig into a particularly large knot over her left shoulder. A few hard strokes later and Mulder felt the tension in her body ease. "... at how a little hard work will knot up the muscles. You oughta try it sometime, Mulder." He grinned at her bowed head, relishing the jabs he knew held no real malice. Having successfully worked the kinks from her shoulders and upper back, his hands now caressed instead of massaged. Long strokes up and down her arms. Tiny circular movements with just his fingertips against the soft down on the back of her neck, careful to not press against the barely raised scar concealing their salvation. Scully breathed a contented sigh, resting her back more fully against the couch. Moving to her temples, Mulder began to massage as, in what he hoped was a casual manner, he asked, "What's this song, Scully? I don't think I've ever heard it before." "It's called 'Der Erlkonig' -- 'The Elf King.'" Scully answered him willingly, but underneath his hands, he felt the tension returning to her body. "An elf king? Sounds like an X-File, Scully," he teased. Though no laugh answered him, he continued on his quest to find a way into the fortress she had built for herself. "So what's the song about?" His hands fell away from her head as she stiffened and sat up straight, pulling away from him. Figuratively and literally. "Scully?" Speaking so low he had to lean forward to hear her, she replied, her tone frighteningly distant. "It's about a child -- a little boy -- who, as he rides home safe in his father's arms, sees the Elf King." Clearing her throat, she explained. "The Elf King is really Death. He kills children -- the only people who can see him." Mulder slumped back against the cushions, his eyes closed and his heart constricted. Despite his sudden unwillingness to hear more, he bent forward when Scully began to speak again. "The boy tells his father that the Elf King is trying to take him, but the father doesn't believe him... says it's just... just his imagination." A mirthless bark of laughter escaped from her at this -- words that might seem ironic to an outsider who couldn't know he and Scully didn't fit within such carefully drawn lines. "At the end, the father arrives home and realizes his son has died in his arms, taken by the Elf King." Scully concluded her account with merely a hint of waver in her voice. For a time, Mulder sat in silence, save for the now morbid-sounding music, and stared at Scully's bowed head. Unable to resist and wanting desperately to comfort her, he reached out and ran one hand gently over her hair, venturing, "Scully?" She grabbed her forgotten pen and scooted closer to the table. Mulder, I need to wrap this up. It's getting late." Not even trying to suppress it, a weary sigh escaped Mulder's lips, but he refused to abandon her so readily. Moving around to crouch beside the table so he could at least see her face even if she wouldn't look him in the eye, he tried again. "Can I at least help you with some of this paperwork? C'mon, I've seen an autopsy or two -- I'll bet I could fake it." Finally a faint smile played upon her lips, but she shook her head, her hair falling into her eyes and shading them, leaving Mulder no choice but to brush it back. The gesture seemed to break the mood a bit, but she still turned him down firmly. "Thank you, but I need to do this by myself." Scully returned his caress when she stroked his newly-shaven cheek. "Why don't you see if you can get the bed warm for me? I'll be there soon." Unwilling to concede but fully aware that he wasn't going to get any further with her until she had completed what she obviously saw as =her= mission, Mulder nodded and took her small hand in his, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss across her palm as he said in a low voice, "I'll be waiting, Scully." She nodded slightly and pulling her hand from his, turned back to her work. Finding his help unwelcome, Mulder headed to warm their bed and to lay awake hoping for another chance to show Scully he was strong enough to share the burden of her grief. Scully's digital clock had just clicked over to one-thirty a.m. when Mulder heard her switch off the bathroom light and make her way to her bedroom. Lying still with his eyelids lowered to mere slits, Mulder tracked Scully's movements as she crossed to the small table in front of her window. She stuffed a handful of files into her briefcase, and then zipped the laptop into its black satchel. He thought she was going to turn and climb into the bed, but she reversed her movement, instead returning to her briefcase. In an action identical to the one he witnessed after the autopsy, Scully quietly removed the small picture from its hiding place. Watching her stare at it for long moments, Mulder rolled around in his mind a thousand things he could say to her. It wasn't until he heard a faint hitch in her breathing and saw her smooth her hand slowly over her abdomen, that something bubbled unexpectedly out of his mouth. "I saw you." End part 2 of 3 NEW: Tearing Down Walls 3/3 by Shari Long Options 9 messages - Expand all Brandon Ray shann...@mindspring.com wrote: > On 10 Apr 1999 23:43:08 GMT, xfile...@aol.com (XFileLuv) wrote: > >I must back up Karen's rec. This is a fabulous story! > >I highly suggest that everyone read it, and then send Shari feedback begging > >for more. > >A nice smutty sequel would be a good place to start, IMHO ;) > >jennifer > Me three, on all counts. what she said. both of 'em.... ;) -- This sig has been repressed at the request of the ATXC Decency Patrol. ================================= My fanfic is like a big bumbling puppy that likes to chase Frisbies: http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html Apr 9 1999, 11:00 am Scullysfan View profile More options Apr 10 1999, 11:00 am Part 3 of 3 Disclaimer and other specifics in part 1. ~~~~~~~~~~~ "I saw you." From out of her dark bedroom came Mulder's voice, low and husky, sounding as though something were in his throat. Startled, Scully whirled around to face him, the forgotten picture fluttering to the floor from her suddenly boneless hand. As her eyes adjusted to the absence of light, she saw Mulder sitting up in the bed, pinning her not with an accusing stare as she would have expected from his declaration, but with a look so full of love and empathy, she very nearly vaulted over her own painstakingly built walls right into his arms. But she couldn't do that. It would leave her unprotected. Defenseless. Vulnerable. So there was only one course of action, comprised of several different tactics -- pretend misunderstanding, deny everything, delay. In short, shield herself and the pain that belonged only to her, at all costs. "What?" "Yesterday. I watched you perform the autopsy on Audrey Akins. Saw you carry..." Mulder's voice maintained the low, patient tone, silenced only briefly. "Mulder, please. It's too late for this..." Exasperation began to creep into Scully's voice, and she hoped it more than masked the fear currently turning her heart into a block of ice. The chill was spreading to her arms, leaving goosebumps behind as a faint tremble shook her body. Seemingly unstoppable, he drove ahead, relentlessly replaying yesterday's ordeal. "... saw you =hold her= in your arms and carry her to the storage area. And then I saw you take out Emily's picture." "Mulder..." Feeling the almost unbearable urge to flee the room, she tried once more to dissuade him from continuing down this thorny path he was apparently determined to brave. But he grew ever closer -- closer to her and to pushing her defenses to the breaking point. Scooting to the edge of the bed, he leaned toward her. Through the hair that fell forward when she ducked her head, Scully could just make out his form, but his words rang clear. "I was there, Scully. I was there and saw you balled up in the floor, hurting as much as I've ever seen you." His words were rushed as though he feared another interruption, but they carried with them the weight of one who had just witnessed suffering. And that both frightened and angered Scully. Stooping down, Scully snatched the fallen picture from the floor and returned it to her briefcase before answering him with a harshness she hoped would leave him wishing he hadn't pursued this particular battle. "It was a horrendous case, Mulder! Are you saying it didn't have an effect on you?" "Of course not." Mulder answered her with an infuriating calm. "What I'm saying, Scully, is that it's obvious in cases where the victims are children, especially this one where a little girl like Audrey resembled Emily so closely... that... that it has to strike at something deep inside you." She shook her head, reaching up to rub her hands over her face. Dropping her arms to her sides, she took a deep breath and made the very admission she only let her mind and heart hear in the quietest, most solitary hours of the night. "Okay, Mulder. Yes...yes. I had a difficult time with this one. And yes, it was in large part due to my feelings about Emily... about..." Scully's voice dropped off, her earlier anger smothered by the defeat of having her barricade breached. "What do you want from me, Mulder?" "Come here, Scully. Please." He held out one hand until she took it and then moved back against the pillows, pulling her along with him until she found herself wrapped in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Though she still trembled slightly, she could feel the heat from his body beginning to warm hers. With one hand, Mulder snagged the covers and pulled them up, tucking them snugly around their bodies. He took her hand and placing it on his chest, continued. "I'm not going to force you to talk to me. I don't expect you to tell me everything you're feeling about Emily and all the... issues surrounding her." A measure of combined surprise and relief washed over her as she started to look up at him. "Then what..." Before she could finish her question, Mulder's hand moved from her shoulder to her head, pressing it lightly back to its resting place, then smoothing lazily over and over the tousled hair as he answered. "No matter how far we've taken our relationship, I know even now it's hard for you to make yourself vulnerable in that way. But I need you to at least understand something, Scully." At that, Scully pushed herself up on one elbow, searching that most beloved face for a clue as to what he was about to tell her. "You =can= let me know when you're hurting. I'm not going to try and talk you out of your pain. And I'll never take it away from you. You need it. I know that from experience. Few things in life are as driving a force as the torment that comes from a loss." Mulder smiled softly, running his hand up and down the arm still resting on his chest. "So I promise -- you can keep your pain and your grief. But once in a while, it's okay to let me help you carry it." Scully at last knew why Mulder had sounded as though his throat was clogged as hers began to close, unshed tears pooling in her eyes. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she then nodded. "I know that. I do. I guess I've always viewed this as my loss though. =My= child. Except that she wasn't, was she? No matter how much of my DNA was intertwined with hers, she belonged to Roberta Sims." She felt herself being pulled back into the shelter of his arms, and once settled, she tilted her head up until she could press her nose into his neck and inhale deeply, smiling to herself at the realization that he smelled like her. "You would have loved her, Scully." Mulder pressed a kiss to her forehead. With a self-assurance she was surprised to possess, Scully affirmed, "Yes. I think I would have." "I would have loved her, too, you know." "Mulder..." Scully had never expected that hearing Mulder's declaration of love for someone else would effect her more than the rare but cherished verbal sentiments directed toward her. She felt him nod confidently and heard that earnestness bound back into his voice. "I would have. I think one reason you feel you have to bear her loss alone is that you see her as yours alone... your responsibility. But haven't you figured it out by now, Scully?" He rolled her over onto her back, propping himself up so he was looking down into her eyes. "If it hurts you, it hurts me. And I will love anyone who is a part of you." "Even Bill?" She smiled wickedly. Ruefully shaking his head, Mulder laughed, "Bill would kick my ass if I tried to love him." Suddenly, the fear and grief that had been haunting Scully for longer than she cared to remember no longer seemed as oppressive, and she realized guarding the perimeter of her fortress hadn't crossed her mind in several minutes. She snuggled further into the give of her bed and pulled Mulder closer. "You were good with Emily, Mulder. Got a smile out of her when I couldn't." "Yeah, well... you just don't have the facial features to do a really good Mr. Potatohead." As if to prove to her that her face was desirable despite its inability to double as a child's plaything, Mulder touched his lips to hers before moving on to cover her face with light kisses as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'll never forget the first time I saw the two of you together, sitting in the floor coloring, heads bowed in such concentration. I'll bet she got that from you, Scully." Looking at him with sleepy eyes, Scully drew on his memory. "What else do you remember, Mulder?" "I remember how I felt to see the two of you together... that it was a sight I'd never really pictured but suddenly knew how right it looked. And I wondered if you'd let me play, too." Another grin from Mulder, matched with waggling eyebrows, coaxed a soft laugh from Scully. The laugh was replaced by a renewal of tears with his next words. "She had your blue eyes. And I would have done anything to keep pain from them, just like I would for you." A depth of feeling for this man like she'd felt for no other washed over her, and she found it impossible to deny him the truth he deserved. "Remember when we went to the children's home after that phone call?" He tilted his head in a quizzical manner. "When we found Emily so feverish? Yeah." "When you picked her up and held her in your arms..." Scully took a deep breath, one of her hands stroking the back of his neck, and said, "... the part of my mind that wasn't worrying about her condition... well, I was thinking how I could have gotten used to seeing you hold her." She had lowered her eyelids as she finished her admission, suddenly finding herself self-conscious, when Mulder dipped his head and captured her mouth with his. Slipping one hand under her head, he moved her head first this way and then that to better drink from her. Tender lips were caught within his own, tasted and sucked, until she took back some control and plunged her tongue into the recesses of his mouth. Her lips curved slightly beneath his own as she encountered Mulder's own salty taste that she knew so well. He broke the kiss with a chuckle when she yawned deeply, but leaned in for a quick kiss to erase her sheepish look. She wondered when he pulled away from her, but sighed with contentment when he nudged her to roll onto her side, and then aligned his long ...