AUTHOR: Diana Battis
DISTRIBUTION: OK for Gossamer. Anywhere else, just ask. I usually say yes.
CLASSIFICATION: V, A, MSR
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Three Words
SUMMARY: She only exists in the periphery of his vision.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Never have, never will, damn it.
FEEDBACK: All4Mulder@aol.com
Author's notes at the end.
My fanfiction can be found at:
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Vault/4090/TheXFilesFic.html
********
Mulder won't touch her.
They sit on his couch, side by side, but they might as well exist in different dimensions. There is a wall separating them, its bricks and mortar built by circumstances beyond her control. Though invisible, it is still tangible. It makes her feel like a leper. Unclean, unworthy.
And alone.
The incessant blare of the television fills his living room. He stares at the set, engrossed in the hockey game, uncaring that she only pretends to watch with him. The files she used as an excuse for the visit lie abandoned. After a cursory look he tossed them on the coffee table. Their contents are spilled out, the carefully compiled pages reduced to placemat status for the empty beer cans and takeout containers covering the surface.
She chews her lip, eating off the expensive lipstick she'd applied with him in mind. A useless gesture, born of desperation -- he hasn't looked at her in weeks. Not at her face, and certainly not at her changing body. She only exists in the periphery of his vision.
The game ends, and he sighs as he reaches for the remote, flipping through the array of cable channels with incredible speed. Another sigh, and he clicks the set off, tossing the remote in the general direction of the coffee table.
From beneath half-closed lids she watches him, her eyes following the staccato movement of his fingers as they tap against a pillow. Each tap is like the tick of an out-of-sync time bomb, marking seconds as they pass. The mood is fragile, the danger palpable. One word, one touch, one harshly drawn breath could cause detonation. Part of her wants it, craves an end to the interminable waiting. But in reality, it would solve nothing. She knows it will take more than a figurative explosion to destroy the barrier separating them.
She wills him to look at her, to acknowledge her presence, but his eyes seem focused on the scattered remains of sunflower seeds that also adorn the battered coffee table. His body shifts, leaning further away from her. The fine hairs on his arm seem to bristle, like the fur of a cat when it feels threatened. Her fingers long to smooth them, to feel the warmth of skin and muscle that were once so familiar to her, but the wall between them is impenetrable.
Instead, her hand creeps with slowness to the mound of her stomach, curling against it. An effervescent flutter starts within her, a sensation she finds both strange and exhilarating. Their baby is moving.
Fingers splayed, she savors the miracle her body nurtures. Under different circumstances she would take his hand, cradle it in hers, and press it against the life cocooned within her. She wants to share this with him, but fear holds her back. There is only so much she can take before breaking.
Closing her eyes against the frustrated tears burning in their depths, she sucks in a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds. Releasing it slowly, she hopes to ease the tension boiling within her.
In.
Out.
A Lamaze exercise in futility.
There have been times like this before, times when the relationship was strained. They are, after all, two vastly different people. But she has never before felt the isolation as sharply as now. She has Mulder back, yet she doesn't have him at all.
"Did you ever wonder what death is?" His voice is flat, the words uttered almost without inflection, as though he were asking a stranger about the time or the weather.
Startled, her eyes blink open. She should rejoice -- after nearly two hours of ambivalence he is finally acknowledging her presence by looking at her. It is a hollow victory. His eyes are dark and empty and his face is devoid of expression.
Her answer is chosen with care, uttered with a gentleness she doesn't feel. "I think everyone does, at one time or another."
"Would you like to hear my empirical observations? From a purely scientific standpoint, of course." Deep and harsh, his voice grates across her already battered nerves. "The word that comes to mind is nothing. Death is nothing. The dead are nothing. Dust, ashes." Bitterness curls his lips into a macabre smile. "Organic material for composting."
She winces at the imagery, and her hand pushes tighter against her girth. Memories of the fear and uncertainty that followed her abduction flood her mind. "I know what it's like to lose part of yourself," she murmurs, her tone low and soothing. The need to touch him is almost overwhelming. She wants to reassure him, but knows it would be unwelcome. He doesn't seek comfort, only answers, and she is helpless to fulfill his needs.
He turns away, and she sees the angles of his profile in stark relief against the eerie glow of his aquarium. His jaw clenches rhythmically, the tension oozing from his body like sweat -- sharp and foul and overpowering.
"It isn't just a part of me I lost." He crumples a corner of the pillow in his fist, knuckles and tendons showing taut through the pale skin. "Oh, fuck it!" He hurls the pillow across the room, and jumps to his feet. "How can I expect you to understand when I'm not sure myself."
Startled, her other hand comes to rest against her abdomen, her fingers lacing together in a protective gesture. "I don't know what you expect of me." Her voice quavers with uncertainty. Pregnancy has changed more than her body, and she hates the emotions that lie so much closer to the surface.
"Nothing. I'm sorry." He shrugs and walks to his desk, leaning a hip against the edge. "It's something I have to work out," he mutters, folding his arms across his chest.
"You don't have to do it alone." The offer spills from her, spontaneous and eager, but one look at his face quells her enthusiasm.
"Don't I? What do you suggest, Dr. Scully?" He pushes away from the desk, his eyes narrow slits in his pale face. "Think I need to see a shrink?"
"I would never presume to tell you what to do." Her face nearly crumples, but pride forbids the weakness. "I...I trust you to work it out. But if you need me..." She moves forward until she perches on the edge of the couch. "I hope you know you can always count on me."
He shakes his head, anger pleating his forehead with lines. "Very altruistic of you." His hand arcs over his stomach with shocking precision. "But you're not exactly in shape to slay my demons."
Horror mingles with anger. "Is that what this is all about?" she retorts, her face flaming. Blood hums in her ears, and the dulled edges of her anger sharpen until her voice is as hard as flint. "This may have happened by accident, but I won't apologize for it." She stands, her movements awkward and heavy. "And damn it, I won't let you make me sorry it happened."
He has the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
"I know you didn't expect this." Disappointment makes her words stilted. "You have my assurance that you don't need to feel obligated in any way."
"Christ, is that what you think? I don't feel *obligated*, Scully." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as though in pain. "I feel scared."
The first crack in the mortar has appeared, and she digs at it with determination. "Scared of what?" she questions, her fingers curling up until her nails dig into her palms.
Pausing, he rubs a hand across his cheeks; the rasp of his emerging beard is audible in the silence. She can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to formulate his response.
When he starts to speak, the words are low, almost whispered. "Scared of pushing where I'm not wanted. Scared of what your pregnancy means to our relationship." The crack widens, and he squeezes his eyes closed as though he is unable to look at her. "Scared of losing you."
Anger renders her almost speechless. "You have a damned odd way of showing it," she finally replies. "For weeks you've shut yourself away from me." The words spill from her, sharp and acerbic. "You're alive, Mulder...but you may as well still be buried."
He gasps and turns away, the silence broken only by the harsh sound of his breathing. "I feel...disconnected," he whispers after a few seconds, leaning forward over the desk with his palms pressed against the pristine surface. A strangled sound, a cross between a laugh and a sob, comes from the bent head. "I don't know who I am anymore, or where I fit in."
Tears clog her throat. "You've been through..." She pauses, struggling for words as the image of his battered body fills her mind. "You've been through an incomprehensible ordeal. But I am here for you. Always. I want you in my life...and in our baby's."
He turns to face her, his tongue slipping across his bottom lip. "Problem is, in this symbiotic relationship I feel like the parasite."
Her eyebrows flick upward. "That's not how it is." Astonishment colors her voice.
"I know better. And contrary to the general consensus, I've done more than sit and stare at the four walls of this apartment." He gestures toward the folders and their spilled contents. "Those aren't the first. Skinner brought me files, too. He thought it advisable to familiarize me with some of the cases you were assigned while I was...gone." He pushes a hand through his hair, further ruffling the already unruly locks. "You and Agent Doggett deserve congratulations -- you have a commendable success ratio."
"Commendable by whom?" she asks in exasperation.
He snorts. "There were several laudatory memos from Kersh in the files I got from Skinner. I assume they're also included in the ones you brought tonight. Surely you must have seen them?"
"Since when do you have such a high regard for Kersh and his opinions?" she shoots back.
He shrugs.
"Agent Doggett is a good man, but he isn't you." She sinks back onto his couch, wincing as an odd spring pokes into her. "He lacks your insight, your intuition, your talent for discovering the truth, no matter what Kersh says to the contrary."
He shakes his head in sad denial. "That doesn't alter the facts." He laughs humorlessly. "Call this my existential turning point."
She exhales sharply as her shoulders sag in disappointment. The years with him have taught her that he can't and won't be pushed. Dipping her chin, she concentrates on smoothing the sweater over her stomach, and is surprised when she feels the couch dip under his weight. He sits close enough for her to feel the heat of his body, but he still doesn't touch her.
"I know this isn't what you want to hear from me, and I'm sorry." He reaches down to snag a couple of seeds from the coffee table. "I'm trying, you have my word on this...I just need time."
"How much time?" she asks softly, pushing back an errant lock of hair behind her ear.
"Whatever it takes. I know you want something more definitive from me, but it's the best I can do." He yawns, and his eyes blink sleepily. "Sorry about that. With all the rest I've gotten in the past few months you'd think I'd be able to keep my eyes open past nine o'clock." His tone is laden with irony.
She leans forward, reaching for the scattered files. "I'd better let you get some sleep."
"No. Leave them."
Her hands drop to her lap as she glances back at him, startled by the vehemence in his voice.
His lips curve in a self-deprecating smile. "They'll give me something to read while I eat my Wheaties."
"It's good to know your diet is a bit more varied than fast food and beer," she observes dryly.
Sighing, he gets to his feet. "I'm trying to find my way, Scully," he murmurs, reaching down to gather the files into a neat stack.
Nodding, she brushes the swell of her stomach. "I'll...no, we'll be waiting." Slowly she stands, wincing as she attempts to straighten her back. "Just don't make us wait too long." Turning, she heads for the door.
"Scully." Her hand on the knob, she turns and watches as he crosses to where she stands. "Hold out your hand," he says softly. Something is hidden between his index finger and thumb. As he presses it into her palm, the pad of his finger grazes her skin, the touch wholly unexpected. She feels it, burning like a jolt of electricity along her arm until he pulls his hand away and the connection is broken.
Lying in her palm is a sunflower seed, its shell tiny and perfect. Looking up at him, she doesn't try to suppress the tears that fill her eyes.
"Don't give up on me, Scully," he murmurs.
The seed is small, its weight imperceptible. Yet for some reason she cannot fathom, this simple gift gives her hope.
For now, it's enough.
********
End
Peripheries
by Diana Battis
Author's notes: My thanks to alanna, Alicia K, Forte, and Audrey Roget for the super quick beta. You ladies rock! Special thanks and cyberhugs to mountainphile for the last minute read-through and title help. And as always, to Musea, for being there.
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