TITLE: The Price Of Empathy
AUTHOR: Dx
RATING: R
CLASSIFICATION: VA
SPOILERS: The Red And The Black
SUMMARY: Scully's thoughts, feelings, and speculations 
over a particularly bad day for her partner.
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you notify me first.
DISCLAIMER: I do not, in any way, own the characters of 
Dana Scully,Fox Mulder, or Alex Krycek.  They are the 
rightful property of Chris Carter. 1013 Productions, 
FOX, and god-knows-who-else.  No disrespect or copyright 
infringement intended.
NOTES:  Yes, it's me again.  But this time, I'm back with 
an entirely different story.  This is, I have been told, 
quite horrifying.  It deals with the aftermath of rape, 
a devastating experience no matter the circumstances or 
the sex of the victim. It does not describe actual 
violence, even though the effects are disturbing.  
You have been warned.
FEEDBACK:  Let's just say I desperately need to know what 
you think. In other words, SEND ME COMMENTS OR DIE!!!!!

Thanks to Palinurus and Te for all their much appreciated help
and encouragement.

One last warning here.... You know what it's about.... okay...
Slash Warning

=====================
The Price Of Empathy
By Dx
=====================

My phone rang twice before I muted the TV and picked it up.

I knew it was you instantly.

I was just expecting a different you.

My body thrummed with panic when you didn't speak, but rather 
wheezed my name into the mouthpiece.  The electrical surging 
then gave way into a thick, black fog of pure dread when I 
heard your next trembling word.

"Help."

You so very rarely ask for help, Mulder.  Especially mine.

I didn't hesitate in jumping to my feet and grabbing my keys 
from the coffee table when you disconnected.  I nearly forgot 
my gun in my haste. Does that tell you how readily I would 
drop everything just to help you?

The weather was horrendous, and the drive between Annapolis 
and Alexandria was hell.  Absolute torture.  Not only because 
the snow was falling in clumps the size of watermelons, but 
because I was helpless to cease my examination of worst case 
scenarios.

What could have happened to make you call this late on a 
Sunday night?  Sure, you called all the time when you 
couldn't sleep due to nightmares.  But I swear there isn't 
a dream potent enough to make you sound the way you did on 
that phone.

You sounded like... you sounded... you sounded like you were 
in the clutches of Satan.

The twenty minutes it took me to drive to your apartment 
seemed like an age.  All the while, I was replaying your 
stricken voice in my head... desperately fighting the pain of 
impending tears.  Not tears of hurt, nor of grief, but tears 
of knowing.  Tears of understanding that something so 
devastating had occurred that you had abandoned your 'I'm 
fine. I'm indestructible. I will martyr myself for the sake 
of my obsessions' outlook and admitted defeat.

I was paralyzed by the fear within me.

As I approached your building, I saw that your apartment was 
dark.  You were in darkness.  Not even the flickering blue 
from the TV screen was detectable.

Pain and darkness.

That is what your life was always made of, Mulder.

I tackled the stairs as quickly as my quivering legs would 
allow, and felt my breathing become shallow as I approached your 
door.

No sound.

No screaming.

Nothing.

Only silence - the third contributing factor to your tortured 
existence.

I took two more steps along the dimly lit corridor before I 
saw that your door was open.

You never, ever leave your door open, Mulder.

As I stood outside your apartment, studying the dark wood of 
the door and its frame, I heard the soft sound of sobbing 
emanating from within your home.

I had seen you cry many times.  I had never heard you weep.  
That was the sound of keening. The sound of raw emotion so 
intense that it escaped the body in the form of tears.

The sound will haunt me for the rest of my life.

After determining that the door had not been forced in, but 
had merely been left ajar by someone exiting you apartment, I 
tentatively entered your domain.

I walked slowly through the shadow, wincing as my shin 
collided with something hard and jagged.  The remains of your 
antique hat stand.  A gift, you had once told me, from a 
friend who had since died.

Have you lost everyone you have ever loved, Mulder?

Everyone but me?

I called out your name into the dark.  The soft moans I had 
been able to hear before had since disappeared, replaced by 
the clunk of my own footsteps.

I didn't like how quiet it was.

"Mulder?"  I tried again.

You didn't answer me.  Why didn't you answer me?

"Mulder, it's me.  Can you hear me?"

It was then that my ears detected the slightest sound.  One 
that seemed to be an attempt at a word.

A name.

My name.

You were softly calling out for me.

I followed the sound into your bathroom.  I couldn't see you 
in the near pitch black, but I could feel you.  I could 
sense your hurt.  I could hear your breathing.

"Mulder?"  I spoke, keeping my voice soft and unthreatening.

"Scully." A hoarse whisper came from below me.

You were on the floor.

"Mulder, what's going on?"  I asked, taking a step into the 
room, feeling the grit of broken glass under my feet.

You made a soft choking sound, and I panicked.  "Mulder, I'm 
turning on the light, okay?"  I warned you before yanking 
the cord.

Oh, Mulder.  It was I who was in need of the warning.

The sight of you made the bile rise in my throat.  You were 
lying in a tight, shivering ball in a corner of the starkly 
lit bathroom.  You were naked, bar the metal bracelet of 
handcuffs around your right wrist, fixing you to the pipes 
behind the sink.  Shards of glass from the shattered mirror 
were scattered across the tiled floor, which was flooded in 
a pink mixture of water and blood.  Your perfect, smooth, 
tanned skin was blemished by the deep red of puncture wounds 
and scratches.  Your hair was matted and sticky with the same 
congealing blood that had pooled on the tiles surrounding 
your head.

There was only one person in the world sick enough to do this 
to you.  And it was the name that escaped your bruised, 
bleeding lips at that moment.

"Krycek."

In mind's eye, I saw everything that had happened.

He had been waiting for you when you arrived home from my 
place at around seven that evening.  You hadn't even bothered 
pulling your gun on the little fuck.

There was no need.

He wanted to talk.  Probably said there was something he 
needed to tell you.  Something important.  Something you 
would be interested in.

You would have laughed and told him to get the hell out of 
your apartment as you crossed to take a beer from your 
refrigerator.  However, Mulder, you were frightened of him.  
He had nearly killed you the last time.  He could have so 
easily killed you... but he didn't.  Perhaps that is what 
scared you the most.  Because you have been in exactly the 
same position on more than one occasion... and you never 
killed him either.  Do you find the idea that you could have 
been attracted to him frightening? Could *still* be maybe, 
Mulder, I know how you so easily confuse pain with other 
emotions... or is that the other way 'round?

Krycek would have questioned your distrust in him, like 
always.  He would have asked why you hated him so.

You would have known he was only distracting you.  Krycek 
always has ulterior motives.  No doubt you played along for 
a while, Mulder.  No doubt your retorts were 
characteristically sexual in nature.

You love to flirt.  You always have.  You'll do it with 
anyone, regardless of age, sex... or, in the case of Krycek, 
species.

You probably brought up the subject of what happened the last 
time we encountered the Ratbastard.  You probably commented 
on the little parting kiss he had given you.

Heaven knows why, Mulder, but you always do seem to attract 
the wrong sort of attention.  English Fire Demons.  Vampires. 
Entomologists named after Disney films.  One-armed 
psychopath slimeballs whose last date was with a personality 
devouring oil creature from mars... not counting the blonde 
of course. That's another one, Mulder.  Just what is she to 
you?  Anyway, that little collection sure beats my homicidal 
tattoo story.

Did you find out what Krycek came to tell you?  Or did one of 
you hit a raw nerve and start an argument?  Was it you who 
angered Krycek into retaliation, or was it he who made you 
lose control?  You never were very good at the whole 'keeping
your cool thing' when it came to him. 

I imagine you ordered Krycek to leave before you did what you 
should have done in the first place and called the cops.  
He's a wanted criminal, Mulder.  Wanted for the murder of 
your own father.  Wanted in connection to the murder of my 
sister.

I suppose you turned your back when he began to leave. Why was 
that, Mulder? Was it because you didn't want to watch him go? 
Whatever the reason, it was a second mistake.

Krycek doesn't like being ignored.  You of all people 
should know that.  He was angry.  You had probably humiliated 
him.  And, Mulder, you know how he felt about you.  He wanted 
to hurt you back.

He took your hat stand in his only hand, and hit you with it 
so hard the wood splintered.

You were winded, if not unconscious as he dragged you into 
the bathroom.  You would have to have been.  Krycek could 
probably drag you, but he couldn't have dragged you anywhere 
while you were struggling.  He's even weedier than you... and 
he's a freaking cripple.

When he got you into the bathroom, I think he pulled the 
shower down and sprayed you with water to wake you up - that 
would explain why the floor was flooded.  He wanted your eyes 
open.  He wanted you to know.  Then, he set about making you 
sorry.

He kicked you in the ribs - I can see the black and blue of 
bruising under your solar plexus.  You must have struggled, 
getting to your feet to fight back, but you were hurt, and 
shocked, and the floor was slippery.  He threw you against 
the mirror... and then you couldn't fight any more.  You must 
have been helpless as he stripped you of your ripped T-shirt 
and jeans.  I wonder what he said to you.  I wonder if he 
said anything as you lay bleeding and moaning on the floor.  
You were not unconscious.  Your bloodshot, traumatized, teary 
eyes told me you were aware.  So totally aware of what he was 
doing.  You just couldn't stop it.

He took your cuffs from your back pocket and snapped a 
bracelet around your wrist.  He fixed the other around a pipe 
to make sure you couldn't turn or move.  He didn't need to 
bother with the other arm, because I could see from the 
alignment of your shoulder that the joint was dislocated.

It was then that he found enough common decency somewhere to 
take a condom from either your wallet or his.  The evidence 
of this was lying in a shrivelled heap at my feet.

He raped you.  Oh, Mulder, the bastard beat you senseless, 
flipped you onto your front, and then he raped you.

I could not find the strength to hold back my tears.

I dropped to my knees on the floor by your side, thankful and 
resentful of thick denim protecting my flesh from the glass.  
I needed to feel pain right then.  Anything to ease the agony 
I was in.

You whimpered and jerked your arm against the cuffs when I 
touched your hand.  When I tried to make physical contact for 
a second time, you started to sob again, begging me not to 
touch you.

Following that instruction was the hardest thing I had ever 
had to do in my life.

I felt so isolated.  So alone.  You were practically 
psychoneurotic, and I couldn't even rely on myself to find
enough insight to cover you up.  I just let you lie there
bare-assed naked and wounded.  Although, I don't think
you would have allowed me to get close enough for me to
drape you in a blanket or towel or whatever came to hand.

Your cellular phone lay next to your bloodied hand in a pool 
of ice-cold water.  Krycek had finished, zipped himself up, 
and kicked your phone within reaching distance.  Then, he 
left you naked, broken and bleeding on the floor.

So help me god, Mulder.  If I ever lay my eyes on that shit 
for morals, two-faced, slimesucking, son of a bitch fucker I 
will kill him with my bare hands.  I swear it.

I didn't know what to do to help you.  You wouldn't allow me 
to touch you.  You became hysterical when I told you I was 
going to phone the paramedics.

"No!  Scully, NO!  No, you can't. You can't. You can't. 
Scully, please. Oh please don't. Scully, please. I can't go 
to the hospital."

If I didn't get you to the hospital soon, you would have 
either bled or frozen to death right there in front of me.  
Of course, I didn't tell you that.

"Mulder, you have to trust me, sweetheart," I cooed, I don't 
think you particularly minded the use of a pet name.  To be 
honest, I don't think you heard me. "It's okay.  I promise I 
am not going to hurt you.  I promise you."

"No," you whispered.

"Mulder."  I choked back a sob.  "Mulder *please*."

You curled yourself tighter into a ball.  If you'd pressed your 
legs any tighter into your chest they'd have exploded out 
your back.

I leaned closer to you, it was then I noticed the dark purple 
of broken blood vessels on the skin around the back of your 
neck.  Oh my God that bastard just wanted shooting.  He had 
pulled the sweet, pliable flesh of your neck into his mouth 
and sucked until your were left with bruises.  Had he done it 
to leave his mark?  Give you something to look at to remind 
you for a good couple of days?

I don't believe that the other marks made by his mouth - 
teeth marks - had been intentional.  Did he bite you there on 
your shoulder when he came? Did he mean to clamp his teeth 
down into the firm muscle as hard as he did? Did he know that 
the image of his teeth would leave a scar on your shoulder 
for the rest of your life?

Was it a way of saying to you that he would always be around?  
That he would always be in the shadows, lurking?  Waiting 
until he found the thing he was lacking... the thing that 
would give him the ability to let himself kill you?

"Mulder," I tried once more, "Listen to me.  I know you are 
hurting, and I know you are afraid right now..."

"I'm not afraid of you."  Your speech was slurred, I knew it 
was the effects of the head injury. "I'm not afraid of you, 
Scully."

"Then let me do what you called me here to do.  Let me help 
you."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight.  "I can't."

"Why can't you?  You know I'm not going to hurt you," I 
reassured you.  

"I know," you whispered.  You were going to cry again.  I 
couldn't handle it anymore.

"Mulder, goddamn it, don't be a child!"  I regretted the 
words the moment I spoke them.  You know that feeling where 
you just want to put your head in a pressure cooker?  

You pulled your split lip into your mouth and suckled on it.  
You know what, Mulder?  The irony of it was you looked 
*exactly* like a child at that moment.  A poor, beaten, 
viciously abused little boy.

"Mulder, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, look... you're gonna have to 
try and let me... Mulder, will you let me take the cuffs off? 
Just that, I promise nothing more.  Will you let me do that?"  
MommaScully was back.

You let out a long shaky breath, before you nodded slowly.

I reached into my pocket where I knew there was a replica of 
the tiny key to your set of handcuffs.  I reached behind the 
sink, being careful not to scrape the bruises made by the 
metal band.  You let me take your wrist, raw with abrasions, 
and lay it on your thighs where they were drawn up tightly 
over your abdomen.  It had taken so much trust on your part.

Once that was over with, I waited a few seconds before I 
touched your blood-soaked hair.  You still trembled.  You 
whimpered slightly, but you didn't pull away.  You didn't cry.

"Mulder."  I stroked the side of your face. "Will you let me 
help you sit up?"

To my utter surprise, you nodded.  I felt my heart constrict 
when you gingerly reached out to grasp my hand.

I lifted you up, carefully avoiding your shoulder.  That was 
when there was a deluge of emotion, and you collapsed against 
me.  Before I knew what was happening, you were wrapped up 
in my arms, your face buried in my breasts as you wept.

"I.. it... it was Krycek," you sobbed, words muffled by my 
sweater.  "Scu..Scully.. I feel l..like a... I shoulda known.. 
I...how could I let him do this to me?  *Him* Scully... he... 
raped me.  The sonofabitch raped me."

"I know."  I rocked you gently, afraid of aggravating your 
injuries.  "I know, sweetheart, I know."

"He told me... "  Your voice was high and tight with tears.  
"Scully, he said I wanted it.  He said I've always wanted it.  
He said he was giving me what I wanted... only his way.  He 
said... Scully... he said it was my own fault."

"It's not true."  I shook my head vehemently.  "I promise you 
it's not true.  He's a liar.  A *fucking* liar, Mulder."  
Bastard.  Goddamned bastard.  I hope he slipped and sliced 
his balls on the same shards of glass that had cut your 
beautiful, lean body.

"He said stuff about you, Scully, so I got angry... I... I 
started on him... and he got pissed... and I threw a bottle 
at him.  I should have just shot him.  I should have just 
killed the bastard.  But you know what he's like, Scully.  
He always gets away from me. He gets his way.  He.... oh, god, 
Scully. He *really* had his way with me tonight." You stopped 
to chuckle unhumorously into my chest. "Hey, ol' spooky can 
still come up with the one-liners when he's half dead, frozen 
to the bone and fucked to hell.  Oh, look.  Done it again. Do 
you..." Then you seemed to remember you were meant to be having 
a little bit of a nervous breakdown.  You stopped talking and 
started crying again.  I think I preferred the dopey approach.  
"I can't remember how it happened."  Did you really want to? 
"I can't... Scully, I can't remember properly. I... oh, god, 
Scully I just remember coming to in here with him trying to 
rip my shirt off with his one fucking hand."

"Mulder, hush."  I finally found my voice.  

You couldn't stop.  "Scully, I can't believe this.  It isn't 
real.  This just doesn't happen.  It doesn't happen. It... 
didn't... happen."  I could tell that speech was becoming 
more and more difficult for you.

"Mulder, just let it go," I whispered to you.  "Just let it 
take you away.  Let yourself slip away."  As I looked down, I 
tried not to notice the tiny dribble of blood finding its way 
from the cleft of your ass to trickle down the back of your 
thigh.  How hard had he fucked you, Mulder?  How hard had he 
pounded into you?  Hard enough to tear the soft tissues.  
Hard enough to make you bleed.

Your voice was barely a hiss as you continued to shudder in 
my lap.  You were in shock.  "I'm gonna kill him."

Not before I do, Mulder.  How dare he turn my strong, 
tenacious, genius partner into the trembling, bleeding, 
hysterical man I held in my lap?  How dare he do this?  My 
partner.  My best friend.  The man I love more than anything 
in the world.

How dare he do this to me?

Yes, Mulder, to me.

It hurt me too.

Still holding you, I tugged your blue terrycloth robe from 
behind the door. Why hadn't I done that sooner?  Why had I 
left you unclothed? I draped it over you, feeling your body go 
limp in my arms when you were encased in the soft warmth of 
the towelling.   You were not asleep.  You had merely done as 
I said and given up the fight against unconsciousness.

It must have been a blessing.

I wished I could do it too.

-END 1/2-

The Price of Empathy by Dx (2/2)

DISCLAIMER ETC IN PRT 1
===========================

In a daze, I called for the police and the paramedics.  They 
came, lifted your still, nude body from me and covered you 
in a blanket before taking you out to the ambulance.

I walked through your bustling apartment with your robe still 
clutched in my hands.  I watched Police Officers from the 
local PD drop evidence, of which included the offending 
blood streaked condom and the remnants of your torn clothing, 
into plastic bags.  They took notes, spoke into radios, 
dusted for fingerprints.

They asked me for a statement.

I said "Sure. Life sucks shit."  Then walked out the door.  
You would love that if I told you.

I rode with you in the ambulance to NorthEast Georgetown.  I held 
your hand in mine, and I prayed to god that you would stay in 
that blissful senseless state during the examination that 
would follow.

As it turned out, you did awaken.  You were far from 
conscious though.  I could see the vacant look behind your 
irises and knew you had escaped to that private little place 
deep inside where there was no pain.  No fear.  No 
humiliation.

I wished I could be there with you.

That catatonic state soon dissolved into sleep with the help 
of drugs when your wounds had been assessed and your head 
injuries dealt with.

A fractured skull.

And a fractured mind beneath it.

The doctor explained that they had to perform STD and HIV 
tests as a precaution. Traces of semen had been found in your 
rectum during the examination, it looked like the condom had 
split.  Good old Krycek's show of 'decency' had been for nothing.  

When I told you, you clenched your jaw tight and refused to 
communicate with anyone.  It was as if you felt even worse 
when you knew he had expelled bodily fluids inside you.  I 
imagine it disturbed you to think he had left something of 
himself behind.  Like he was still there... violating you.

The nightmares didn't come that night - the sedative took 
care of that.  But, oh, how they made up for lost time when 
you were weaned off the medication after the swelling in your 
brain had reduced.

You screamed and writhed and threw yourself around in the 
small hospital bed so violently that you had to be restrained.  
I stayed by your side.  I comforted you when you awoke after 
re-living it again and again in your dreams.

I never left you, Mulder.

And I won't.

Even though you don't really want me there. 

You didn't eat your oatmeal this morning.  Just like you 
didn't yesterday.  Or the day before that.  

You are already losing weight.  And it's weight that you can't 
afford to shed; you haven't exactly got many pounds to spare.

I sat in the chair by your bed, looking over at you.  Your 
head was bound in off-white muslin, your cuts were dressed 
with butterfly stitches and the ugly, swollen purple of 
bruising smothered your cheekbone and mouth.

You looked like you always do when you end up in the hospital--
Beaten, bruised, and sore.  But there was something missing.  
You didn't complain about the lack of mobility.  You didn't 
joke about 'having the usual room' and about how they were 
thinking of naming a burger after you in the cafeteria.

You didn't eye up the friendly female doctor.

You didn't leer at me when the nurse came in to bathe you.

And so, today, four days after 'the incident', I confronted 
you about it.

"Mulder, will you at least try the oatmeal?"  I urged, looking
up from the magazine that hadn't been keeping my attention 
anyway.  

"I don't like oatmeal," You mumbled "you know I don't."

I folded my arms in my lap.  "Would you like something else?
Fruit maybe?"

You shook your head.

"You know, that nurse, Kelly, she seems to like you.  I think 
I can probably persuade her to smuggle you in something nice 
and greasy.  Something that'll shave a couple of years off 
your life..."

You shook your head again.

"What about ice cream.  Just some ice cream, Mulder."

"Look, Scully, I'm not hungry.  Just give it up."

I sighed.  "Even a milky drink, Mulder. Just something."

"I said *NO*, Scully.  What the hell is wrong with everyone in
this fucking world that they can't understand a simple word?"
Your shout startled me.

So much that what you had said didn't register until much
later. I don't want to think about what you could have meant.

"Mulder, do you honestly think starvation is the answer?  
What do you think you are going to achieve?" Ask questions,
I told myself, do not make statements.  This FBI communicative
training sure does come in useful.

Even if it doesn't actually have any effect on someone who's 
had the same training and a DPhil in psychology from 
Oxford University.

You scowled and turned away.

So I said what was running through both our minds. "You do realize 
you're only delaying the healing process, don't you? Your body 
won't function without nutrition." I took a beat.  "Just like 
your mind won't...  You know, Mulder, you can't avoid dealing
with what happened in this way."

"Scully, shut up," you said under your breath.

"Mulder, you know you have to talk about it.  You know you're 
not going to come to terms with it until--"

"Dammit, Scully, SHUT UP!" you screamed.

The silence was thick and cloying.  It wrapped itself around 
me, choking me, stealing my breath.

"Mulder, I just want to help you,"  I said eventually.

"Well I don't *need* your help, Scully."  You clutched at the
blue of your bedsheets with your right hand.  I watched your 
long, elegant fingers bend and stretch, the tendons rippling, 
the knuckles whitening.

"Are you sure about that, Mulder?"  I pulled my chair further
towards your bed.

You closed your eyes, perhaps hiding tears from me. Although, 
actually, I think you just didn't want to look at me. 

"Mulder, you have to stop hiding from it.  You have to face up
to the fact that..."

"The fact that the person I hate more than anyone in the world
raped me?" you questioned, your eyes still clamped shut. "Is
that what I have to face up to, Scully?"

I didn't respond.

"I think I recognize that fact."

"There's a difference between recognizing something and
coming to terms with it, Mulder."

"Oh, really?"  You opened your eyes and turned to me with an 
air of sarcasm that bit right into me. "I thought *I* was the 
psychologist, Scully?"

"Yeah, Mulder, so did I."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" You frowned at me, 
wincing when that riled the laceration above your eye.

"It means that you should know how to handle yourself in these
situations, but you don't."

"This is supposed to make me feel better?" 

"No, Mulder, this is supposed to make you *feel*."

Your mouth fell open.  I'm sorry for doing it, Mulder. But you 
needed the shock.

"You think I'm not feeling, Scully?" you gasped.

"I know how good you are shielding yourself from your own 
emotions.  That is not the way you should be dealing with 
this."

Then your eyes flashed a harsh, acrid green with anger.  "How
the *hell* do you know how I should be dealing with it?"

I decided to back away when you pulled your uninjured arm
over your chest in your classic contentious affectation. 

"Mulder..."

"No, Scully.  I want to hear your justification.  I also want 
to know who made you my shrink?"  

"You did, Mulder.  You did the moment you picked up that phone
to call me."  Okay, so I should have just walked out the door.
But you had refused to listen to me enough already.  I finally
had you talking to me.

"No, Scully.  I didn't.  I called you because I didn't know
what else to do.  I was handcuffed to the fucking sink, it 
wasn't like I could very well help myself, was it?"

Slowly, I rose to my feet.  "No. You couldn't help yourself,
Mulder.  And you still can't.  Did you think I was just going
to comfort you, make you feel better, take your distress onto 
myself... and then just drop you in a corner when you could 
lick your own wounds?"

You opened your lips to speak, but I cut in.

"I need to watch you heal, Mulder.  I can't just let you... I
can't.. I won't... Mulder, I.."

"You can't let me shut you out," you whispered.

I shook my head. "My own healing depends on it."

"You won't let me shut you out? Even if that's what I need 
right now?  Just for you to leave me alone?"

That was it.  No more.  "That is the *last* thing you need! 
Don't you understand?"

"YES I FUCKING UNDERSTAND!" you hollered, and a nurse appeared 
at the door, explaining that you were disrupting the other 
patients.  "GET THE FUCK OUT!"  Oh, man, you had lost it.  

"Mulder calm down."  I massaged my forehead with my fingertips.

"STOP TREATING ME LIKE I'M AN IMBECILE!  I.AM.NOT.STUPID."

"Then why are you acting like you don't...?" I took your hand 
as I crouched down beside your bed.  "Why are you making it 
harder?"

"I'm not..." you cried. Why did your tears anger me more than
anything?

"You are."

"Please don't do this, Scully,"  you begged  "Please don't...
I'm not ready to... I'm not ready."

"Okay." I nodded, reaching to swipe at the trails of salt 
water on your clean shaven cheeks.  "But when you are, I want 
you to tell me.  I don't want you to keep things from me."

You turned your face away so I couldn't touch you anymore.

"Mulder, promise me."

"I'm sorry, Scully." You took your hand out of mine.

"Mulder."  I insisted.

"No amount of 'talking it out' is going to make it any less
real, Scully.  Nothing is going to change what happened."

"No, but it--"

"Can you go, now, Scully?"

God.  You asked me to leave.  You asked me to just leave you 
like that.  Oh, I was tempted beyond explanation, but there
was no way I was going to get up and go.

"No, I can't go, Mulder."

"Scully, get out."

"No."

"Scully, I said go.  Just leave me.  I don't want to argue."

You didn't want to argue?  Did you think I wanted to argue 
with you?

"Mulder, I think you need company..."

"Get out," you said.

"Mulder..."

"Get out," you repeated.

"I don't want to go, Mulder."

"Get out."

"Just stop it!" I flew to my full height.  "Stop treating me
like this!"

"Get. Out."

"Fuck you."

And then it was silent once more.

You just pretended I wasn't there.

You haven't spoken to me since.

Do you know what it feels like to watch you lying there on 
your side, lips pursed, eyes fixed on an invisible point on 
the wall, mind lost?  Do you think I understand when you 
ignore me?  Do you think I 'know what you must be going 
through' and that I respect your need for time?  

Because I don't, Mulder.

You feel betrayed.  I can recognize the symptoms. You don't 
feel betrayed by Krycek - there has to be a trust to break in 
the first place.  You don't feel betrayed by me - I don't 
think you deem me capable of treachery.

You feel betrayed by yourself.

You had let yourself be tormented, and you hadn't been able 
to handle the effects of that torment.

You had lost your bearing for a few, agonizing moments in 
your life. 

You want to get it back.  You so desperately want it back.  

And now you are making me pay because I was there to see you 
when you lost it.  Because knowing that I saw you like that, 
that you shared it with me, will always remind you. You will 
never be able to forget.

I feel like you are punishing me because I care enough about 
you to want a chance at making things better.

You are making me feel like you blame me for your own 
humiliation because you can't handle being the victim.  Do you 
have to make me hurt so you don't feel so alone? 

I know you'd probably feel better if I just left you to wallow 
in your self-pity and your anger, but I'm not going to let you 
have your way.

Shall I tell you something else, Fox 'I love you when it 
suits me' Mulder?  You are not using me again.  I don't care 
what you want.

I care about what you *need*.

You called me. You asked for my help.  You *wanted* my help.  
And I gave it to you.  Even if you don't realize how much you 
need me, I don't think I want to leave you alone long enough 
for you to wake up and do just that.

I don't know what you'd get up to without me there to keep 
your feet on the ground.

And as for Krycek... well, if you don't kill him next time, 
Mulder, you know I will.

I felt your pain.  I knew your fear.  And I dealt with your 
fury.

Through that, I may have lost my partner.

I think I paid more this time than you did. 

-END-

*PLEASE* send that feedback to DxSCULLYxx@aol.com.

"It's not known why most of the space-going races of the universe want to
undertake rummaging in Earthling underwear as a prelude to formal contact" *~*
"Sex without love is an empty experience.  But as empty experiences go, it's
one of the best"