* * *
I used to think about her, wondering if she ever thought
of me.
I searched for her in the bottom of a shot glass,
but the amber
liquid revealed no answers. I loved her for using me when no
one else would even call back. I was getting
used to hating her
memory, regretting her in her absence.
But then I saw her again while on an investigation.
It was the
return of two old foes: fire and Phoebe Green, the latter being
more dangerous. I freeze inside when
I'm near a fire. It has
embarrassing powers over me. I can't breathe. My mind races,
imagining the possible scenarios
of my death. Phoebe has all of
that and a tenacious seduction to hold her victim captive.
I was confused upon seeing her again. She had been
chalked up
to the dalliances of youth, an obstacle overcome. Her partially
unbuttoned shirt, her provocative body
language, her close
proximity were invitations, but her eyes were filled only with
contempt. Something deep inside
me wanted to give her what
she seemed to be asking for, if only to break her damned smug
attitude.
My body and brain responded accordingly, and the
contradictory
signals made me queasy. I didn't have time to sift
through my feelings because the case broke. I was investigating
an
arson suspect when the other foe pushed her from my
thoughts. I was caught in a fire, terrified. The smoke made my
eyes
water. It uncoiled into my lungs, and I was helpless. Yes, I
was scared, but I was also terribly angry, disappointed in
myself. I tried to escape, but the flames reared up all around
me. There was no way out.
I awoke surrounded by firemen and paramedics, sucking
oxygen-rich air smelling of plastic from a portable mask. And
worst of all, Scully was there. God knows any other
time I
would have been thrilled to have her attention, but not in my
moment of complete incompetence. I could feel
myself
growing distant from the situation, retreating from reality. We
all managed to stay marginally civil long enough
to close the
case. The next day, after a follow-up breathing treatment and a
few words of reassurance to my partner,
I searched out a place
to be alone.
I went to Syd's, found a nice, quiet booth in a dark
corner, and
ordered a couple of doubles. The first one slid down slowly.
The warmth sent little tendrils of pleasant
numbness to my
fingers. I mulled over the day and generally felt sorry for
myself. Felt sorry for Scully. Scully.
I reached into my coat for
my cell phone. My fingers punched the speed dial code
automatically. Her phone rang three
times before I panicked
and ended the call. There was something about her not being
instantly available that made
me lose confidence. I was
supposed to be able to deal with pressure. And failure. FBI
agents do not disintegrate when
confronted with fire. FBI
agents are not afraid of old flames. I closed the phone and
dropped it back in my coat pocket.
My throat burned from the
alcohol, of course, but it was already raw. I had watered down
the second double with a
few saline drops when I felt the heat
of perdition again.
"Hello, Mulder."
Don't look up, don't look up, I told myself. Don't
reply.
"Are you here alone?"
What does it look like? And how the heck did you find
me? I
didn't feel fit to have company after the fire. The liquor and
Phoebe's words buzzed inside my head, though,
jarring my
sense of reason. I gestured for her to sit without looking at her.
She slid onto the bench across from
me in the tiny booth. I
started to raise my second drink, but she cupped a hand over
the glass.
"Look, I know it was a shock to you when I showed
up today,
but surely this isn't the way to deal with it."
I thought she was incredibly pretentious for assuming
that my
problems were all about her. And I was irritated that she was
mostly right.
"I have work to do. I can't stay."
I mumbled something about a profile while slipping
toward the
end of the bench. I felt her other hand grasp my knee.
"Don't. I don't think you should be alone at a time
like this.
You've been through a lot...and had a little too much to drink."
"I'll get a cab."
She leaned forward. Her hand traveled up my thigh,
and the
tingling sensation unraveled any rational thought processes that
I may have managed to save from drowning
in my shot glass. I
felt sick.
"You look awfully pale."
Phoebe took the glass from my hand and set it on her
side of
the table.
"Let me drive you home."
God help me, I heard genuine concern in her voice,
even as she
stroked my thigh. It took all my concentration not to squirm. I
gulped and looked around the bar, hoping
that Scully would
miraculously appear and save me from Phoebe's evil clutches.
Maybe slap the smile from her face.
I nodded, surrendering what little self-respect I
had left.
She stood up and went to the register to pay my bill.
I sat there
wondering what I could do to get myself out of the situation.
No obvious solutions presented themselves,
so I downed the
other double while she wasn't looking. If I was going to
humiliate myself by relying on the goodwill
of a demoness, I
might as well be as anesthetized as possible.
She looked disapprovingly at the empty glass and put
her hand
on my shoulder.
"Come on, Mulder. Time to go."
Now she was issuing orders. And I was too disappointed
in
myself to care.
I followed her to her car and collapsed into the passenger's
seat. My head was spinning so badly, it felt like the car was
already moving. I was vaguely aware of the thud of the
driver's
door. Phoebe's arm snaked past my chest and grasped my
seatbelt. She pulled it across my body, managing to
drag her
hand from my shoulder to my hip. I didn't bother to stop her.
She drove in silence, but she kept glancing at me.
She didn't
seem to care if I noticed. She studied my face first, and then
her gaze went south. So much for subtlety.
I clasped my hands
in my lap, and her eyes went back to the road. I was ready for
another breathing treatment by that
point.
Her cold hand brushed against my cheek as I stared
out the side
window.
"You're burning up. You feel feverish."
I shrugged.
"I'll live."
"I just don't feel right about dumping you off at
the curb when
you're obviously not well."
My stomach sank. Warning lights went off everywhere,
besides
the ones dancing on the backs of my eyelids.
"I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself," I
slurred.
I cringed and glanced at her, wishing I had spoken
more
carefully. She raised one eyebrow, as if she was Scully's evil
twin sister.
"Of that I have no doubt."
The car slowed to a stop within a few minutes, parked
in front
of my apartment building. I fumbled with the seat belt latch but
managed to free myself. I popped the door
open and bolted
from the car. The moment I stood up, a wave of vertigo leveled
me. I slid down the side of the car
and found myself face-down
on the sidewalk. Phoebe's high heels tapped quickly to my side.
"Mulder!"
She kneeled beside me, cradling my sore face.
"Poor thing. Let's take it slow. You need to get inside."
I had to get up and walk, if only to find a rock to
hide beneath.
She held my arm and guided me as I awkwardly regained my
footing. We shuffled to the door, and I let
us in. I felt uneasy
with her arms wrapped around me, but I couldn't make it
without help. We rode the elevator to
the fourth floor. Her
breath tickled my throat as she gazed up at me. The car got
hotter as she leaned closer.
Do not look. Do not look.
The bell dinged. I was grateful for its interruption.
The doors
opened, and we ambled our way to my apartment. I stood there,
staring at the brass number as if it held
a magic cure for my
sickness. A sudden pressure on the front of my hip startled me.
Phoebe had her hand in my pocket,
searching for my keys. I
succumbed to an alcohol-induced stupor. If she was going to
take care of me, fine. She owed
me anyway.
Phoebe unlocked the door and guided me over to the
couch. I
sank into it readily, my joints aching from the effort to get
there. I closed my eyes against the sharp,
throbbing pain in my
head and heard her softly close the door and lock it. Locked in.
With Phoebe. Kill me NOW.
Soft footsteps approached the couch, but I attempted
to ignore
them. I also tried to ignore the sinking cushion as she perched
next to me. Tried to ignore the flutter
of the worn fleece
blanket being draped over me, the moist press of lips against
my forehead. I looked at her, and
my heart sank. It was all too
familiar.
Every time I tried to lock myself away and retreat
from the real
world to wallow in my desolation, it seemed that she always
had a foot in the door. I wanted so much
to believe that she had
changed -- that she actually cared about me. But she still had
the same feral smile I remembered
so well. She knew how to
appeal to my baser side, so that she'd get exactly what she
wanted. And the most regrettable
thing was that part of me
always conceded. I despondently reassured myself that her
desire was not only physical.
My pondering was interrupted, because my stomach got
busy
reminding me that I don't like scotch. When the nausea had
temporarily passed, I found a cool washcloth on my
head and a
warm, dainty hand resting on my chest. A tiny hand, its size
belying its strength. For a moment that hand
was Scully's, and I
knew she would take care of everything.
"Scully," I mumbled, panic choking off additional
words. I had
nearly forgotten about my partner.
I made a clumsy swipe at Phoebe's arm, trying to rid
myself of
her contact.
She grabbed both of my wrists and pinned me down.
I would
have tried to shove her up and away from me, but up and down
were merrily twisted in my inebriated mind.
"Need Scully."
Phoebe shook her head, as if witnessing a tragedy.
"Don't underestimate yourself, Mulder. You're fine.
Besides,"
she looked around the room for emphasis, "Scully isn't
anywhere to be found. She shouldn't have left you
alone in
such a condition. It's obvious to me that you need some
company."
I shook my head, trying not to listen to her serpentine
words.
"S-she didn't know. It's not something I want to burden
her
with. She...is probably busy at the office, anyway."
Phoebe looked into my eyes, touched my jaw. Her desire
was
blatant as she brought her face ridiculously close to mine,
invading my personal space.
"I'm here for you now. There is always work to do,
but you are
far more important than that."
Her lips closed on mine. Our skin had only a whisper
of
contact before I gave in to the urge to turn away.
"I can't," I choked out. "Thank you for driving me,
but please,
just leave me alone."
I had to be blunt. I wanted her to leave immediately,
so I could
either pass out or relieve the horribly strong impetus that she
had provoked. Her features fell for a second
as she calculated
her next action. She moved to sit on the coffee table, looking
directly at me, and fished my hand
out from under the blanket.
Her gaze bored into me, and I felt the skin of my nape tingle.
"You're keeping something from me. What is it?"
I gulped, a dead giveaway of guilt.
"I could always tell, Mulder. Go on. I promise not
to overreact.
After all, we're both...adults."
Her tone turned sultry on the last word, intensifying
my unease.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to organize the thoughts
swimming amok through my sodden mind. When
I opened
them again, Phoebe was visibly tense. For once, she was not
sure how I would respond.
I reflected briefly on my university days while formulating
a
strategy. Our relationship was like a degenerative disease,
consuming my very identity with time. I even heard a
group of
girls say, on more than one occasion, "Oh, that one is Phoebe's
latest." They never referred to me by name,
never said, "That's
Fox. He's in my Existentialism class." At the time, the
excitement and draw of the unknown blinded
me to her
intentions. I had grown wiser since then, or more cautious. At
least, I tried to convince myself of as much.
"You shouldn't be here. I'm sure Scully would
have picked me
up if she had been able. I appreciate..." I had to pause, starting
to lose my grasp on the point. It
was getting increasingly
difficult to think. "I appreciate your concern and your help, but
I don't want to keep you
from your plans. I'm sure you have
better things to do than baby-sit me and my fish."
"This is not about plans. This is about you," she
said,
unmoving. "Of course I'm concerned. Bloody concerned. I've
seen you do this before time and again. Something
bad happens
that's out of your control, and you convince yourself that you
actually deserve to be abandoned. To be
lonely."
She touched me only with her eyes and words, yet my
heart
thumped erratically. She was right, of course. Dead on.
"You don't have to exile yourself. Tell me what you
feel." She
blinked and leaned closer. Her eyes were glistening with
unshed tears. Oh, God, I thought, I can't take
this. A single
drop slid down her cheek, falling on my hand. She had me,
sold to the saddest bidder. The mark of the
beast.
"Tell me," she softly demanded, nostrils flaring,
"what you
need."
I hesitated, searching for a way out of the situation.
I swept the
blanket aside and sat up, facing her.
"I need you...to leave."
All I had to do was stand up and open the door. Maybe
gesture
vaguely toward the hallway. Ignore the tearing sensation in my
soul. It shouldn't have been too difficult.
I couldn't get as far as
the standing up part, though. As soon as the blanket was gone,
I began shivering uncontrollably,
even though my skin was hot
and sweaty. My teeth chattered. I hunched into a ball and
rocked back and forth, hoping
only to spare myself the
indignity of passing out in front of Phoebe. Something was
horribly wrong. I had a sense
of dread, seeing myself give in to
her manipulations as I'd always done. However, there was also
another equally sinister
force at work, clouding my judgment,
slowly stealing my control. I didn't think I'd downed that much
scotch...
"Poor Mulder. Shhhhhh. It's okay."
She walked around the table and sat beside me, rubbed
my
back with one hand.
"It'll pass soon."
I shook violently for a minute or two, every motion
or touch a
painful jolt. Phoebe produced the cool cloth again and used it
to support my forehead. The sensation was
welcome,
alleviating some of my discomfort. She whispered words of
reassurance and stood as she guided me back down
to a
reclining position. She brushed a few strands of hair from my
face and smiled. Went into the kitchen. I tried
to be as small as
possible, as if she might forget that I was there. I was feeling
pretty sorry for myself at that
point. My throat felt gritty, ached
with unspoken words, with a line in the sand never drawn.
"Hold on, love. I'll be right there."
Ice rattled against glass, much like the thoughts
banging around
inside my head. Phoebe appeared again, bearing a tall glass of
ice water. It even had a blue-striped,
bendable straw. She
offered it to me, but my hands were still shaking. She knelt
beside me and supported my head while
guiding the straw to
my lips. I closed my eyes and reluctantly took a sip, and the
cold drink washed away all of the
sand. I sighed, actually
content for a moment, and Phoebe set the glass on the table.
I knew that I had to assert myself. Really. I sat
up, crunching
queasy stomach muscles in the process. I tried to summon a
tone of authority over the nausea.
"I have a lot to do tonight. Let's catch up another
time. There's
an important case report I need to finish and talk over with Sc-"
I wanted to kick myself when I realized my rambling
thoughts
had all been spoken aloud. Phoebe's eyes darkened, and she
forced me back into the throw pillow, her small
hands pressed
against my chest. They rose and fell with my panting.
"You're drunk, Mulder. Confused." Her voice had a
finely-
honed edge. Elegant and deadly. "That pretty little partner of
yours simply doesn't know how to help you. How
to make you
forget those nagging little worries."
She trailed one finger over my shirt down to my quivering
stomach. I swear she licked her lips. Images of the past
assaulted me. Cold, hard granite and fog and the ghost of
Sherlock Holmes. I was paralyzed. Might have forgotten to
breathe.
"Let me remind you how easy it is to forget."
Her right hand shifted lower, and suddenly, my balls
were in a
vice. She squeezed just enough to make me jump, and I
shouted in surprise. Her other hand clamped down over
my
mouth. I squirmed beneath her, vaguely aware that I was no
match for her in my ill, ethanol-induced state. I tried
to crawl
away from her grasp, but she quickly adjusted her grip on my
crotch, compressing a different and particularly
sensitive area.
A bolt of pain and seizing breathlessness followed. She had
effectively put an end to my struggling.
It took the remaining
shreds of my concentration to remain composed. For a brief
moment, my eyes burned and watered,
but I blinked it back.
Her aggressive manipulation hurt like hell. It always did.
Phoebe lithely swung herself onto the couch, pinning
my legs
between hers. I grumbled into her palm, rolling my head from
side to side. My brain was fighting for control
of my body and
losing. Everything seemed viscous, impossible to move
against. Phoebe removed her hand from my mouth
and sealed
it with her lips, instead. She began to unbutton my shirt single-
handedly in a smooth and practiced maneuver.
I stared at her,
absorbing the feral light of lust in her gaze, her contempt. A
love of power and pain.
I got myself coordinated long enough to shove her
away as far
as I could reach. I kept my arms extended, supporting the
weight of her upper body. Her tongue snaked
out and traced the
cutting edges of her teeth as she contemplated me. She released
my dick and placed her hands on
my chest, dug her sharp nails
into my skin. Phoebe shifted her weight back slightly and
stroked her hands up the length
of my arms. Her fingers closed
around my wrists, and the whites of her eyes flashed. She
began grinding into me, pressing
against my dick with her
pubic bone. I shuddered as my body responded. It was
impossible to ignore the wash of pleasure
and the mortification
bound to it. My elbows buckled. She pushed my arms up over
my head as she elicited a partial
erection with her relentless
undulations. I felt sicker and sicker with her every shove.
Finally, once I had a very
conspicuous hard-on straining
against my jeans, she stopped.
"Maybe you didn't miss me, Fox, but your cock obviously
did."
"That's the only part of me that ever really knew
you."
She slapped me, slamming my jaws shut, the edge of
my lower
lip caught between my teeth. My vision went blurry, and my
limbs felt leaden. I could barely move. Phoebe
rocked back,
sitting on her heels. She chewed her lip and dripped tears on
the collar of her shirt. I was amused that
she would be so
surprised at my observation.
I smiled, a warm drop of blood sliding from my split
lip down
my chin. "Oh, cut the offended saint shit. You are far from
either. I'm sure Marsden could corroborate that
observation."
My words came out slowly but firmly. Her eyes widened.
She
looked like she wanted to strangle me, but she had swiftly re-
established a firm hold on my wrists. Of course,
I couldn't
really plan my statements. The alcohol, the sidewalk, and
gravity had conspired to turn my brain into a
throbbing, painful
liability. In that chaos, I could remember only the time when
Phoebe had filled my longing for
attention, for a warm body to
remind me that I was alive. For someone to not only crave, but
care for. I didn't expect
her to show me exclusive favor after all
this time. In fact, her favor was never exclusive.
However, it was especially licentious of her to practically
beg
me to sleep with her by booking and inviting me to a hotel
room, and then trying to get what she wanted from the
next
man when I wouldn't put out. An aristocrat who she was
supposed to be protecting. A married man, at that.
And here
she was again, playing a demented game of sexual Pong. I
wanted to love her, once upon a time. God, how I
had lied to
myself. It was becoming imminently clear that, whether she
loved or despised me, her response would always
be the same.
I was screwed, either way.
Phoebe used her left hand and elbow to keep my numb
arms
pinned in place. "If you're sure you don't want me here,
Mulder," she whispered, insinuating her right hand beneath
the
waistband of my boxers, "just say so."
I waited in paralyzed disbelief while she quickly
homed in on
her target.
"I don't -- "
My words pinched off as she established a stranglehold
on my
shaft. The only sound I could manage was a gasp. My hips
automatically thrust, lifting her in the process. She
quit
bothering to hold my arms still and used her free hand to
unbutton my jeans. Meanwhile, she shifted her grip
with the
other hand, ramming it against my groin. I grunted and bucked
again. And again. Blood rushed in my ears.
Dark edges
encroached upon my vision. "God damn it!"
"Perhaps Dana will petition the heavens on your behalf."
"Fuck you," I gritted between my teeth.
"I knew you'd come 'round eventually."
I clenched my jaws, lips drawn. My ears burned with
fury. If
she was going to treat me like a rabid animal anyway, I was
damned well going to play the role. I summoned
all of my
strength to grab her by the shoulders. When I attempted to
throw her off, though, she viciously tightened
her grasp and
pulled. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I gave her a crude
8-second bull ride. By the time she pried
her hand from my
dick, I was trembling. Gasping for air.
Although desperately aroused, I was in misery, on
the verge of
unconsciousness. I couldn't really focus on Phoebe. Everything
was a blur, so I tried to concentrate,
sift through the emotions
she had stirred. Indignation was the only thing I could extract
from the mess. How pathetic
she must be to manipulate men's
emotions, then the rest of them, as a matter of habit. How very
hollow, Ms. Mindfuck.
The room was spinning again, only this time, Phoebe
was
everywhere. She laughed, mocking me.
"You're too bloody easy."
I ached with an urgently building pressure, wishing
she would
simply disappear so I could take care of it in private. With
Phoebe, though, nothing is private. Nothing
is sacred.
She eyeballed me for a few minutes in a cavalier,
offhand way.
Her face wavered in my double vision before resolving, a
distant, vacant sadness pulling at her features.
I couldn't resist
thinking for a moment that she actually regretted her actions.
But no. She wasn't looking at me,
really. Perhaps she was
seeing the ghost of her envy, or whatever drove her to vengeful
lust.
Her chest heaved with deep breaths as she seemed to
be
formulating a plan. The hamster wheel was definitely
squeaking. I closed my eyes and waited. She didn't touch me,
though. She didn't move a muscle. I was puzzled until I heard
heels tapping in the hall. The rhythmic sounds grew
louder.
Sharp, confident steps. The sounds seemed to break Phoebe's
dark trance, and she wasted no time getting back
to her original
pursuit.
There was an odd tugging sensation, and I forced myself
to
look at her. I followed her black stare, the sharp contrast of
milky skin as her arms tapered down, down...ending
in dainty
little fingers. Those hands so similar to Scully's were unzipping
my jeans.
Tap...tap...tap.
The footsteps slowed outside my door. Metal scratched
on
metal. The lock turned.
Phoebe slid the waistband of my boxers down, shoving
the fly
of the jeans wide along with it.
The door creaked open.
Tap.
Tap.
"Mulder? I saw you on my caller ID."
Tap.
"Mul-"
I wanted to fucking die.
In the half-darkness of the evening, all I could see
were the
round whites of Scully's eyes and a pale, frozen mask where
her face should have been. Heard the rustle of
papers as she
dropped whatever was in her hands. I wanted to call out her
name, yell for help, or out of pure frustration,
but Phoebe
sensed my intention. She suffocated my pleas with a bruising
kiss and finished maneuvering my clothes out
of her way. She
moved her knees back so that Scully would be sure to have a
full view.
I shook my head from side to side and grumbled in
weak
protest as my erection was freed for all to see. Phoebe began to
unbutton her slacks. Scully stood wordlessly
for a moment,
stepped back, and then rushed out, slamming the door behind
her. I winced as the bang caused the room
to reverberate.
Phoebe bit my lower lip, crushing it, and I yelped. Then she
released it and sat up.
"Well, at least she knows when she's not wanted."
Her statement truly skewered me. I thought of Scully
storming
off to contemplate why she had seen what she'd seen, and
reaching horrible conclusions. My pity for Phoebe
turned to
disgust as her abuse became an attack on Scully. My adrenaline
started pumping and I felt at least some
of my strength return.
"You don't know or care what I want," I stated flatly.
It was more of a reluctant admission than a revelation.
I
managed to sit up, rocking her back onto her heels. I captured
her wrists, finally removing her intrusive hands
from my body.
"Let go!" she demanded, struggling and pulling against
my
grip.
I complied. She toppled over the edge of the couch
and landed
on her ass. The coffee table was shoved back. I gathered my
bearings for a moment before getting to my
feet. My legs were
weak, and I had a killer headache. Phoebe stared at me, a
malevolent scowl pulling at her features
as I carefully tucked
my dick back into my boxers and zipped up. I didn't have time
to feel sorry for her single-minded
emptiness. I had Scully to
find. Atonements to make.
I retrieved my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans.
Hurriedly fumbled through the folds and found a twenty dollar
bill. I tossed it at her, a fitting tribute for a woman
of her
nature.
"Leave. Now."
I stepped around the table, grabbing my sidearm from
the lamp
table along the way. The quick movement made me queasy. I
paused before leaving, utterly weary, and addressed
Phoebe
over my shoulder.
"And don't ever come near me again."
I left the door open and hurried down the hall as
best I could,
my loose shirt flapping behind me. The persistent pressure
between my legs and resultant friction made
running very
awkward. Luckily, no one was out and about to see me
cowboy-walk to the stairwell. I rushed down in mad
pursuit. I
couldn't let her get away. A deep dread told me that if Scully
got into her car and left the apartment,
she'd never come back.
I ran out the back of the building, down an alley,
and burst
through the door to the parking garage. I skidded to a halt and
listened for her.
Nothing. No engine sounds. No footsteps.
I didn't see her car anywhere. Numbness fell over
me, my
body's effort to protect itself from the emotional evisceration
that was certain to hit. I was at a total loss.
And then, in the back corner of the far parking lane,
I heard an
intermittent, muffled sound. Hiccups? I forced myself forward,
scanning the vehicles for Scully's car.
The breathing was uneven as the sound resolved. Loud.
No,
more than that.
Crying.
I tried to run to her but stumbled, the weight of
her pain
landing squarely on me. My knees hit the concrete. I scrambled
back to my feet and rounded the end of a large
van.
And there she was, small, alone, and shaking with
sobs.
She had the car door open, but something had stopped
her from
getting in. I ached to wrap her in my arms and tell her over and
over how much she meant to me, but I couldn't.
My body was
still piqued, still reacting to Phoebe's abuse and my efforts to
reach Scully. Even if my aroused state
was visibly
conspicuous, I wasn't about to insult my partner by pressing
against her. So I pled from a respectable
distance, partially
hidden in shadow.
"Scully, please..."
I reached toward her, palms up, fingers shaking with
a fine
tremor. Her shoulders froze as she recognized my voice.
"Please, don't leave."
"I thought I could trust you, Mulder. What you do
in private is
your own business but--My God, you even called me."
She didn't turn around. She didn't want to face me,
and I
couldn't blame her. I had hurt her deeply. Even so, her pain
confirmed how she saw me. How much I was on the
verge of
losing.
"I'm sorry. Damned sorry. She knew exactly what she
was
doing. I was sick. I felt horrible, and she saw an advantage. She
pressed it. I had hoped that she had changed
for the better. At
first, I was seeing only the person I wished she was," I
admitted, the words burning me from the
inside out. "I was
seeing you."
Scully made a small squeak, a repressed cry. Sniffled.
She
turned sharply on her heel, stabbed me from a distance with an
accusing finger. The outline of her form shifted,
darkened. I
felt panic rise as the strength drained from my body.
"What were you trying to prove, Mulder? What the HELL
did
you expect would happen?" she demanded in a piercing shout.
Her arm dropped to her side, then she added a subdued,
"I
thought you valued...us more than this."
She grasped the car door frame with a white-knuckled
hand. It
was an ultimatum.
"You are the most important person in my life," I
confessed,
hearing a damning roar in my ears. "I called you, followed you
here because..." I paused, panting and trying
desperately to
fend off the encroaching shadow. "Because...I need you."
Scully's head tilted to one side as I forced out the
last word.
Her eyes widened. Then, she hurried toward me just as I hit the
pavement. Her shoes pounded closer. Cool
fingers touched my
neck. A muffled exclamation stirred the darkness. And finally,
my emptiness consumed me.
***
Sour. Something was incredibly sour. My stomach cramped,
and I felt acid creep up my throat. I blindly groped for
something to hold on to as I turned to one side, halfway
sitting
up. My hand found a soft but steady hold, and it supported me
while my stomach emptied itself. The heaving
continued even
after there was nothing more to be brought up. I spit onto the
pavement and gasped for air. I looked
up to find myself
holding onto Scully's arm with a death grip. I used the leverage
to roll onto my knees and sit up.
Scully was kneeling before me. She steadied me with
a hand on
my shoulder. Her red-rimmed eyes and streaked face gave a
somber cast to the concern in her eyes. I couldn't
seem to keep
her image still. It floated randomly before me. Even half-fried,
I found the effect troubling.
"Mulder? Look at me."
"'M-m tryin'."
She frowned and leaned closer. Her nose wrinkled when
she
smelled the alcohol on my breath.
"Focus."
My vision gradually stabilized, obeying her command
better
than mine.
"I...think I'm okay."
Scully's lips pressed into a firm line. She wasn't
buying it.
"Do you think you can walk?"
"Not sure," I replied honestly.
Scully produced her cell phone and flipped it open,
preparing
to dial.
"Stay still. You need an ambulance. And probably a
stomach
pump," she declared, shaking her head.
Fear of sphincter-contracting magnitude hit me. I
swiftly
grasped the phone, covering the buttons. The last thing I
wanted was documentation of my injuries.
"No. Please don't."
I bit my tongue to avoid going into the explanation.
I was still
too stunned to grasp all of the possible consequences of
medical intervention, myself. Scully froze, her
face plastered
with disbelief and frustration.
"I'm trying to help you, Mulder. Can you even fathom
the
meaning of that anymore?"
"B-but..."
"Or are you only interested in help of another kind?"
she
demanded, her voice distorted by emotion.
She released the phone and waved her free hand before
me,
gesturing toward my lap. I glanced down. A very obvious tent
was still present, although my hard-on had begun
to subside.
Scully was no longer looking at me. She was standing, her
head turned aside and bowed. I wanted nothing
more than to
pull her to my chest, let her splash her pain onto me, but I was
afraid to touch her. I crawled backward,
the rough floor
burning my knees.
"Damn it! How did this day go so incredibly wrong?"
I yelled,
planting my palms on the concrete for support.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to snag a few
coherent
thoughts from the dervish in my mind. Scully was silent. I
reluctantly met her gaze, too weary to deal with
the
conglomeration of anger, worry, and disbelief there. She glared
down at me. Having nothing else left to lose,
I decided to go
with the truth.
"Please, don't call an ambulance. I don't want them
recording
my...injuries."
"I hardly think that a black eye, a hangover, and
a lower back
strain will catch anyone's attention," she declared, crossing her
arms defiantly.
I shook my head, dreading the moment. My stomach turned
to
lead as the probable reason for my extreme intoxication
became clear. I lowered my voice to a whisper, even though
we
were alone in the garage.
"It wasn't like that. She...did something to me. I
think she
tagged one of my drinks."
Scully's mouth dropped open, forming a cute little
"O". I
continued while the opportunity still presented itself.
"Anyway, she, uh..." I bowed forward, adding in a
barely-
audible voice, "She tried to rape me."
Scully snatched the phone from the concrete once again.
I
grabbed it, tried to wrest it from her. She looked at me with
shock, due to either what I'd said or the fact that
I couldn't
even manage to pry the phone from her hand. She conceded it
to me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Her
face settled into a
mask of stony calm. The furrows on her brow and the crimson
tinge of her ears betrayed the emotions
boiling inside her. Her
lower lip disappeared momentarily as she chewed on it. The
harsh yellow ceiling lights cast
angry shadows across her face
as she considered me.
"Did she hurt you?"
Did she ever.
I nodded and doubled over as a very timely shooting
pain went
through my groin. My arms reflexively wrapped around my
lower abdomen. The idea of Scully's view of my penitent
posture struck me as amusing, easing the pain a little. I was
wary of laughing.
"Mulder?"
"I think I'll be okay," I gulped out.
Scully stood, brushing pebbles of concrete from the
knees of
her suit pants.
"You should let someone do an exam. Get a tox screen.
At
least make sure you're not in any danger of serious
complications."
I looked up at her, hoping beyond reason that she
would
understand.
"I can't. They would assume the drugging...that everything
was voluntary, and I have no proof otherwise. No one would
bel-"
"You're right," she conceded. "You can't."
And my resilient partner suddenly sounded very unsure.
Very
sad.
I struggled to my feet, though still bowed down and
wavering.
Took a few deep breaths. Couldn't look in her eyes.
"Scully, I'm sorry."
"Don't."
I felt her wrap her arms around me ever so carefully,
holding
me steady. We leaned against each other with awkward
rigidity. Scully pressed her mouth into my hair, her
breath
feathering across my scalp.
"I'm here for you, partner," she vowed. Then she stepped
back
and secured her car before returning her attention to me.
"Think you can manage to walk back? With a little help?"
"Yeah," I offered with a weak grin.
She placed her hand on the small of my back, and I
tentatively
took a few steps.
"Okay. Watch out, there," she said, steering me around
the
small puddle formerly known as my lunch. I felt pain with
every step, but I concentrated on merely going forward,
going
forward. The sooner I got to the apartment, the sooner I could
pass out in a heap on the couch.
We made our way through the building unnoticed. The
action
eerily mimicked the trip I'd just made with Phoebe. Scully had
a harder time steering me, though. My mind was
reeling, and
my legs were about to give out. She sensed the urgency of the
situation and escorted me through the door
Phoebe had left
open and straight to the couch.
I lay there panting for a few minutes, simultaneously
trying to
repress the urge to lose my stomach lining while attempting to
gauge Scully's reaction to the situation.
She wasn't giving me
much to go on, though, other than the fact that she was still
with me. She wandered about my
apartment in the customary
securing procedure, making sure that it was clear of Phoebe's
presence. With her gun drawn.
That was enough for the time
being. I was far too miserable to discern her feelings toward me
at that moment.
"Do you need the trash can?"
She appeared next to me, her weapon holstered, running
her
fingers though my hair. She was already moving the trash can
within my reach.
"How did you know?"
"You're grayer than a little gray man."
"I think I love you, Agent Scully."
"I think you're delirious, Agent Mulder."
I cringed, suddenly realizing that my drug-addled
tongue was
saying poorly-timed things in the absence of my better
judgment. Scully was watching me, one eyebrow
cocked. She
looked like she could probably pass a marksmanship
qualification with laser blasts from her eyes.
"No... Not now," I somberly replied.
Her expression softened.
"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm just having trouble dealing
with what
she did to you."
I nodded in agreement.
After a moment, she released a deep breath and leaned
very
close. She grasped my jaw, prompting me to move my head
from side to side as she examined my face. I was both
flattered
and extremely self-conscious, being under such close scrutiny.
She pulled down my lower eyelids, asked me
to look left and
right, up and down. She peeled my lips back and looked at their
inner surfaces. All the while, I
was keenly aware of the warmth
and subtle scent emanating from her. The neck of Scully's
blouse gaped slightly as
she moved her arms. I willed myself
not to look directly, but I knew it all the same.
"Hm. I don't think you're likely to have an overdose."
She moved her hand to my throat. Two cool fingers
paused
there, and I could feel my blood rhythmically press my skin
against hers. Then, her brow furrowed. Her hand
moved
downward, pulling the right half of my shirt aside. She
palpated the area and hit a sore spot. I hissed and
involuntarily
jerked away.
"Mulder..."
I looked down. Three parallel lines of red-black scabs
marked
the right side of my chest. Scully traced the unmarred skin
beside them as she studied the wounds. Her warm
breath
stirred the hairs there. I found myself getting squirmy, a little
too warm, and very conscious of the fairer
qualities of my
partner.
I sat up, mumbling something about needing to take
a leak. I
had to extract myself from the situation. Scully stepped back to
allow me room, but stayed close enough
to help if needed. As I
stood, another lance of pain shot through my groin. I could not
straighten my back, so I went
post-haste to the bathroom still
halfway hunched over. I heard Scully's footsteps trailing as I
closed the door behind
me.
"Do you need help in there, Mulder?"
I detected a hint of real concern in her voice.
"No. I can handle it."
I snorted at my unfortunate choice of words and walked
gingerly toward the toilet. The wall of the tub provided a little
support for my tired legs. I leaned back, slowly
working my
way to an upright posture. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore
the ominous pain in my groin, wishing it
away. Convince
myself that it meant nothing. My forehead dripped with
nervous sweat.
I unzipped. My cock protested with a sharp jolt of
pain as I
maneuvered it into the open. I winced and held my breath,
trying desperately not to make enough noise to
get Scully's
attention. And then I looked down.
"Shit! Ffffuck."
"Mulder?"
I couldn't think of anything to say in reply except
more
expletives. The door opened. I reflexively covered myself with
my hands as Scully peered around the edge. Her
face was even
paler than mine felt.
"Mulder? Is there something wrong?"
I gulped and nodded. And froze, unsure of what to
do next. I
debated whether I should let her look, or if it might be really
unwise not to. I was reluctant, but Scully
had never given me
reason to question our mutual respect. I was actually surprised
to realize the extent of my trust
in her. She put a hand on my
shoulder and looked up at me with an unwavering gaze. She
had sensed my trepidation.
"It's okay. We'll do this your way. I was just...worried."
I could not express my gratitude for her understanding,
so I
bowed my head.
"Go for it, Doc."
But I couldn't force myself to move my hands out of
her way.
She took her cue to do it for me, lightly guiding my forearms to
either side. I swallowed again and tried
to relax. I studied the
ceiling intently as she closed the lid on the toilet seat and
straddled it in front of me.
The heat of her gaze was tangible. I
clasped my hands behind me to keep from fidgeting and started
to count the dimples
in the ceiling tiles. Somewhere between
25 and 30 dimples, I began to feel warm puffs of air on my
exposed skin. I
was thoroughly convinced that my partner was
trying to kill me.
"What do you think?" I prompted as I glanced down.
The
milky-white tip of her perfectly shaped nose was about four
inches away from my dick. My eyebrows nearly jumped
off of
my forehead.
"Well, you obviously have a large contusion here..."
She cocked her head to one side, her expression entirely
clinical. I was dying. My penis seemed to have a proclivity for
getting me into very uncomfortable situations.
Then, without warning, she reached up and took the
offending
member in her hand.
"Scu-"
"I promise, I won't hurt you."
I had been in pain for some time. That wasn't quite
the
sensation I was concerned about, and my semi-hard state was
still obvious.
"Have you been in this condition since Ms. Greene
assaulted
you?" she asked with a tinge of acrid distaste.
Her touch was feather-light and steady. My heart thumped
wildly against my sternum, as if wanting to escape. Adrenaline
burned through me like fire. I contemplated telling
her exactly
how I felt.
Yes, Agent Scully, spontaneous human combustion is
very
real. Here, let me demonstrate...
But instead I drew a long breath, trying to calm myself.
"Yeah, but it's been gradually...resolving."
"Hm. Looks like you have some more nail marks here."
Scully's face turned a delicate shade of green. I
thought she
was going to get sick. Her facade of calm slipped, but only for
a moment.
"I'm going to need to look at the base. This bruising
is pretty
worrisome."
"That's for sure. All right. Do that voodoo that you
do so
well."
She ignored my nervous, and rather bad, joke and reached
up
with her free hand to unbutton my jeans. My mind was running
rampant with slightly different and more wicked scenarios
than
the one unfolding in reality. I was quite glad that she couldn't
read it, because she would have surely punched
my lights out.
But I almost felt bad about it, anyway. Something about seeing
my partner intently focused on me, her
face so close to my
nether regions, shut off most of my brain, including the higher
reasoning portion. I was definitely
running on limbics.
Scully opened the fly of my jeans and peeked into
the gap in
my boxers.
"You have some mild bruising here at the root. The
associated
inflammation is probably impeding the blood flow. But you
really must go to the ER if this doesn't reduce
within another
couple of hours."
She was deadly serious. Her lips were pressed into
a flat line
that seemed to say, "I will truss you up like a Christmas ham
and drag you to the hospital if I have to."
"What about that bruise?" I inquired, deftly changing
the
subject. I mentally patted myself on the back.
"Well..."
She twisted my cock while trying to gauge the extent
of the
bruising. Just barely, but enough to cause an excruciating
spasm. I clenched my teeth and choked out a gasp.
"Oh God. Mulder, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Her left hand cradled the side of my face, as I bent
over slightly
in protective reaction. I closed my eyes and tried to compose
myself. Tried to keep breathing. My partner
apologized several
times over.
"S'okay. It's just incredibly sore," I managed to
say.
"No wonder, especially after you walked all that way
to follow
me to my car."
I looked at her and found a deep admiration staring
back at me
from those blue eyes. And something else not quite
describable. Something that hinted of jealously personal
value.
But another very pressing issue was weighing on me. I had to
catalogue her reaction for later reference.
"Scully, do you think it's, uh...ruptured?"
Just asking made me cringe.
She held my penis steady and away from my body as
she
moved to look at its underside. She was being ever so careful
now that she knew how exquisitely tender it was.
The bruise in
question was an ugly purple, solid on the left side and striated
on the right, where Phoebe's fingers
had clamped down. The
distorted area mostly encompassed the farther end. Everything
from the bruise down was slightly
swollen.
"Can you feel this?"
And Scully touched the tip of my penis. My hips jerked
and my
eyes bugged open.
"I'll take that as a yes," she said, her serious expression
faltering for a moment.
"What the..."
"You still have circulation to your glans. That's
a good sign. If
you had fractured cavernosa or spongiosum, it would probably
be causing some ischemia by now. Not
to mention more
extensive swelling and discoloration."
Her use of the word "fractured" caught my attention.
It was a
reminder that she wasn't just playing around.
"As bad as this contusion appears, I'm pretty certain
that it's a
result of subcutaneous vein tearing. It's not a medical
emergency. It should be completely healed in about
a week."
I let loose a tremendous sigh of relief as she continued, "Just
remember, though, that your erection
should be completely
gone soon. If not, there's a chance of permanent injury."
I nodded solemnly in understanding, even though she
wasn't
helping that particular matter at all. She then gently lowered
my penis to its original position and released
it. The break in
contact was a bit shocking. I felt cold.
Then my partner stood up and edged her way to the
sink to
wash her hands. I quickly did my tucking and zipping while her
back was turned. I didn't have a towel on the
bar, so she dried
her hands on the thighs of her pants. She placed one still-damp
palm on my chest.
"How are you feeling?"
"Dizzy. A little weak."
Impressed. Stunned. Amazed. Infatuated.
"You should lie down for a while. I'll get you some
ice."
"Thanks, Scully," I said as she turned and headed
for the
kitchen.
Oh yes, I thought. Following her had definitely been
worth the
pain.
So, I sucked it up and traced her steps again, only
I veered off
at the couch. Finally, I was able to relax and stretch out some
very sore leg muscles. I propped up my
feet, popped my stiff
neck, and was fully prepared to take an 8-hour nap. Scully
emerged from the kitchen holding
a bag of ice partially
wrapped in a towel. She set the cold, lumpy object in my
hands.
"Rest. Ice. Compression. No Elevation."
I pouted, just to push Scully's button. She smiled
and shook
her head. She laughed. Score.
"Well, I guess I should get going," she said in a
more subdued
tone, after glancing at her watch. "I still have to turn in our
final report on the case. That's why
I came over. You forgot to
sign it."
I firmly covered my more vulnerable parts with the
cold wrap.
Very cold.
"Oh. Did you happen to bring it with you?"
To her credit, Scully didn't laugh when my voice jumped
half
an octave.
"Yes..."
She walked around the coffee table and retrieved the
file,
which had been scattered all over the floor. Scully straightened
the thick stack of papers and held it out to
me, along with a pen
from her jacket pocket.
"Could I have your autograph?" she parodied with a
drawl.
"Heh. Sure."
I took the proffered items and scribbled something
resembling
my name on five different pages. Scully took the file and
tucked it under one arm. While I was attempting
to adjust the
compress to a more comfortable position, she retrieved my
phone from my jacket pocket on the coat rack
and set it next to
me.
"If you need anything, please tell me."
"I will."
She wrapped her fingers around one of my already-frozen
hands and gave it a squeeze.
"See you later."
"Yes, Ma'am."
And after a tantalizing hint of a smile, she was gone.
I had to laugh at the sudden vision of her stepping
outside the
front door of my building to have a cigarette. But then the
stillness of the room gradually swallowed
any humor in the
situation. I could still detect the subtle fragrance of Phoebe's
perfume in the air, on my clothes.
Could still smell the sharp
essence of her arousal.
I felt ill. Had to sit up. As soon as the sensation
passed, a
particular obsessive idea played through my mind. Just days
ago, Phoebe had given me a cassette tape, which
I had dually
ignored and tossed in a drawer. But I couldn't quite make
myself throw it away, either. My curiosity
was wickedly
strong, and she knew it. I had brought the tape home and gone
as far as putting it in the stereo, but
that was it.
But now, I was more than curious. I was desperate
to hear if
she had shown any signs of wanting help for her twisted
sociopathy. Or if there was a trace of humanity
left in her.
I laid the compress aside for a moment and gingerly
got to my
feet, using the table and couch for support. I shuffled over to
the stereo and stood for a moment with my
finger on the "play"
button. Was she controlling me still, in her own nefarious way?
No. I felt more certain of myself
than I had in a long time. I
had been burnt, and now I held only a cold pity for her.
I pushed "play" and returned to the couch. I sat,
head in hands,
listening to a litany of false affections, still questioning the
past, wondering if she ever, even
for a moment, really cared.
I stared at the table, focused on nothing until the
tape hissed to
an end. The player clicked off. I blinked, still looking at the
table. Picked up the phone. Punched
the first speed dial button.
"Hey, Scully."
* * *
End
