Part II
"Mulder!" she fairly shouted.
"Whaa....huh? What'd I do?"
"You haven't heard a word I've said."
"Yes I have. You were talking about the case," he said hesitantly.
"Mmm hmm. And what was I saying, exactly?" She raised an eyebrow, a classic indication that without some fast talking, he was in very big trouble.
"Well, um....you wee saying that the probability of the killer using the same weapon in each case was very low due to inconsistancies in the...." His voice trailed off. The eyebrow had gone up even further---was that possible?
She stared at him. "Mulder, I said that about ten minutes ago."
"Oh," he said quietly. He tried one of his best puppy-dog looks, hoping for a stay of execution.
"You know, Mulder, I was enjoying my vacation until you dragged me off to the middle of nowhere to investigate this big case of yours. Frankly, I don't even know what we're *doing* here. This is a job for the local police department, and they have let us know that from the moment we arrived. There are about a hundred things I'd rather be doing right now, but instead I am here, trying to solve this thing that *you* no longer seem to want to be bothered with....Mulder, stop that."
His eyes downcast, he looked at her through his long lashes in a Mulder-typical display of submissiveness, the type that always melted her.
"Oh, no you don't," she warned. "Not this time."
"I'm sorry, Scully," he intoned, sounding truly apologetic. "I was....somewhere else for a moment. I'm paying attention now, I promise."
She sighed, and began to continue her monologue, but not before casting a sharp look in his direction.
Mulder felt a wave of relief; she had forgiven him, at least for the time being. The truth was, he had been miles away, back in his yard with the pool, and Scully, and Emily....He shook himself before he slipped back into that train of thought and struggled to pay attention to his partner.
*****
Mulder slept fitfully, caught in the throes of a recurrant nightmare only half-remembered upon awakening. Jerking himself to full consciousness, he panted heavily, out of breath from the pursuit in his dream.
He sat up in the semi-darkness of his motel room, trying to orient himself to the unfamiliar surroundings. The sight of his weapon on the cheap dresser jolted his memory, and he recalled chasing a shadowy man through the streets of his subconscious: the man who had given him the cure for Scully's cancer. For the first time, it occurred to Mulder that the same man might now be holding the key to the rest of his life.
Was it possible? Mulder knew only that if anyone could change his partner's fate and the sadly inevitable course of the future, Cancer Man could. His arch-nemesis and hated enemy might now be, once again, his only hope. Knowing that he would sleep no more this night, Mulder began pacing the room as the glimmer of an idea began to take shape in his mind.
*****
When they arrived in Washington late the next day, Mulder was in an unusual hurry to get out of the airport. Scully merely rolled her eyes, assuming he had an important "appointment" with a female acquaintance. She tried to ignore the sharp stab of jealousy that pierced her heart as he bade her a curt farewell and trotted to his car; after all, she had no right to question his motives and intentions. He *was* just her partner, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time.
With a heavy sigh of resignation, Scully picked up her overnight bag and small suitcase and headed toward her car. Making her usual check of its condition---five years of working with Mulder had not failed to increase her level of paranoia---and finding no sign of tampering or a break-in, she popped the trunk and dropped her luggage unceremoniously inside. She then unlocked the driver's side door and eased herself into the seat with a soft groan; she was still stiff and sore from the long flight.
She took the Beltway into the city, relieved that she had missed the rush-hour traffic. Once on the familiar streets of Georgetown, she began to feel the warmth of homecoming. Recently she had become more and more reluctant to leave, preferring the comfortable familiarity of her apartment to the excitement of the field that she had once craved. The metamorphosis had started after Emily's death and had slowly, almost imperceptibly changed the way she viewed the world, herself, and most critically, her career.
The thrill of the chase no longer held the allure it once had, and the cases failed to enthrall her. While only a few months ago even the most cut-and-dry cases commanded her utmost attention, more and more frequently she had found herself distracted at crucial points in the investigations.
In addition, she seemed incapable of stopping herself from lashing out at her partner for the same crimes of which she was so obviously guilty. He, too appeared to be having trouble concentrating on work, retreating more often than usual inside himself. His habit of distancing himself from her had always been a source of annoyance, but now it infuriated her past a rational point.
She told herself that they just needed to get away from each other for a while; they spent more time in each other's presence than most married couples, and constant exposure to a single person was bound to cause friction. She knew, however, that it was more than simply weariness of his company.
For one thing, Scully harbored more than her fair share of resentment toward Mulder; various examples of his insensitivity over the course of her years with him had provided her with ample reason to feel bitter toward him. But only since Emily had she started to feel true animosity in place of irritation. He certainly hadn't gone out of his way to comfort her; his reaction to Emily's death could almost be described as cold indifference.
She reminded herself that perhaps Mulder wasn't entirely to blame for his lack of support; she had been careful not to appear as though she was asking for his sympathy. Truthfully, had he offered it, she would in all probability have turned him away. But he hadn't offered, and that made all the difference.
Conversly, lashing out at Mulder also seemed to be the best way to cover the fact that her feelings for him had changed dramatically over the past few months. She would not allow herself to give voice to the nature of the change, even inside her own head, but she could not deny that there was a difference. It made it nearly impossible for her to maintain a professional working relationship with him, which disturbed her. Their partnership had consistantly been a point of sanity within the madness in which they both dwelled. Without that anchor, how could she hope to continue on her chosen path?
Logically, Scully knew what her conflicting emotions were trying to communicate to her: it was time to move on. Her dissatisfaction with her career in the Bureau had become more than an annoyance; it was actually starting to affect her integrity as an agent. She was becoming an acute danger to herself, her partner, and the potential victims that she was failing to adequately protect. If she ever had an excuse to leave the FBI, the emotional distress of losing her daughter only days after learning of her existance was certainly an ample one, although she knew it was much more than just Emily.
Somehow, though, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. As much as she knew she needed to, she just couldn't quit now. To do so would be to walk away from the X-Files, and consequently, Mulder. Scully told herself that they could remain in contact, but she knew that it would never be the same. To leave him now would be a betrayal creating a gap between them that she would never be able to cross. Mulder had had so much taken from him....she had to prove to him that she, if nothing else, would never be lost to him. Even more importantly, she knew now, more than ever, that Mulder was her lifeline. To destroy that would be to destroy herself.
Scully shook her head violently to stop the onslaught of emotion mercilessly pounding at her skull. She let out an irritated breath when she realized that her thoughts had distracted her to the point of missing her turn. She careened the car onto a dead-end street and maneuvered the vehicle to face back the way she had come. As she reached her building and parked in front she resolved to put all thoughts of work and Mulder out of mind, at least long enough to squeeze in a nice, hot bath. She grabbed her bags and climbed the stairs to her door, determined to relax.
End Part II