Suspension of Belief
by Barbara Barnett

Catagory: SA (lotsa Mulder Angst)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: mythology; Chinga

Summary: After returning from her long, disastrous weekend in Maine, Scully
wonders about Mulder's strange behavior and he confesses to her his loss of
faith in himself and his beliefs. Takes place right after Chinga.

Disclaimer: not mine. no profit.

The vacation, strike that, long weekend--had been a disaster. Getting sucked
into a case that she neither sought, nor wanted any involvement with was the
last thing Scully needed. Even more bizarre than the case had been Mulder's
behavior.

It had been Mulder who had originally suggested they spend some time away from
each other. Things had become strained. To say the least. It had terrified
Mulder that after winning the Cancer battle, they could lose each other to
something so banal as drift and apathy. Like a good marriage that had
succumbed to mutual indifference and petty sniping. It was a good idea.

Mulder had even suggested New England. Beautiful, even in the winter.
Especially in the winter, he had insisted. At first, Scully had resisted the
idea, suggesting that she and vacations did not seem to go together well,
lately. She steadfastly denied the existence of a problem between them. But,
in the end, she agreed, sensing that it was Mulder that needed the separation.

She knew something was wrong after the first phone call. And it went downhill
from there. Scully came home, frustrated and anything but rested. She had
intended to talk to Mulder immediately upon her arrival back in DC. Why,
after practically pushing her out the door had he refused to cut the cord?
She figured at first that he was just bored. No one to dazzle with his
brilliantly intuitive mind. Noone to reel him back into reality. The lone
gunmen must have been out of town, no doubt, at some UFO convention. She
returned to DC more irritated with him than when she'd left.

But then she arrived back in the office Monday morning. Pencils in the
ceiling? She hadn't seen that one since med school. No strike that,
undergrad. Scully had fully expected to find Mulder immersed in a file
folder, scanning reports, ready to tackle the conspiracy head on. Pencils in
the ceiling, indeed. Her irritation dissipated into concern. This was not
Mulder.

"Mulder, are you ok?" She usually reserved the question for those times when
the stress and frustration mounted; when the case cut too close to home for
Mulder; when she prayed he would hold it together despite overwhelming odds
that would crack the strongest of spirits. And somehow he did. The control
cost him, each time a little more. She knew that. But she also knew Mulder
would never act unprofessionally in the heat of a case--never crack the stoic
facade he cultivated like a rare orchid. Except when it was over, and then
only in the dark loneliness of his apartment or behind the locked door of the
basement office. Scully had sometimes witnessed it, helped him when she
could--when he let her in.

His response surprised her. "I just don't know anymore, Scully." A shiver
went up her spine. He had said it so matter-of-factly, it had taken a moment
for her to process.

Scully's eyebrow cocked toward her hairline. "Mulder?" A statement. A
question. An invitation.

"I feel, Scully, like I'm drifting these days. I...I can't seem...I can't
seem to stay focused. I just don't know anymore. What I'm doing. What I've
done. Where I'm going. I..." He stopped suddenly, pursing his lips, looking
down at the blotter on his desk.

Scully had planned on being angry at him. She had the riot act out and ready
to read with full force. She had not expected this. How long had this been
brewing, she wondered. Scully sighed. Had this been the cause of his
behavior during her trip to Maine? A sort of reaching out? She crossed to
his desk, grabbing a chair on the way, moving it very near his own. She was
very near him, now.

"Mulder, what's going on?" She laid a hand on the arm of his swivel chair,
turning it toward herself, gently. "I don't know anymore, Scully..." His
eyes were yet focused downward,
unwilling to meet her gaze. It had been a difficult several months. For both
of them. For her, it had meant the horror of cancer, the joy of remission,
the hopeless realization that she would never bear children, the shock, the
hope, the ultimate tragedy of Emily. She'd not really considered the toll
taken on Mulder. He been sympathetic to her, a compassionate friend. His
suggestion that she take a much needed vacation: an extension of that
friendship. To be sure, Mulder had been much quieter these past few months,
no mention of aliens, abductions. She attributed his behavior to his trying
to give her space, time for healing.

But there had also not been the friendly teasing either. As if stunned by a
sudden realization, Scully jumped slightly, suddenly missing its absence all
at once. She hadn't noticed. Not really. How could she have not noticed?

"Talk to me, Mulder." Her voice was demanding, but filled with quiet
compassion. Mulder bit his lower lip, contemplating. He looked up, redrawing
his defenses, searching for his deflective humor.

"Hey, Scully. We now have a three month supply of sharpened pencils.
Courtesy of yours truly." He handed her a pencil with the overacted delicacy
with which he would have handed her a single long stemmed rose. Complete with
disarming smile.

No."

"No?"

"No. Mulder, I expected to find you immersed in an X-file, your desk
scattered with stacks of photographs, slides, papers, notes. Instead, I find
you using our ceiling as a dart board, after a weekend of phoning me every six
hours. To say you are distracted by something is an understatement. This
isn't you, Mulder. And however charming this boyish display might be, it
tells me that something is going on. Something you want to talk about. That
you almost just said, before your multitudinous defense mechanisms kicked in
and you shut me out. No, Mulder. Not this time."

Mulder sighed shakily, his eyes meeting hers. He had tried and failed to
strike a defiant glare. "Not here."

"Fine. Then let's take a walk. Sit on that favorite bench of yours near the
reflecting pool."

They exited the Hoover building in silence, walking the distance immersed in
their own thoughts. Scully stole a glance at Mulder. He hadn't shaved--or
had done so badly. His tie was wrinkled as was his shirt. His shoulders were
hunched. Depression? She wondered, remembering another time it had hit and
hit hard. It was fairly early in their partnership. The X-files had been
closed and Mulder had begun to have serious doubts about his quest *and* his
sanity, relating his life to that of the astronomer George Ellery Hale,
hearing the voices of little green men in his head. But what could have hit
him this hard now? Scully knew the toll her illness had taken on him. Not
from anything he said, of course. But she had heard little things. Comments
by nurses, her mother, even Skinner. But now the cancer was in remission.
So, it couldn't be that. Cancer Man was dead, at least apparently so. The
mole had been found and the AG's office had begun a large scale investigation
into the activities of private interests and influence peddling within the
bureau and in Congress. They had won. At least they'd won a battle.

They reached the bench, Mulder sitting silently upon it. Suddenly, Mulder
looked deeply into Scully's eyes, seeking strength to say it aloud. To tell
her the truth about himself. He prayed silently that Scully would find it in
herself to understand and forgive him.

Mulder gazed across the reflecting pool. "Delusional fool, Scully. Describes
me well, dontcha think?" He continued to stare ahead. "I'm finally agreeing
with you. After all these years, Scully. I thought you'd be pleased."
Mulder's voice dripped sarcasm, each word stinging Scully like sleet falling
from a gray sky.

"Mulder..." Her voice was soft, filled with caring. She reached for his
hand. He flinched at the touch, snapping his hand away as if slapped. Scully
took a deep and shaky breath, not knowing how to respond; how to get through.

"You know, Scully, I never told you this but..." He turned toward her
momentarily and then abruptly changing his mind, biting his lower lip as if to
prevent the words from escaping. Mulder willed himself back into total
control. NO! his mind echoed. Don't tell her. Tell her and you'll fall
apart. Tell her and she'll know how close you are to the edge. Tell her and
she'll rescue you. DON'T TELL HER! Mulder closed his eyes against the
impulse to reveal the depth of his depression. The completeness of his loss
of faith.

Mulder stood, walking to the edge of the pool. He looked toward Lincoln,
sitting alone, isolated, unfaltering in his faith. Mulder's eyes filled with
the stinging of bitter tears. Wanting to run and never stop until his heart
gave out, he found himself suddenly unable to move. Scully reached his side
as he crumpled to the grass, his head buried in the folds of his long arms,
sobs wracking his body in endless waves.

Hours later, Mulder vaguely remembered allowing Scully to lead him to her car
and to his apartment in Alexandria, stiff and exhausted, silent. He
remembered being grateful for her not pressing him further, though, he knew,
she had to be wondering at the cause of this sudden breakdown.

He sat up, startled by the lack of noise. The moonlight poured into the
otherwise dark room, reflecting...he was not alone.

"Mulder, you awake?"

"Scully...wh..." He remembered. Grinding the heels of his hands into his
eyes, he sighed. "How lo..." It had to have been hours, he knew. "Scully,
I'm sorry...I...I don't know what happened...I...I must've blacked out. How
did I get home?"

"Mulder, you've got to talk to me. You scared the Hell out of me back on the
mall. What's going on?" Her tone was conversational. Not accusatory, not
condescending. She knew. She had to know.

"Scully, this is all pretty raw right now. It's hard for me to..."

"Mulder, *what* is raw? All I know is that you're in more pain than I've ever
seen you. I'm scared to death for you. I don't know how to help you. You've
got to help me on this."

He drew a breath. What to tell her. He thought a moment. "My life is a
lie...has been a lie. All of it. You told me, remember? You're a doctor,
you may not have had psych training, but I'm sure you did a rotation. What do
you think that revelation did to me Scully? Imagine this: you've lived a
life built on a fragile faith. You have memories, some good...some not so
good. Some terrifying. But they're yours. All of a sudden you're told--and
are shown hard evidence--that it's all been a lie. A carefully crafted lie.
That nothing...nothing..*none of it* can be trusted. That you've been used to
further an agenda that you do not support; that...." Mulder had fixed his gaze
on Scully, finding her eyes in the dark, boring into them. Scully's own eyes
wide in the certainty of what he was going to reveal next. Mulder turned his
gaze downward, closing his eyes against the hurt.

"...that to further that agenda, and because of it, the person...the *one*
person who believed in you, who had faith in you...the one person in all the
world you cared anything about anymore...was given..."

The room became heavy with its silence. Mulder's voice had become thick, a
hoarse rasp..a ragged whisper. Again Scully was at his side. This time he
did not flinch at her touch. "I can't talk about this yet, Scully. I
can't..."

"Ssh..." She wrapped her arms around his waist, bringing him toward her, a
safe safe harbor in the moonlit night. "Mulder, I just want you to know that
I'm here when your ready. I don't think you believe that for some reason.
But I'm here. I think I can figure out some of what you can't yet tell
me...some of things you're feeling right now. I know it's hard...so very
hard...to..." She stopped, hoping the message had gotten through. Praying
the message got through. Damn them, she thought. Damn them all to Hell for
what they had done. To him. To her. The walking wounded.