Date: Sun, 19 Jul 1998

Decoder
by: Willa Dedalus
Disclaimer : Chris Carter is a god. He rocks my world. He made me this
obsessed, and I love him for it. So-the moral of the story is don't sue. Starving
artist at the mercy of her creator here.
Spoiler: The End-my favorite scene from the episode.
Category: Anguish-UST <that's kinda a given though huh?>
For Stephanie Kaiser, and Sarah Benton we all drooled over this scene!
I do it all for you Sarah! Sculdar! Mully! Figi!
*This story is dedicated to the memory of Mulder and Scully's office.*
Summary: How did Scully get Spastic Mulder so relaxed<foreign
concept!> after his run in with Spender? Is there anything that woman can't do? :) > Told from
Mulder's POV
Rating: Some swear words, deep comfort, and reinvestement-PG13?
Feedback would be especially kewl send a way----
"Where's the writer? I wanna speak to the writer." Mulder in Post
Modern Prometheus
speak your heart to me -- paperhearts4ever@yahoo.com

"Truth is supposed
may bear all lights ;
and one of those -------- Anthony Ashley Cooper
principal lights or Lord Shaftesbury
natural mediums by 1709
which things are to be
viewed in order to a
through recognition is
ridicule itself."

Rubber baby buggy bumpers. Ants in my Pants. Head in the Sky. Case closed.
My mind won't slow down. The train wreck I call a brain has derailed. What a prick.
Spender, he's a prick. He's a kiss ass. The straw the broke the camel's back. I can't sit
still. I feel like a high bounce ball. I'm wired and I'm about to be fired. It's that funny. I'm sitting on my couch yet I feel like I'm running a marathon. My brain decides this headache is worse than a train wreck and actually WW3 is going on. My whole body feels like a porcupine has made a new home out of me. I am so un godly exhausted.
Yet, I will never sleep. I am even out of the dreaded sleeping pills, and am too lazy to
bother going to the store. I sit up. I stand up. I feel like shit. Yet, I don't think I am
sick. Well, mentally maybe. Okay, definitely. I need to clear my head. But the stupid jack
hammer inside disagrees. I shiver. I'm cold. I'm hot. I'm anxious. I'm sick of
thinking. I don't know anymore. Stress has over taken me and I didn't even bother to fight.
I'm so tired. I keep wanting one thing. Just one thing. The thought almost makes me drowsy.
Scully. She would know what to do. I can feel my heartbeat zooming through my body
getting faster and faster and faster.
"Mulder."
I scream. I scream a girlie scream.
It's Scully. The cat has my tongue now.
"Mulder, your going to have a hard time convincing me that was not a
girlie scream."
Ah, it's Scully. I laugh. I laugh so hard I choke.
She pats my back, keeping her hand there.
"Why are you still wearing your trench coat? Going somewhere?" She
asks when I'm done gagging up a lung. It would be worth the price it felt good to
laugh. It felt normal.
"I don't know," I say awkwardly. "I forgot." I close my eyes just for
a second. I really want to be mothered. I am beyond caring about an other fucking detail.
My backbone has been gutted. If I were an entree in a restaurant I would be ready
to be cooked. My soul feels rare tonight.
"Take it off. Get comfortable. I want to talk." Scully commands me
tenderly.
I can feel my voice wants to let out a whine. To gush every nonsense
thought I have had ever since I have been sitting here.
I savor her smell. Her presence. It's a tasters choice moment.
"Mulder," she says. The sound of my name on her lips makes me feel
drunk.
"What?" I ask with annoyance so I won't betray my fake cool front.
The hand on my back leaves, and starts to help me off with my coat.
The pipes are going to burst. I want her and yet I can't take this.
I can't allow myself the pleasure.
I stand up away from her flinging my coat off. I'm going to be an
asshole now.
I don't know another way to let her know how bad I feel. She'll see
through me. Give her some clues, and she'll decode me.
She'll kick my ass. I can't wait. She'll understand me. I can't wait.
"Happy now?" I ask.
"Take off your jacket," she instructs in an even tone of voice me
while she sits perfectly still. I watch her eyes catalog my restless fidgeting. The pieces
are coming together.
I rip my suit jacket off nearly taking my arm sockets with me. Again I
throw the jacket away like its the plague it lands on a nearby chair.
"Happy now?" I ask again this time with more sarcasm.
"Take off your dress shirt," she says to me. She's not only undressing
my body, but my mind, and soul. I bet she's expecting a witty response for that one.
No dice. Fresh out.
Yes, we have no bananas.
I take more anger, frustration, anxiety, and fear out on my shirt. I
pull at it till the buttons pop, then pull the sleeves off. I squeeze it into a ball, and whip it
at the chair. But I miss and hit a picture frame that falls to the ground. Crashing it lands in
front of me.
I start to cry. It hurts so much. I crumple up on the floor. My legs
just giving way, no shaking, no effort, I just fall.
Scully is right there by my side. She thinks I am injured. I am. Only
not by the picture.
"Mulder, are you all right?" she asks expecting me to
answer our motto, "I'm Fine." What a crock of shit. But it speaks
volumes about who we are.
"NO!!" I say. I thought I screamed it. She asks again though, "Mulder
are you okay?" This time her voice contains more urgency, more panic. I realize then that
there is a roadblock in my throat. I whisper, "No."
"What's wrong? What hurts?" She asks her tone is in concerned doctor
mode.
"I'm sick," I mutter feebly. I'm so pathetic.
"Where? Where do you feel sick?" She asks me tenderly her voice
keeping a low tone.
I place one hand on my head, the other on my heart.
"I'm sick of this."
She understands now, I can see her forming an answer in her mind that
she knows will comfort me. She'll know what to do. I trust her to know what to do.
She doesn't speak though. Instead she places her hands on the two
places I point to.
I'm tired, I can't take it anymore. I close my eyes again. This time
I don't rush to open them. I lean into her hands still touching me.
"Mulder, can you move to the couch?" Scully asks me slowly breaking
away to stand up.
I open my eyes to see her extended hands willing to help me move from
siting on the floor like a bump on a log.
"You know I never could say no to you Scully," I pretend it's a joke,
but it is really true.
There is no other way to have emotional breakdowns then with my Scully.
I take her hands into mine and stand up as she gives my hands a tug.
Well, that's one small step for man. One giant leap for mankind.
I wilt as we sit on the couch. All these years. There is still
nothing. I risked everything for nothing. Oh in my life that is a fair trade. I have lost focus on
believing in myself. I have new reasons to be paranoid to plaster over the old ones. I
truly feel I am the "Sorry son of a bitch," Bill Scully called me last fall. I look at Scully.
She has never been more beautiful. I wish I had even just a tad of her spunk. She looks me
over again. "Looks like you could use a hot shower." I don't want to leave her, but the
pounding heat of the water intoxicates me because she suggested it.
"You never complained about this after shave before." I weakly joke,
she falls for it laughing once at least for my sake I suppose. I rise slowly, my back
as stiff as my soul.
"I left some food in the kitchen, In case we got hungry later," she
informs me matter of factly. Curiosity killed the cat. "What it is?" I asked like a eager
young child.
"My mom's homemade lasagna." I turn around to see her smile as I reach
the bathroom.
"Hmm, Scully home cooking. Ummm good."
"I'll be right out here," she tells me. I'm glad she did. Never hurts
to be reassured.
Especially today.
I shut the door. And I open another one. I step into the shower
placing my head against the cold linoleum. Then I turn on the hot water and let my back take
the resulting beating as I step under the spray. I want things to make sense. I
want to feel calm. Or I want to feel out of control. Flip of the coin, either extreme is fine.
Never in the middle.
I'm always stuck in the fucking middle. I wonder if Scully wants to
talk about my blow up with Spender. Or something less pleasant like the end of the
X-files. I turn off the water, and stand dripping wet. I can no longer tell if I just took a
bath in water or my own tears. I shut my eyes. Say to myself, get a grip. Then I remember
Scully's waiting. There's light at the end of the tunnel. I wrap a towel around my waist and go
into my bedroom, darting around the corner hoping my towel doesn't slip. Maybe I'm
hoping it will. I quickly pull on boxers, jeans, and a gray T-shirt. As an after
thought I grab some socks and pad into the living room barefoot Seems a lot more of me is bare
than just my feet.
Scully has made herself more comfortable as well. Gone is the work
Scully in suits, her armor. Before me is a casual Scully. Dana Scully. I sit down next to
her on the couch.
Her hand beckoning with a tap. I pull on my socks and silence befalls
us. I look at the lights outside my window they are not from a space craft, but from
flickering lamp posts.
Scully returns her hand to that place on my back where it was before
my shower. The place I would put my hand on her back in our early cases guiding her
into a room. She was really guiding me. We sit silently. She endorses the silence even
though she says she came to talk. Well, we have never really talked anyway, we have only
needed each others presence to communicate. Her hand starts to form small circles as she
delicately rubs my back. I groan or moan, I'm not sure which at even such a simple touch
from her. All restraint has flown out the window. I have long since tried to pin
point the moment I became devoid of being whole without her. So, far I am unsuccessful
to find the precise moment. All I now is a future without her is no future at all. She
increases the pressure on my back by moving her other hand to help. Peace, I want peace. I
want peace of mind. I want something to hang on to, evidence. Scully has always
served as that. I am sane. She says so. I shouldn't put this all on her. I close my eyes.
She never deserved anything that has happened to her. She deserves better.
"Mulder, what ever self blaming thought your thinking now, give it
up," she says breaking the quiet by leaning into my neck so she can whisper.
God she knows me. It's almost spooky how well she knows me. I should
be honest with her. I want to gush like old faithful. Is that what she is old faith?
Only someone I think of when I am hurting. Someone I take for granted. What kind of a sick
bastard am I? I try to pull away from her grasp. To let her escape. Maybe I haven't
tarnished her yet. She can still go on with out me. Why would she need me? However, she doesn't
fall for it. I am drawn back in like the moth to a flame. Her hands tighten their grasp
on my body, repositioning themselves on my shoulders. They are digging away
through the tension, drilling to the ends of the earth. The other side of existence.
Instead of tilting my head forward which seems to be the logical choice, it falls back towards
her. She catches it and places it on her shoulder, never stopping her work on me. I lick
my lips, and groan.
She smiles, the great one. The Alaska smile with a cherry and sugar on
top. I wonder what she is thinking. I have grown tired of my mind. Actually I have
just grown tired. I yawn, stretching my jaw and lower face turning my head into her neck.
Again she smiles, I can feel the muscles twitch against my face. I'm about to
speak when I yelp in exquisite pain as her hands find a gold mind of pressure building from
within my caving walls. "Scully---Scully, What are you thinking about?" Her hands are
everywhere. They know where to go. She can sense me I swear. She knows where it hurts
the most not only in my body but in my soul.
"Mulder, I was just about to ask you the same thing," she says with a
wisp of humor.
"Well, I asked first," I whine. There I did it, I let it out. Any 5 year old would be proud of me now. I stretch out my long legs onto the couch. The movement places more weight
from me onto her. Scully takes it with deep satisfaction, and I with deep relief.
She exhales a long steady breath. Her hands ripping away at me, forcing my muscles to
give way. The pressure her hands exert on my shoulders is fierce, yet compassionate like
she is.
"I was thinking about us." Her voice rings in my ears at the simple yet vague statement.
"Little more would be good Scully, your not going to get off that easy," I reply to her, mymood eased by her steady massaging. My mind has hit the pause button since she began speaking.
"Damn!" She says to me in mock humor. "Okay Doctor," I believe that is the first time
she has called me that. My degree in psychology sits collecting dust somewhere, the dust
in my mind. I can understand serial killers and murders track them down, know their
motives, yet myself befuddles myself.
What do I need that old degree for anyway? She starts to speak though, and I make my
mind shut up, hit pause again. I try to be the audience she deserves.
"I was thinking about the last five years. Through it all I have felt a warm sensation of
happiness inside that I could reach upon in my darkest hours."
I can't believe her. I want to believe her though.
"Scully, why don't you leave me?" I ask out of the blue.
She stops being my masseuse sitting me up so she can look me directly in the eye.
"Mulder, you are the light. You keep me going. For 5 years I have been privileged to
know the enigmatic man behind the famous reputation as no one else
has. There has always only been one problem."
Oh shit here we go. I exhale and prepare for the truth I have been so boldly seeking.
She sees in me that she has the floor and continues. I can see her debate for a second,
weather eye contact or a back rub is better for this moment. She decides it will be an eye
to eye confrontation. I am scared shitless I won't be able to face her when she tells me.
My eyes will betray my soul. I try not to panic but it is a lost cause.
"The problem has been you-"
I cut her off in mid-sentence I know where this is going. Me. I'm the problem.
I always am. Got a problem? Who are you gonna call? Spooky Mulder it's his fault. I
jump up from the couch and stand yelling above her face. Screaming with all my might.
All my anger super imposed onto her, because she's here. And nobody else is or ever will
be. Because I am scared.
"Yes, I am a fucking failure. A reject. I can't do anything right. I can't remember
important time periods. I can not save anybody important to me. I screw peoples lives up.
All for a glance at the heavens. So leave spy! Be gone! I stick out in a crowd as the freak.
I--"
"MULDER! SHUT UP!" She stands up the stun in her face is gone, replaced by annoyance.
"If you would let me fucking finish the damn sentence you would understand!"
Her hand moves to my face and for a second I'm afraid she'll hit me.
"Don't try the left hook on me Scully! I'm Sorry!"
She's crying, oh for the love of god I made her cry.
"I'm sorry Scully!" I say gently. My fault. All my fault. My head turns toward the floor, I
can't look at her.
Her hand caress my face, bringing it up to met her gaze.
"Mulder," she says evenly. "The problem hasn't been you. The problem has been your self
defeat. You just need to learn to accept. It tears me up inside to see you blame yourself
for everything. That's the problem. Yourself hate. Yourself blame.
But, not you," her hand caress my face, "Not you."
I lean down onto her. She braces the weight of my head by cradling it
as if it were a new born baby.
I whimper once, the tears come silently. As they do I tighten my hold
around her waist. A yawn takes hold of me suddenly and I exhale the breath into her neck.
Her hand smoothes back my hair lightly, reassuredly.
"Bed time, or rather couch time in your case," she whispers again her hand running through my hair.
I look up at her eyes, through my tear swollen eyes. I wipe a remaining tear away from
each of our faces.
My hand traces the outline of her face slowly, almost shaking.
"How'd you get to be so smart?" I ask her with a dim smile.
"Been around you along time," she replies guiding me to the couch.
I lay down. She sits on the coffee table leaning towards me, still holding my hand.
"You were just as smart when I met you, so don't cop out with 'been around you'."
"Well, you were a smart ass when I met you, it wore off." She squeezes
my hand, then eases it down onto the couch. Releasing me, I'm whole again.
I smile, an finally I find a mile of peace. Exhaustion takes me in.
Reel, by Reel, slowly drawing me. I breath in deeply, so deeply my shoulders ark with my
movement as I exhale. I open my eyes again when I feel her touching me. She is putting a pillow under my feet, making me extra comfy.
My voice is heavy with sleep, "Thanxss Scullee."
She pats my feet, "No problem partner."
Then I remember something I had forgot to do. I break myself from sleep only partially.
"Scullee, there was a message from Skinner on my answering machine when I got home."
"I'm really impressed Mulder," she says moving from the coffee table to the chair at my desk.
"Why?" I ask crossing my arms across my chest, settling in for rest. It feels so natural to
have Scully here. To just know she is here and will take care of business for me. I
wouldn't have it another way.
"You remembered, I'll make a note of that to Skinner," she says sarcastically.
"No, don't do that Scully, I wouldn't want him to get use to it."
"Good Point," she says while laughing. Then minutes later adds, "Rest."
"Whatt?" I slur out, my eyes still closed.
"Assistant Director Skinner's office it's Special Agent Scully please," covering the phone
with her hand she reaches to me, caressing my temple, "Rest."
As I vaguely hear Scully talk with Skinner I can only imagine what he
is thinking about this situation.

THE END.