Title:        Rifts
Author:       Lovesfox
E-Mail:       lovesfox@rogers.com
Website:      www.geocities.com/fanficcorner
Rating:       R
Category:     Angst, Story, Post-Episode
Spoilers:     Up to and including En Ami 
Summary:      Can they heal the rifts between them?

Archive:      Already submitted to Ephemeral and
              Gossamer.  Yes to Spooky's.  Others 
              please ask.

Disclaimer:   Mulder, Scully and The Lone Gunmen do
              not belong to me.  I mean no harm, nor
              will I make a profit from this story.

Note:         Scenes from the episode En Ami have been
              used without permission.

Warning:      Heavy angst, an unintentional act of 
              violence

Thanks:       Nancy, MAL and Mortis 

~~~ 

Rifts 
by Lovesfox

Part 1 of 4


Day 1

Office Building
Washington, D.C.
4:32 pm


Scully hurried up the staircase, pausing momentarily at 
the top, head swiveling both ways, before almost running 
down the deserted hallway, conscious of Mulder several 
steps behind her.  At least he had believed her enough
to come here.  Although it was more likely he couldn't 
pass up a possible opportunity to apprehend or confront
the Smoking Man.

An uneasy feeling swept through her as she neared the end
of the hall.  Her eyes saw it before she reached it - the
place where C.G.B. Spender's nameplate had been.  Her hand 
angrily slapped at the blank brass plate that mocked her 
as she burst through the door for the suite of offices.
Uncaring as it rebounded loudly against the wall.

To find them as empty as the rest of the building. 

The outer office, the office she had presumed to belong 
to his secretary -- with its paper-covered desk and its 
potted plants and framed picture -- was barren.  No 
furniture at all, no artwork or shelving on its walls. 
She saw that at a glance, bypassed it quickly.

*His* office -- Spender's office -- was equally barren. 

She spun around in circles, her heart racing, her mouth 
dry.  Feeling foolish and angry.  And sick.  Her eyes saw 
that even the carpet was different, a pale beige like that 
in the hallway, instead of the dark blue she had tread 
upon just days ago. 

The Smoking Man had cleaned house.

Facing Mulder at last, she cried, "He was here!  These 
were his offices.  What the hell is this?"

Mulder leaned against the doorframe, blank eyes studying 
her carefully.  His expression told her he had expected 
the place to be empty.  He replied tersely, his voice 
low.  "He used you." 

"Mulder, he laid it all out for me.  I recorded it.  I 
mailed you the tape."

He merely nodded, his face impassive.

She continued on, nerves jangling, hands gesturing almost
wildly.  "This old woman, Marjorie Butters, I met her.  I 
saw her pictures, her birth certificate..."  Her voice 
trailed off.

"You saw what you needed to see in order to make you 
believe."

Were the words condescending or was she reading more into
them in her dismay?

One hand came to rest on her hip.  "Well, then what about 
the boy?  This boy with cancer?"  She came closer to him, 
stopping when only a foot separated them.  "You can't deny 
that.  That's undeniable proof."  She knew her voice 
sounded desperate.

"Even if we could convince his parents to let us march 
him out, how long before that chip in his neck mysteriously 
disappears?"  He paused, eyes regarding her steadily. 
"This was the perfectly executed con, Scully.  The only 
thing I can't figure out is why you're still alive."

There was just the barest hint of warmth in his words, a
slight show of emotion.  More than she had received since
she had returned.  At least he was looking at her now,
instead of avoiding her gaze. 

"Mulder, I looked into his eyes."  Her voice cracked
slightly, and she knew her own eyes were moist.  "I swear 
what he told me was true."

Mulder's head bobbed in the merest of nods.  "He did it
all for himself -- to get the science on that disk.  His 
sincerity was a mask, Scully.  The man's motives never
changed."

"You think he used me to save himself -- at the expense
of the human race."  She stated it in sad, soft tones.

"No, he knows what that science is worth, how powerful 
it is," Mulder replied.  "He'd let nothing stand in his 
way."

Scully turned away slowly, both hands on her hips now, 
unable to face him any longer, knowing her very emotions
were shining through.  She walked on slightly unsteady 
legs, deeper into the empty office. 

When she felt a little more in control, she said softly, 
"You may be right...But for a moment, I saw something 
else in him."  She swallowed the lump in her throat, 
hoping her voice would remain steady, and not betray her. 
"A longing for something more than power.  Maybe for 
something he could never have."

Mulder did not reply.  Scully took a long, deep breath, 
and another, before turning around again.

He was gone.

Silently, soundlessly.  Without a goodbye. 

He was obviously still very angry at her -- angry at what 
he perceived to be her betrayal of him.  For going off 
with their reviled enemy.

She sighed harshly, one hand coming up to pinch the 
bridge of her nose as her head dropped and her shoulders 
slumped.  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment, 
her breathing stuttered and then evened out.  With another 
sigh, she slowly straightened and made her way out of the 
office and through the empty building outside to the 
equally empty parking lot.

He hadn't exactly ditched her, for they had driven both
their cars.  She wondered if he had planned to leave her 
afterwards, back at his apartment when he had muttered, 
"I'll follow you there," and walked to his own car, once
again not meeting her eyes.

Scully was tempted to go back to his place, to try and 
talk things over with him, but she felt suddenly bone-
weary.  And angry. 

Angry at herself, and at Mulder. 

Jabbing the key into the ignition, she started the engine 
with a savage twist of her wrist and backed out of the
parking spot, heading home.

~~~

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
7:45 pm


There was no light blinking on her answering machine when
she finally got home after driving aimlessly for a few 
hours.  Nor had her cell phone rung during that time.

Scully dropped her keys on the little stand, and fought 
the instinct to lift up her phone and dial Mulder's number.

No. 

She would give him time to sulk.  For that was what he
was doing, she knew.  Angry with her for going off without
him, despite her reasons, he needed this time to himself.
She thought it likely he would call later, when he had 
calmed down some. 

Her own anger had dissipated, leaving her numb.

Glancing towards the kitchen, her mind recalled the contents
of her refrigerator, unconsciously frowning.  Energy and 
enthusiasm were required to prepare and partake of a meal 
-- she had none.

She headed for her bedroom, tugging off her long suit jacket
as she did.  Hanging it on the doorknob for the time being, 
she kicked off her shoes next, leaving them by the closet. 
Stripping down to her panties, she pulled her robe off its 
hook on the back of the closet door and wrapped herself in
its comfortable and familiar security.  Tying the sash 
loosely, she moved to the bathroom next, desperately wanting 
a long soak.

To wash away the stress and grime of her journey, and 
hopefully the feelings of hurt and shame layered on her 
skin from Mulder's reactions and behavior.

Having selected a favorite scent and poured it into the 
filling tub, she went back to her bedroom to retrieve her 
strewn clothing, putting them into the hamper.  A fresh pair 
of pajamas, men's style two-piece in a navy blue silk, were 
selected from a dresser drawer, as well as a thick, fleece 
towel from the linen cupboard.

The headache that had been hovering while she had been
driving around had blossomed, right between her eyes.  An 
eerie reminder of her tumor, and the unrelenting headaches 
she had suffered from as a result. 

To hopefully ease some of the pain and stress, she lit two 
thick candles and flicked off the bathroom light.  Instantly
plunging the room to a mellowed darkness.

Her robe was hung on the hook on the back of the door, and 
after slipping her panties off, they were toed aside on the 
floor to be placed in the hamper later.  Twisting her hair
into a loose ponytail, she secured it with a scrunchie, then
walked over to the tub.

Stepping carefully over the rim, she slowly eased her body 
down into the hot, steaming water with an audible groan. 
Allowing her skin to adjust to the rather drastic temperature 
change, she waited several seconds before reclining until 
the only part of her not immersed was her head. 

Lids fell shut over burning eyes, were dragged up, and fell
again, to remain closed.  She dozed.

And naturally, dreamed of Mulder. 

She was there again in his apartment.  He stood braced in 
the doorway, avoiding her eyes, his face set, while the 
Gunmen attempted to download the CD that had been the fruit 
of her labor.  Her misgotten fruit, as it turned out, when 
they announced the disk was blank.

Scully jerked awake and upwards, gasping.  Her flailing 
arms sent water cascading over the side of the tub, as her 
heart pounded furiously.  Briefly disoriented, she searched 
the bathroom with wild eyes, and then cursed loudly as 
reality set in.  So much for a soothing bath.

Washing and rinsing herself quickly, she then pulled the 
stopper from the tub and climbed out onto the thick bath 
mat, reaching for her towel to dry herself off.  Foregoing 
her usual routine of moisturizing her entire body, she just 
smoothed some lotion onto her face and neck, and slipped 
into her pajamas.

After downing two Excedrin for the headache which had not
lessened in the least with her brief bath, she brushed her
teeth and released her hair from its hold.  A quick finger
comb of the slightly tangled strands, and then she went 
over to extinguish the candles.

The hallway was dark as she made her way to her bedroom 
-- she had forgotten to turn on her bedside lamp.  It 
didn't matter.  For she was going to go to bed, despite 
the extremely early hour.

Her sheets were crisp and cool, her pillow a welcoming 
softness for her pounding head.  Tired eyes closed, yet
sleep was a long time coming. 

And when it did at last, it was filled with dreams...

~~~

Hours Later


...She was at the wheel, driving the Bureau fleet sedan
she had requisitioned.  With the Cigarette Smoking Man, 
CGB Spender, in the passenger seat beside her.  An 
ominous, uncomforting presence.

She was so weary, her body tired and sore.

His words eerily echoed her thoughts, startling her 
in both their timing, and their presence.  "You've been 
at the wheel too long.  Would you like me to drive?"

Perhaps this was a chance to find out more about their 
destination.  "I might if you let me know where we're 
going," she replied, striving to keep her voice even,
non-confrontational.  Though her lips twisted wryly.

"Knowing that, you'd feel comfortable?  You'd trust me?"

Scully did not bother to reply, merely flicked him another
quick look, sure he could see the derision in her eyes.

If he did however, he ignored it.  "How long did it take 
for Mulder to win your trust?" he queried.

She answered him evenly, without hesitation.  "I've always 
trusted Mulder."  Spender's question had jolted her, but 
she had hid her reaction.  Or so she hoped. 

He gave a brief chuckle, the sound sardonic.  "You're not
being honest with yourself," he said chidingly.  "Think 
back.  There was a time when you feared for your future, 
for your career when you were first partnered with this 
man."  He paused for a moment, turned reflective.  "I told 
you, I've studied you for years...and if you would permit 
me, I'd like to make an observation."

Such manners.  As if she really had a choice.  She shot 
him a look of challenge -- daring him to continue.  While 
at the same time she was trying to ignore the fact that 
she was greatly disturbed by his nonchalant admittance that 
he had watched her.  Studied her.  For years.

He did continue on, undaunted by her look.  "You're drawn 
to powerful men, but you fear their power.  You keep your 
guard up, a wall around your heart.  How else do you explain 
that fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and yet, a life 
alone?  You'd die for Mulder, but you won't allow yourself 
to love him."

She kept her face impassive, though inside she felt stripped
bare, her heart and soul revealed.  She refused to consider
the truth in his words.  The truth she would not allow 
herself to admit.

Rolling her head slightly from side to side, carefully 
avoiding his gaze, she resorted to sarcasm, an old defense 
mechanism.  "Wow," she sighed.  "I'm learning a whole other 
side to you.  You're not just a cold-blooded killer, you're 
a pop psychologist as well."

His voice turned introspective.  "I've been a destroyer all 
my life...destroyer...destroyer..."

Scully awoke with a jolt, her heart pounding.  She sat up, 
running one hand over eyes, and turned her head to check 
the time.  It was only 12:40 am.  Groaning, she flopped 
back down and then rolled onto her left side, facing the 
window.

Less than a minute later she was rolling onto her right side.

Ten minutes after that, she was in the kitchen, making 
herself a cup of tea.

Spender's words played over and over in her head, like the 
ghostly, haunting refrains of a half-remembered song. 
"...a wall around your heart...you'd die for Mulder...won't 
allow yourself to love him..."

Tension thrummed through her entire body, and her fingers 
were clumsy as she retrieved a mug from the cupboard.  It 
thunked noisily on the counter when she put it down, the 
sound making her flinch.

"...won't allow yourself to love him..."

She lowered her head, teeth sinking into her lower lip, and 
grabbed at the edge of the counter with a white-knuckled
grip in an effort to still the trembling of her hands.  She
wasn't ready to deal with these thoughts right now.  Not now,
when she was vulnerable and lonely and wanting desperately
to pick up the phone and hear Mulder's voice.  Hear him say 
her name, say 'Scuh-lee', in those low, sleep-filled, husky 
tones.

Standing there in her robe in the dark kitchen, she shivered,
and willed the disturbing echoes and her equally disturbing
thoughts out of her head.

Yet they were determined.  Stubborn.

She saw Mulder's face as he had been earlier at his apartment,
as he avoided looking at her, and heard again Spender's words. 
"You'd die for Mulder, but you won't let yourself love him."

Did she love Mulder?

It was a question she had asked herself many times, and never 
satisfactorily answered. 

Disturbed by the feelings that the question invoked in her, 
she concentrated on making her tea, adding sugar and a dollop 
of milk.  Then she wandered out of the kitchen and over to 
the window, tea cup in hand.

Looking out at the dark street, faintly lit by streetlamps, 
she sighed heavily.  Her mind, freed of the distraction of
preparing tea, immediately returned to the question posed 
minutes before.  Like curious fingers picking at a scab.

Did she love Mulder? 

Spender had only been partially correct in his assessment of 
her.  Yes, she would die for Mulder, there could never be any 
doubt of that.  But he had been wrong when he had pronounced 
that she wouldn't let herself love Mulder. 

For she did. 

She just had never before allowed herself to *admit* that 
she did.  Or allowed herself to tell Mulder.

Her insides were twisting into knots, so she moved one hand 
to palm the flesh just below her navel.  Rubbing in small, 
soothing circles, she absently wandered her dark apartment,
hoping she'd be able to go back to sleep soon.

Maybe she wasn't ready to deal with those thoughts at all.

~~~


Day 2

X-Files Office
Washington, D.C.
9:20 am


The heels of her shoes clicked busily, sharply, as Scully 
strode down the hall to their basement office. 

A restless night of tossing and turning, and very little 
sleep interspersed with disturbing dreams, had thrown 
her internal clock off.  So much so that when she finally 
dozed off sometime before dawn, she ended up sleeping 
through her alarm.

Hence a much heavier application of make-up, to hide the 
dark circles under her eyes and a wan complexion, and her 
hurried steps.

When Scully arrived at their door, it was open, the 
office lights on.  Mulder was not within, although there 
was further evidence he had been in at some point.  His 
chair was pulled out from his desk, a suit jacket slung 
over its back, and his computer was on.  A half-empty 
mug of coffee sat on the outside corner.

Sighing a little, she proceeded to her chair, putting 
her briefcase down on the floor.  The laptop she laid 
carefully on 'her' side of the desk.  Next she shrugged 
out of her suit jacket, finding it a bit warm in the 
office, before she picked up her own, clean coffee mug.

She dawdled while fetching her coffee, going all the 
way up to the lounge on Skinner's floor.  After chatting 
casually with Kimberley, Skinner's assistant, who was 
getting her third refill of the morning the woman 
cheerfully announced, she slowly made her way back to 
the office.

To find that Mulder was still absent.

With a small sigh and tensed shoulders, she sat down to 
boot up her laptop, her cooling coffee close at hand. 
She fielded a call from Skinner inquiring as to her health 
after her "trip", plus a request for a report due the day 
before, and answered her e-mail in the next hour, still 
without an appearance from Mulder.

Another hour had passed before he finally entered the 
office.

Scully heard him as he walked in, and lifting her head 
from her perusal of the case file in front of her, 
turned slightly.  Preparing to greet him.

Mulder strode past her to his desk, his eyes skimming 
over her.  Almost as if she were not there.  He sank 
into his seat, rolled it close, and immediately flicked 
open a file on his blotter, without a word.

A hard knot formed in her stomach, and she automatically
straightened in her seat, her shoulders squaring. 
Resisting the urge to bark at him, she commented civilly, 
"Morning, Mulder."  Forcing his hand.

His eyes flicked up briefly, barely meeting hers, before
returning to whatever apparently had him so fascinated. 
But the manners long instilled in him had him responding.

"Scully," was his only reply however, in a tone as devoid 
of emotion as his face.

His carefully blank face, Scully amended to herself.  For 
his hazel orbs had been burning with his suppressed 
thoughts and feelings. 

Anger and betrayal.

Pain.

Unsettled, and very uncomfortable -- more uncomfortable 
with him than she had been in a long time -- she lowered 
her head again, trying to refocus on her own file.

Time dragged, the tension palpable.

Admitting she was getting nowhere, Scully laid the case
study aside for the time being, and began working on the 
overdue report.  Twice she had to ask Mulder for 
clarification on notes he had made, and both times his 
replies were brief, his tone clipped. 

The report completed, her signature affixed, she stood 
and leaned across the desk to place it on Mulder's blotter 
for his perusal and signature, then resumed her seat.  As 
she typed up some notes on her laptop, she flicked glances 
at him out of the corner of her eye.  Mere seconds passed, 
too few for him to have read it in full, before she heard 
his pen scratching on the paper and then the squeak of his 
chair as he shifted to toss the report back onto her side 
of the desk. 

She said nothing however.  Instead, she neatly placed it 
within a manila folder and into her out-box for later 
delivery to Skinner's office.  That done, she returned 
her attention to her case study. 

After realizing she had read the same paragraph several 
times, Scully sighed and lifted her gaze from the paper. 

Just in time to see Mulder's eyes slide hastily away from 
his study of her.

At last, she thought.  "Mul -" 

He was up and out of his chair before she could finish 
saying his name, yanking his jacket up so fast his chair
spun noisily into the cabinet behind him.  "Gotta meet
someone," he tossed over his shoulder, and fled.

For that was exactly what he had done -- fled the room. 

And her.

Scully slumped gracelessly back into her chair, and bit
back a curse.  How long was he going to punish her with
his silence?  Tears of frustration formed in her eyes, 
and she furiously blinked them away.

The walls of the office suddenly seemed to be closing in
on her.  She had never before suffered from claustrophobia,
but it seemed she was now.  Refusing to let this, or her 
feelings about Mulder's avoidance tactics have her 
scurrying out like a frightened mouse, she resolutely 
straightened, and resumed her review of the folder on 
her desk.

Perhaps another half hour or so passed.  Her head had 
begun a slow, steady pounding.  Although she was far 
from hungry, she knew getting out of the office, perhaps 
into fresh air, and filling her empty stomach might help.

Breakfast that morning, like dinner the night before, 
had simply been beyond her.

Slowly closing the folder in front of her, she bent to 
retrieve her wallet from her briefcase, and then rose 
from her seat.  After smoothing down her skirt and 
ensuring her jacket adequately covered her holstered 
weapon, she strode out of the office with her head high, 
her steps even and sure.

Inside, her nerves jangled and her stomach rolled.

~~~

Day 2 - 1 Hour Later
X-Files Office


Getting out of the office, getting completely out of the 
Hoover Building itself, had done her some good, Scully 
thought as she stepped onto the elevator and pressed 'B' 
for the basement.  Not to mention the bowl of chicken rice 
soup she had eaten at a cafe a few blocks away.

Her stomach was calm, her headache gone, and she was ready
to face Mulder once again.  She refused to use the word
'confrontation' to describe their next meeting.

Exiting the elevator, her walk down the basement hall was 
her normal one, strides even and steady.  Unfaltering.

Still, she was smacked with a disturbing sense of deja vu 
when she entered the office.  Once again, there was no 
Mulder.  The only thing different this time was that his 
jacket was not hanging on the back of his chair.

After tucking her wallet back into the side pocket of her 
briefcase, and putting her bottled water down on the desk, 
she rounded it and sat down in Mulder's chair.  She rolled 
it closer, until her forearms rested on the edge, and 
scanned his blotter.

There were no files.  It in fact was conspicuously bare, 
which meant he had returned while she was out, and cleaned 
up.  She knew it was doubtful he would return.

Her insides churned nauseatingly, and a wave of coldness
washed through her body.  Emotions fluctuated wildly.  But
most prevalent was anger.  Anger at Mulder's callous 
treatment, and his utter disregard for her feelings. 

Slamming the palms of her hands down on his desk blotter
with a muttered curse, Scully shoved the chair backwards
and rose. 

With her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, she 
paced the length of their office, her heels clacking 
sharply and loudly.  Evidence of her extreme frustration.
Her disillusionment.

She just could not stay in the stifling office any longer.
Glancing at her watch, she noted with no small measure 
of relief she needed to leave for her scheduled consultation 
at Quantico.  She would drop Skinner's report off at his
office and leave from there.

Returning to the desk, she packed up the laptop and put
her files into her briefcase.  She automatically began to
jot Mulder a short note reminding him of her appointment,
to explain her absence, before remembering he had not
afforded her the same courtesy.  Balling up the half-
written missive, she tossed it in the garbage and returned 
her pen to its holder. 

On the way out, she flicked off the lights, and then locked 
the door behind her. 

In the parking garage after she made her delivery to 
Skinner's office, her search for Mulder's car was also 
automatic.  But his sedan was not in its usual row.  With 
an inward grimace, Scully pushed thoughts of him aside and 
got in her own vehicle.

Traffic was surprisingly light, and she made good time on
the drive to Quantico.  After displaying her credentials
and signing in, she was soon on her way to the Behavioral
Science Unit to meet with Agents Marks and Cameron.  They 
had set up the consult to discuss her findings on the two 
autopsies she had performed upon their request.  After it
had been approved by Skinner, of course.

The meeting went smoothly, and not quite two hours after 
she had arrived, she was in her car once again.  With 
similar consultations in the past, she had always returned 
to the office to type up her notes on the case, but after 
the events of the day, not to mention her difficult night, 
she had decided to head home instead.  She could finish 
her notes on her laptop.

Once home, Scully deposited her laptop and briefcase on 
the floor by the desk, before making a quick flip through 
her mail.  She then headed directly to her bedroom to 
change into comfortable clothes -- a favorite sweatshirt 
and a pair of loose, faded jeans.  Her feet she left bare 
for the time being, enjoying the coolness of the hardwood 
floor after having been enclosed in high-heeled shoes all 
day.

Her stomach actually seemed amenable to food, so she next 
moved to the kitchen to peruse the contents of her 
refrigerator.  It was dismal; she hadn't shopped for 
groceries in almost a week.  Still, she was able to salvage 
the makings of a salad, though the lettuce was not exactly 
what one would call crisp, and the tomatoes had gone soft.

Seated at the table with her salad, a glass of water and 
her consultation case file spread before her, she only got
half-way through her dinner before her mind wandered into
dangerous territory.

Mulder.

Her fork fell to her plate with a loud clatter, and what
appetite she'd had, disappeared completely.  Shoving her 
chair back, she rose from the table, gathered up her 
dishes, and stalked over to the sink to clean them.

The temptation to phone him, to try and talk things out,
was almost overwhelming.  But her resolve not to be the 
one to make the first move had not wavered. 

Yet.

~~~
End Part 1 of 4