Rifts
by Lovesfox
lovesfox@rogers.com

Headers in Part 1

~~~

Part 3 of 4

37 Hours Later

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
1:30 pm


Rounding the corner, her arms full of groceries, keys
clutched in one hand, Scully lifted her gaze momentarily. 
While out performing some very necessary errands, she had
taken to walking with her head down, feeling as if all
eyes had been on her.  Fortunately, Sunday afternoons
at her local grocery store were always quiet.

She was dressed casually, in faded jeans, a tee shirt 
and leather jacket, with sneakers.  And of course a pair
of sunglasses and a baseball hat with its brim pulled 
low.

She was surprised when she spied long, jean-clad legs 
and booted feet sprawled in her hallway...

...right beside her door, it appeared.

In the split second it took for her eyes to scan the rest 
of the person's figure, she recognized Mulder.  Her steps 
faltered, and she nearly dropped one of the bags. 

He had been gone -- missing, untracked by the Gunmen -- 
for almost two days, and her emotions had been in a 
continual state of flux.  She had spent those hours since 
she had last seen him vacillating between intense worry 
and fear that he had gone and done something rash, or that 
he could be hurt somewhere, and extreme anger at him for 
taking off without a word to anyone. 

She was suddenly very uncomfortable.

'Never let them see you sweat.'  An adage she had long 
ago taken to heart.  A childhood spent being the new
kid on the base.  Med school, the Academy, the old 
boys network of the FBI. 

Though that had never been the case with Mulder -- after 
a rough start to their initially contrived partnership, 
and the occasional slip-up, he had treated her as an 
equal. 

But perhaps she had taken the saying too seriously. 
Deeply engrained within her now, sometimes it was still 
difficult after seven years with Mulder to not hold back 
a part of herself.  To relax the guard on her emotions. 

Others had thought her cold, and unfeeling.

Her mind shied away from that issue, and instead flicked 
back to his words that night in his apartment.  His 'Yes, 
damn it!' in response to her question as to whether he 
thought she needed his permission to go with Spender. 
There had been no equality then, only the proverbial 
double standard.

She gritted her teeth and shoved the thought away.  This 
was not the time or the place to be having such a debate.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she continued on,
as if undisturbed.  An icy cold feeling of calm washed 
over her as each step brought her closer.

With her approach, Mulder slowly climbed to his feet, 
studiously staring down at them, and shuffled a bit to 
one side.

When she was standing before him, he lifted his head 
and started to speak, saying her name softly, his voice 
trailing off.  "Scully..."  His breath huffed out noisily, 
and then he held up his keys.  "I was going to let myself 
in, but...my key...my key didn't work."

Her lock had been changed, an odd impulse she did not
regret. 

After coming home from the hospital and refusing Byers' 
offer to stay, she had paced her apartment, desperately
wanting, *needing* sleep, but unable to actually do so. 
Spent long moments staring at her phone, willing it to 
ring.  Willing it to be Frohike or Langly saying that 
they had found him, that he was okay.  Willing it to be 
Mulder, telling her he was coming over.

By the time dawn had arrived, streaking across the sky, 
she had been exhausted and emotionally spent.  She had 
called Frohike for an update, and then asked him to come 
to her apartment.  Upon his arrival, she had made her
request.

Scully recalled the look on the little man's face as he 
had complied, carrying out his task.  Understanding 
mixed with confusion.  Sadness and regret.  There had
been anger as well -- anger towards Mulder, Scully knew.
For though Frohike was aware that her broken nose had
been an accident, one she did not blame Mulder for, he
and the other two Gunmen were as disturbed as she was 
by his disappearance.

She had not explained why she had wanted her lock 
changed, had not been sure if she could.

Motivated by Mulder's disappearance and her skewed 
sense of reasoning.  Stress, lack of sleep, pain and
discomfort -- all had been factors, she supposed.

Perhaps it had even been an irrational fit of pique.

"I had my lock changed," she stated flatly then.  Her 
chin lifted slightly, jutting towards the door in a 
silent demand for him to move out of her way.  "Excuse 
me, please."

He moved back further, his face blank.  But his eyes 
showed his sorrow and his guilt.  His fear.  "Scully..." 
Again his voice faded away.

Scully sighed.  "Yes, Mulder."  She said the words 
tonelessly, without inflection.  Emotionlessly, while 
her thoughts were in turmoil. 

Why had he come there?  Did he think everything would 
be all right now that he had?  Again, her feelings were 
very conflicted -- she couldn't help being relieved that 
he was there, that he was apparently all right, but she 
hadn't been ready to face him, wasn't ready to forgive 
him yet. 

Not because of her injury, that had been an unfortunate
accident for which they had both been to blame.  But for 
taking off afterwards, for vanishing without any word, 
leaving her to wonder and worry. 

For yet another ditch, though this time it had not been 
for a case or a lead, or to chase lights in the sky.

"May I come in?" he asked, after a long moment.

She remained with her sunglass-covered eyes staring at 
the smooth, white surface of her door, refusing to turn 
her head and look at him.  Refusing to see the plea she 
knew would be there.  She did not want to be swayed, as 
she had been so many times before, by the look in his 
eyes, and the unconscious, child-like pout on his face. 

"Mulder."  Stopping, she sighed again, then took another 
deep breath before continuing.  "I don't think so." 
Adding silently to herself, not now. 

"I need...Scully, I need to talk to you.  Please."

He needed?  Anger burned.  "You need..." she started to 
spit out, then stopped herself.  He wanted to talk about 
needs?  "Fine," she snapped.  "Come in." 

With that, she unlocked and opened the door, stalking 
inside.  Pausing at the little table where her answering 
machine sat, she dropped her keys upon it with a thunk, 
and then shifted the grocery bags awkwardly to one arm, 
fully aware of Mulder standing just inside the door, 
silent.  Her back partially to him, she pulled off her 
baseball cap and dropped it on top of her keys.  Her 
sunglasses were next, to also be discarded on the table, 
before she continued on into the kitchen.

Tension had her shoulders tight, and she rolled her head 
from side to side a few times before shrugging out of her
jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair.  She then
began to unpack the bags of groceries she had sat upon 
the counter. 

She took her time deliberately, trying to calm down. 
Moving with easy, methodical motions to put each item 
in its proper place.

Finally the front door snicked shut, and she heard his 
footsteps slowly approaching.  Without turning to look 
at him, she could sense that he was standing there by 
the doorframe.  Watching her.

Tired of the silence, her nerves feeling as though they 
were about to snap, she blurted out, "So, where have you 
been?"  Immediately after the words were out, she wished 
she could have bitten her tongue off, remembering she had 
planned to play it cool and act unconcerned.  To not let 
him see how he had hurt her, not just physically, but 
emotionally.

When Mulder did not reply, she slammed down the can of 
soup she had been about to put in the overhead cupboard, 
banging it hard on the counter, and whirled around. 

Forgetting he had never really gotten a good look at 
her face.

He made a strangled noise, then sucked in his breath. 
Her name passed his lips, sounding choked.

She knew in the harsh light of the kitchen, her bruises 
had to be lurid.

His unintentional elbow to the face had left her with 
two black eyes, quite prominent now after a day and a 
half, and a still slightly swollen, purplish nose.

Mulder staggered back, hand flailing for support, and 
she instinctively leapt forward to help him, grabbing 
for his arm.

"Jesus, Scully," he was gasping.  "God...I...I did that 
to you...I didn't...I didn't know...Jesus, I'm sorry, 
I'm sorry..."  He backed up, his eyes wide, the pupils 
dilated, nearly eclipsing the irises.  "I have to go," 
he mumbled then, not looking at her any longer, and 
turned away completely.

"Mulder!" she exclaimed loudly, harshly.  Hurrying 
after him, she grabbed his arm once more, leaning her 
body back at the same time.  The memory of the 
suddenness of his elbow flying up and hitting her hard 
was still fresh.  "You owe me...You owe *us* more than 
this."

His arm in her hold was taut, tense, and she knew he 
was poised to flee.  Again.  She tightened her grip, 
and repeated his name, her voice strident.

The tension left his body suddenly, his entire being 
deflating, and his shoulders slumped.  "Yes.  I do," 
he said quietly.  Shamefully. 

"I think we should sit down."  Her voice was calmer, 
though her nerves were not.

Mulder nodded his head jerkily, still not looking at 
her, and made no effort to move.

Scully realized that she needed to take the initiative, 
and although that rankled, she released his arm and 
walked past him to sit in the chair by the couch. 

She had automatically crossed her arms over her chest, 
and recognized that her posture was defensive.  Forcing 
herself to relax, she lowered her arms to her lap, 
though her fingers twined together instead.

Mulder followed at last, moving by her chair to sink 
ponderously into the couch.

A leaden silence filled the room.  It was oppressive 
and heavy.  Uncomfortable.

Annoyed that he had yet to meet her eyes, that it 
seemed he kept his head down so that he would not 
meet them, Scully turned her own head to stare out 
the window. 

From her seated position, all that was visible was 
a patch of the afternoon sky, and perhaps the corner
of the building across the street.  It suddenly seemed 
important to determine whether it was indeed that 
which she was seeing, and she shifted forward slightly 
for a better look.

The chair made a creaking sound as she moved, and 
that apparently startled Mulder into speaking.  Which 
in turn startled her.

"Scully, I-" he began.

She whipped her head back around to see him finally 
looking at her, his Adam's apple bobbing with what 
she assumed was nervousness.  Her right eyebrow lifted 
when he did not continue.

Whether or not it was that action that prompted him, 
he finally spoke.  His voice was low, and filled with
such remorse that Scully automatically softened. 
Empathized with his distress.

"Scully...Jesus, Scully, I hope-"  He stopped, sighed
harshly, and tried again.  "While I know I don't have
the right to pray for such a thing, I do.  I pray
that you can forgive me for hurting you." 

His pain-filled eyes were focused on her face, but
Scully knew he was not really seeing her -- he was 
seeing only the bruises and swelling.  One of his 
hands rose, perhaps unconsciously, and began rubbing 
the bridge of his nose.

"Mulder," Scully said softly, leaning forward in her
seat, her elbows on her thighs, hands still clasped,
but loosely, and dangling between her knees.  Her 
voice became earnest.  "There's nothing to forgive 
for...for this," bringing one hand up to gesture at 
her face.  "It was purely an accident.  I *know* that, 
and you...You must believe that." 

It was her turn to pause, to suck in a noisy breath. 
Her eyes shifted from his, scanning the room unseeingly, 
before returning to him again.  Her own sense of guilt
would not allow her to remain silent about her role in
the incident at his apartment.  About how she had
deliberately baited him with her 'I'm fine'. 

"I also know that I was provoking you."  She stated 
it wryly.

A myriad of expressions crossed his face as she told 
him there was nothing to forgive -- shock, surprise, 
hope -- yet his entire demeanor bespoke of defeat.  He 
shrugged half-heartedly in response to her last 
statement, neither denying nor confirming it.  Merely 
accepting it with complete apathy.

Rather than moving her to try and assuage him, it 
antagonized her.

Trust Mulder to avoid the obvious root of the problem 
-- his attitude and his behavior towards her after she
had returned from her trip with CGB Spender.  To focus 
solely on himself, and mire in his own guilt over 
something that had been an accident.  Ignoring 
completely the underlying issues. 

Such as his inability to accept that she too had a 
need to search for answers.  Answers to *their* quest. 

There was also the fact that he had felt betrayed by 
her actions, and that he had felt she needed his 
permission to do so.  That he had not trusted her 
judgment.

"Mulder, you have to let it go," Scully told him wearily, 
tamping down the automatic surge of frustration and 
re-emerging anger.  "It was an accident, end of story." 
She grimaced, her hands tightly clasped again.  Her 
voice strengthened.  Became brusque.  "We have other, 
more important things to talk about now."

He blinked once, twice, very slowly, but said nothing.

It reminded Scully of her earlier attempts to talk to 
him, and how he had ignored and avoided her.  Dredging
up the feelings of hurt and ire and confusion.  Her
teeth ground together.  Damn him.

"Mulder!" she prompted with no small amount of asperity.

His hands came up, to rub over his face, muffling his 
voice.  "I don't...I don't know where to start, Scully."

"You could start by telling me where the hell you've 
been for the last two days!"  Scully spit out, now
letting her anger have full rein.  Her back was ramrod 
straight, and it felt like her spine could easily snap 
in two from the tension. 

Surging out of the chair, she found herself standing 
in front of the window, with no knowledge of walking 
there.  With her hands on her hips, she breathed 
deeply and slowly.  In through the nose, out through 
the mouth.  Again and again, until she felt calmer.

At last she turned around, her mouth opening, ready 
to demand he either speak or leave.  Seeing him, she 
stopped.

Mulder had moved, sliding forward so that he was now 
perched on the edge of the couch.  He was also partially 
mimicking her earlier pose -- forearms on his thighs, 
his hands dangling between his knees, although they 
were not clasped together.  His gaze was cast downwards
however, not directed towards her.

Still, she thought he was finally ready to talk, to
explain himself, and further held her tongue.

"I was in Charlotte, North Carolina," he said quietly, 
lifting his head from his intent contemplation of his
shoes, meeting her eyes at last.  He nodded slightly, 
one corner of his mouth lifting infinitesimally in 
response to the look of surprise Scully knew had 
flashed across her face. 

He sobered as quickly as the brief smile had touched 
his lips.  "After I left my apartment, I got in my 
car, hit the Beltway, and just drove, Scully.  Drove 
for hours, until I could barely keep my eyes open any 
longer and my hands hurt from gripping the steering 
wheel."  He shrugged then.  "Found some cheap motel, 
tried to crash.  But I just couldn't sleep.  My mind 
just wouldn't stop turning.  Torturing me."

Keeping her eyes on him, really looking at him for the 
first time since she had spotted him in her hallway, 
she could see the fatigue and the stress in every line 
on his face, the weary set of his body.  His face was 
pale, his cheeks and jaw stubbled with at least a day's 
worth of growth, and his eyes were mere shadows of 
their former depth of expression, with dark circles 
beneath them -- further evidence of his exhaustion.

Some of her anger dissipated.  But not all of it.  It
could not be appeased solely by his obvious remorse 
and suffering.  Mulder had said he needed to talk to 
her.  Well she needed to hear him talk.

He continued.  "I kept thinking what if I hadn't been 
so lucky, and you hadn't come home?  That you had been
killed just as Cobra had been killed."  His voice had
roughened with obvious emotion, become ragged.  "Or
sometimes, for a sick twist, I imagined that you just
never came home at all.  That I would never know what
had happened to you." 

Mulder looked away then, and Scully watched his Adam's 
apple working as he swallowed convulsively.

Her own mind was turning over his usage of 'I' when 
he had said 'what if I hadn't been so lucky'.  Had it 
been a slip of the tongue?  Had he said 'I' instead of 
'you' in error, or had he really been talking about 
himself?

She suspected it was the latter -- that he was once 
again making this all about himself, perhaps even 
unconsciously.  Rather than make assumptions though, 
sensing there could be a deeper motivation, she 
thought that she should hear him out first.

At the same time, she couldn't help the faint hope 
that was stirring within her -- that maybe he had 
reacted out of his fear for her, out of his love 
for her.

After all their years together, time spent on cases,
in the office and on the road, on stakeouts and in 
cheap diners and cheaper motels, she still wondered. 
Every glance, every touch between them bespoke of a 
connection.  Maybe it went deeper than she thought.

She simply did not know where she stood with him.

He had accused her in the past of hiding her feelings,
of not communicating them, and she was fully aware she
was doing it right that minute, had been since he had
arrived. 

But he was as guilty of that as she.

In her mind she suddenly heard his groggy 'I love you'
as he lay in his hospital bed after being pulled from
the ocean in the Bermuda Triangle.  She had attributed 
his statement to his ordeal and his medication, and
brushed it off, and they had never spoken of it again.

Mulder cleared his throat then, pulling her from her
reverie.  He was still looking off somewhere to the 
side when he spoke again. 

"I've lived that already, Scully.  More than once. 
And it wasn't really living.  It was existing. 
Barely."

Oh God.  Her abduction by Duane Barry and subsequent 
missing time.  And then Antarctica.

A glimmer of understanding had her shivering slightly,
unnoticed by her partner, sitting in silence several
feet away.  He had linked her absence during her trip 
with Spender to her abductions.

She couldn't allow this to sway her, or let her forget
all that had passed between them.  It just wasn't 
possible.  Too much had been done, and not near enough 
said. 

But she could try to explain.  Try and show him how
one-sided his perspective had been, and still was,
and how it had affected her. 

Once more her feet carried her before she was aware 
of moving.  To his side, where she sank down on the 
couch, scant inches separating their bodies. 

He did not look at her, not even a sidelong glance. 

She wanted to touch him, but was afraid he would pull 
away, reject her, as he had the other night in his 
apartment.

"Mulder," she began hesitantly and then stopped, for 
that bothered her.  That was not her, not how she was. 
She was not meek.  She strengthened her voice.  "I 
wasn't missing.  I left you a message, and I called 
to check in with Skinner-"

"A 'family emergency', Scully?" he broke in, sarcasm
evident.

Admittedly not the best of cover stories.  But she 
would not back down.  "He was *there*, Mulder. 
Spender was right there with me.  I couldn't tell you
what was really happening, where I was going.  He 
said...He said if I told you, the offer was void."

Mulder's head snapped sharply around, and he stared
at her with narrowed, intently focused eyes.

She held them steadily with her own eyes.  "His exact 
words were, 'Agent Mulder hears a breath of this rest 
assured, I'll rescind it...take it to my grave'," she 
quoted.  Grimacing, she continued, impassioned.  "I 
couldn't take that chance, Mulder.  If there was any 
truth to his claims at all, I *had* to know."

His mouth opened, and she knew what he was going to 
say.

"Yes, there were risks, Mulder," she spoke before he
could, forestalling his retort.  "But we both face 
risks all the time.  And because the offer was only 
for me, it was a decision I had to make.  On my own."

He twitched, and an expression that implied he was 
going to argue the point crossed his face.

She quirked an eyebrow at him in warning, and added,
"Just as you have made decisions without me, Mulder, 
and put yourself at risk by your choices, I did the 
same."

Mulder nodded after a second, an acknowledgment of 
the truth in her statement.  It was probably the
only one she would get from him, unless she pressed
him on it.  He then looked away from her, down at 
his shoes. 

"Was this payback for those times, Scully?" he asked 
quietly, tightly.  His voice held no rancor, however, 
but it demanded an answer nonetheless.

He brought his eyes back to hers, and Scully could
see the effort the question had cost him.  In his
hazel orbs she could see hurt and worry -- that he 
was disturbed.  She also somehow knew that although 
he wanted an answer, at the same time he was reluctant 
to hear one.

It was odd and painfully amusing how well they knew 
each other on some levels, and were so completely
clueless on others.  If only their verbal skills were
as strong as their non-verbal ones when communicating
on a personal level.

Her first instinct was to reply with an emphatic, 
and insulted, no.  The idea of payback had never 
occurred to her at all during the difficult decision
to go with Spender.  The words sank in further, and 
gave her pause. 

"Mulder, that's not the point," she said firmly after 
a moment.  "Although I must admit it is quite possible 
that subconsciously I was getting back at you...paying 
you in kind for all those times you ditched me."

He ignored her disclosure, seemed to lay it aside,
and went straight to the heart of the matter. 

This made her wonder if he had expected her reply, 
that somehow he thought it was nothing more than he 
deserved.  Both of them had known about, and danced 
around, that sore spot for years, but never discussed 
it or confronted it.  Maybe it was time she did.

"What is the point then, Scully?" is what he asked, 
his eyes searching her face.  As if trying to divine 
the answer from her features.

"The point, Mulder, is your lack of trust in me, and 
your behavior after I came home."

"Jesus Christ, Scully!" he barked out.  It was his 
turn to heave himself off the couch.  He did not go 
to the window, though, merely began to pace.  "I was 
worried about you!  I didn't know where the fuck you 
were!"  Each exclamation got increasingly louder,
until he was close to bellowing.  He was now standing
right in front of her, leaning down over her.  "I 
should have been there to back you up!"

Had he not listened to her?  Had the words 'if I told
you, the offer was void' not sunk in?

"Mulder!" she yelled, rising to her own feet.  Getting
right in his face, as he had gotten in hers.  He 
actually took a step back, and she felt a rush of 
bitter satisfaction.

"I did what I had to do!" she continued.  "You were 
not...you *could not* be a part of this."  Her hands 
were on her hips now.  To stifle the urge to grab his 
arms and shake him.  "And I told you I tried to record 
everything."

His surprise had not lasted long, and he was back in 
her face again, their noses almost touching.  Still 
yelling.  "Well where the hell is the tape, Scully? 
Huh?  Where is it?"

"How the hell should I know?" she screamed back.  "I
mailed it from a gas station on the way, I don't know
what happened to it.  Maybe the damn thing is still 
there!"

Mulder blinked then, rapidly, and seemed to deflate 
a little, easing back just slightly.  As if he were 
finally accepting there really had been a tape. 

But she was too charged up to let it go.  And the
thought that he might have doubted the existence of
a tape infuriated her.  Awoke her usually dormant
aggressive side.

One hand left her hip, her index finger pointed towards 
Mulder, aimed dead center at his chest.  She jabbed him 
there, none too gently, keeping the pressure on as she 
began to speak, her brows deeply furrowed.  "Did you 
doubt me, Mulder?" she gritted out, leaning into him to 
apply even more pressure.  Enough to actually cause him 
to back up a step.

The surprise and anger on his face barely registered.

She followed, jabbing again.  "It's more than you've
ever done," she continued caustically.  "I usually 
only get a call when you're in the hospital, or you 
need me to bail you out!  *If* you call at all, that 
is!  Case in point, the last two days!"

Mulder's hand came up, and grabbed hers, squeezing
slightly, snatching it from his chest.  He released
it almost at once, a look of apology and perhaps
worry now clouding his eyes, which were fixed on her
bruised face, and held up both his hands in the 
classic cease-fire position.  "I'm sorr-" he started 
to say.

It wasn't until Mulder had moved her hand away that 
Scully realized she had been poking him.  She felt a
flash of guilt, especially since it was obvious he
was very bothered by the fact that he had reacted by
grabbing her.  Remembered how distraught he had
been at seeing the evidence of his elbow to her nose
just a short time ago.  Wondered if he was concerned
that she might be frightened of him.

Shaking her head to wave off his apology, she took 
a step back herself, and said in a much calmer tone,
"It's okay, Mulder, and I'm sorry for pushing you.
That was inexcusable." 

Hopefully she was also conveying the message that she 
was not frightened of him.  Alleviating his unspoken 
and unfounded fear.

His shoulders lifted in a tiny, dismissive shrug,
his face a careful blank.  Once more hiding his
feelings.

They were certainly a matched pair.

~~~
End Part 3 of 4