Pieces - Mulder
by amokeh

So now I’m sitting here, surrounded by the pathetic trappings of a man who up until four months ago had no personal life to speak of. Then Walter and I finally admitted our feelings for one another and everything was....fantastic. I can’t lie about that. God, it’s been terrific. I mean, more than I deserve, really. Oh, sure, we had rough patches here and there, but for the most part we were able to keep office and our home life separated. Well, we were until Friday at least.

I did something stupid professionally; I know that. But Walter had no right to bring our personal relationship into the equation by letting his worry for me cause him to overreact. The censure was completely out of line, and I cannot forgive him for that. I was right to call him on it, to be angry with him for it. And yes, to leave him because of it. So why do I feel like a bigger pile of shit every time he leaves another pleading message on my answering machine...?

Jesus. Maybe a good, long run will help me clear my head. And work out some of this alcohol in my system. Walter only saw the vodka I had been drinking at home, I mean, at his apartment. He would have thrown another fit if he had known I started much earlier at the pub two blocks down. I was well into my fifth (or was it my sixth) screwdriver by the time he got home. I know I shouldn’t drink like that; it’s not like I hold my liquor well. But dammit, he made me so angry! Where the hell does he get off censuring me, for god’s sake? I mean, how many vehicles have I wrecked, huh? What’s one more fucking Ford? Every other time I’ve gotten yelled at, had a reprimand put in my file and sent home to think it over. But a fucking censure? Uh uh. No, he can’t deny that it was his relationship with me that made the fucking difference this time.

I hear the phone start to ring again and escape into my bedroom to change into running clothes. I can dimly hear Walter’s voice after the beep begging me to reconsider, to listen to him, to talk to him. But I don’t want to hear it. Not now; maybe not ever. I leave my bedroom just as he hangs up and grab my keys on my way out. Maybe a run will help. Then I’ll call Scully later. I know she’ll back me on this.

*****************

The sky is a dull gray color, the thick clouds reducing the sunlight to sickly rays too weak to penetrate my mood as I sit at a diner down the street from Scully’s apartment, waiting for her to get back from a Sunday afternoon with her family. Although she was still slightly pissed at me for Friday’s episode, she agreed to meet me for dinner tonight. My conscience still hasn’t left me alone about my fight with Walter - no, Skinner. No reason to be on a first name basis anymore. For a second, an extreme amount of sadness wells up in me and I look down at my shoes, trying to hide the sudden moisture that I know is visible in my eyes. Dammit. I know I was right to end it, but it just hurts so much...

"Mulder." Scully’s voice breaks me out of my sudden wave of self-pity, and I attempt a welcoming smile at her. She doesn’t smile back. Yup. She’s still pissed. I sigh and get up, motioning to the chair across the table from me.

I let my eyes wander over her petite form briefly, registering the pretty blue floral dress and matching blue pumps. How many pairs of shoes does she have, I wonder to myself as I push a menu in her direction. "Order whatever you want, Scully. I’m buyin’."

One of those perfect, coppery eyebrows raises in response. "And what are you having? Crow?" Oh, mama. The G-Woman’s hot today.

I shrug in what I hope is an apologetic way. "Yeah, it seems like that’s definitely on the menu for today."

"Well, after what you pulled, Mulder, I’m sure you’ve been eating it all weekend." She’s shaking her head at me, a knowing grin on her face. I’m quick to dispute her assumption.

"Actually, it’s been a pretty quiet weekend." Except for the telephone ringing every few hours with a new message from Wal...Skinner; except for my conscience nagging at me; except for the overwhelming silence of my lonely apartment....

Scully looks a little surprised. "Really? I would have expected there to be some heavy apologizing going on the last couple of days. I can’t believe Skinner left it at merely censuring you." She looks at me expectantly, her brows raised in question.

"Merely censuring me, Scully? Are you implying I not only deserved to be censured, but should have, what, been suspended? Fired?" I can’t help my voice rising a little, and Scully glances around quickly, warning me with a look to keep my voice down. Although I feel like yelling and shaking her, I speak more softly when I ask again, "Is that what you think, Scully? That I should have been fired?" I’m pretty pissed, and although I know I’m blowing it out of proportion a little, I was really counting on Scully to back me on this. I needed - I need her to back me on this.

Scully’s eyes are wide now, looking a little shocked and she says in a voice that’s a little pissed now too, "No, Mulder, I didn’t imply anything of the sort. What has got you so on edge?" Those blue eyes of hers are so focused on me at the moment that I feel like one of her specimens under a microscope. "You were the one who wanted to have dinner today and talk, and instead of talking, you jump down my throat? Did Skinner lay into you that badly that you have to take it out on me?"

Okay, if I didn’t feel guilty enough for my fight with Walter, I do now for snapping at Scully. I know I’m blushing, shamefaced, and I try to salvage the situation. "I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion, Scully. It was the wrong conclusion, wasn’t it?" God, I sound pathetic. But I need this woman’s reassurance badly. The waitress comes around for our order, but I shake my head at her and, giving us a faintly curious glance, she shrugs and leaves.

"Yes, it was, Mulder," Scully says in a hurt little voice. Great. I feel even worse. "I don’t think you should have been fired, but, you have to admit, you’ve had a formal censure coming for a long time now. Skinner has shown a lot of restraint out of respect for your work and for your relationship with him, I think."

I can’t help it. I’m getting mad again. "Dammit, Scully! You’re siding with him?" I sputter, as Scully gazes down at the table in her look of patient exasperation. She should have that one patented. "I mean, this isn’t anything worse than I’ve done before..."

Scully cuts me off before I can continue. "That’s exactly right, Mulder. You’ve done this before. Many times before. You go running off, half-cocked on some fool’s errand on the mere word of a complete stranger who promises you a truth that doesn’t exist. You ditch me, you throw caution to the wind, you show a total disregard for bureau policy and procedure, not to mention totally disrepecting Skinner’s authority. I’m amazed he was as calm as he was Friday, given the additional fact that he loves you and was worried to death over you!" Scully finally takes a breath, her blue eyes blazing at me while I feel like crawling through the crack in the flimsy wooden chair I’m seated on. "So, yes, I guess I am siding with him. Mulder," her voice suddenly softens and she leans forward to place her hand over mine. "You have to get it through your head that if something happens to you, it happens to us. You’re not alone, Mulder, not anymore. Your actions have a direct effect on the people who love you." She squeezes my hand and I feel a little lump forming in my throat. "And you also have to get it through your head that Skinner has people to answer to. He can’t support the X-Files as much as he wants to because it would be political suicide. If he sides with us totally, Mulder, he’ll be in the minority. And he can’t help us if he's in the minority, can he?"

Scully’s reasonable tone and rational arguments are quite effective: I feel like a total fucking jerk. Maybe all the guilt inside me wasn’t just for saying what I did the way I did. Maybe it was my subconscious trying to tell me just how badly I fucked up. Maybe - with all the adrenalin flowing from the explosion, the fear and the anger at reaching another dead-end and the disappointment of my lover not supporting me publicly like I wanted him to - everything in my head was just muddled. Add to that enough vodka to choke a horse and you’ve got a complete moron who wouldn’t know the truth for shit if it came up and bit him in the ass. I find I can’t even meet her eyes. God, if I’ve messed up the only good relationship in my life out of vanity....

"Mulder?" Scully’s voice is worried as she leans forward more, trying to make eye contact with me. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

I clear my throat, but still can’t look at her. "So what you’re basically saying, Scully, is that Skinner acted appropriately, given the situation and my history...?" I know the answer, but I need to hear her say it.

Scully studies me quietly before speaking. "Yes," she finally says and I can actually feel my heart sink rapidly, all the way down to my toes. "Yes, Mulder, I’m sorry, but I think he did the right thing, considering the pressure he’s under from the powers-that-be to keep us in line, and given the fact that nothing else he’s done to reprimand you has had any effect."

My eyes are closed, and my breathing is shallow at this point. I think I’m having a panic attack.

"Mulder, what is it?" Scully reaches for me with both hands, as if she somehow knows I’m losing it, that I need her to keep me centered. "Mulder," her voice is really quiet now, because she senses just how deep I’ve dug my own grave. "Mulder, what did you do?"

I look up at her, and when I do the tears fall down my face. I pull one arm from her grasp and swipe at my cheeks; I think I’m going into shock as the full force of my actions finally hits me. Scully’s worried even more now. She whispers, "Jesus, Mulder, what did you do?"

"I...." I can’t even say the words. I clear my throat and try again. "I fucked up, Scully." My voice is really soft, and my eyes lock with hers as I tell her everything that transpired on Friday, from the time she left me at the office. I don’t bother to sugar-coat it: I tell her everything I remember, word for word. When I’m done, she just blinks and shakes her head, sitting back in her seat and letting go of me. She wraps her arms around herself, and stares down at the table. God, even she can’t look at me.

Finally, she slowly looks up at me, her eyes wide and she shakes her head again. "Mulder...." her voice trails off as if she doesn’t know what to say. Hell, I don’t know what to say.

Being with Walter these last several months had been so good, so good, that at times I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. And now, because of my selfishness and my inability to see past my own quest, I’ve thrown it away. Thrown it all away to hell because...god, I don’t even know the reason why. I’ve never been one to handle my serious emotions well. Hell, I can do flippant, insubordinate, flirtatious and even morbid, but actually sit down and really examine what I’m feeling or why I’m feeling it and I freeze; I revert to anger and paranoia.   God, I’m really fucked.

"Yes, Mulder, I think this time you are." I didn’t even realize I had said it aloud until Scully responded. I look at her again to see her face full of concern and yes, anger, too.

"Scully, please, don’t be angry at me. I can’t handle you being angry at me too. I...." I can’t finish the sentence because the look she’s giving me has changed from anger to a little bit of pity. Yeah, pity me, Scully. Pity me because I’m a poor fucking excuse for a human being. Pity me because the one good thing going in my life that had any kind of future in it was just thrown, kicked, forcibly ejected into oblivion.

"I’m not angry at you, Mulder," she reassures me, and the pity has been replaced by sympathy instead. I don’t even know how she does it, how she puts up with me. Saint Dana....patron saint of misguided losers who fuck up everything and everyone they touch...

We’re both quiet for a moment, and then Scully asks, "So what are you going to do?" I look up at her, a little startled by the question. I hadn’t even begun to think that far ahead. "You are going to do something, aren’t you? You’re not going to just lose him, are you?" She looks shocked by the very notion.

I honestly don’t know what to reply. If I were him, would I give me a second chance? Then I realize how stupid that thought is, because he’s not me. I would never have lasted as long as he did with me, would never have put up with all the shit he put up with, would never have opened myself up to me the way he did at the same time I was pushing him away. When I answer Scully, my words are pleading. "I don’t know what to say to him, Scully. What could I say to erase everything I accused him of? I wouldn’t even know where to start...." I raise my hand to my mouth, wiping at my face as if to somehow wipe away the words said in anger and stupidity to the person I love.

Scully grabs my chin and forces my eyes back up to hers. "You start, you idiot, by saying you’re sorry. Then you tell him everything you’re feeling now, how wrong you knew you were, how much you love him, and exactly how much you want and need him to forgive you."

I try a tremulous grin and say, "In other words, I beg him to take me back."

She doesn’t even hesitate in her reply. "Yes. Given the degree to which you fucked up, I would definitely say begging is in order." She lets go of me and sits back, watching me carefully as I absorb her words.

"Begging," I say, sighing heavily. "Yeah, I guess I can do that." She smiles at me encouragingly, but her smile falters a little when I ask, "Do you think it’ll work?"

She thinks over her words carefully for a moment, but answers me truthfully. "I don’t know, Mulder. I really don’t know. But it’s your best shot." The dread and the worry her words invoke are slightly tempered by the love and concern I see in her eyes. Why do I continuously ditch this woman? You’d think by now I’d realize just how much I need her by my side.

I grab her hand suddenly and give it a squeeze. "Okay," I whisper. "First thing tomorrow morning, I start my campaign to win back the man I love." I sigh again, but Scully smiles at me and squeezes my hand back. I let go of her and motion towards her menu. As she picks it up, I try to catch the waitress’ eye to signal our readiness to order. Tomorrow morning. I’m dreading it and looking forward to it, all at the same time.

Continue to Part 3 - REMNANTS

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