REVELATIONS
by Jvantheterrible

Revelations:
a : an act of revealing to view or making known.
b : something that is revealed; especially an enlightening or astonishing disclosure.
c : a pleasant often enlightening surprise.

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

I wonder if the fucking torment will never end. I get home from Mulder’s apartment, having just told him we’re finished, and I’m......devastated. All I can hear is his voice in my head, telling me that it’s alright; he expected this from me; telling me that there was no way he could expect me to put up with his shit, and how everyone else in his life has left him except for Scully.

Guilt Trip 101 a’la Mulder? Yes. Did it work? Absolutely. I did my stoic best in front of him. I’m in the privacy of my own home now, so I can let it out - but I don’t.

As if Tuesday with a hangover wasn’t bad enough, memories of Sharon on her deathbed running through my head, I now have Fox Mulder there as well, proclaiming his faults and accepting the blame for the failure of our relationship.

Looks like Wednesday with an even worse hangover is looming on the horizon, I think grimly, as I refill my glass to the rim and head upstairs to my room, glass and bottle in hand. Alone. Christ.

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

“Rrrring.” Hmph. “Rrrring.” Wh..... “Rrrring.” FUCK. What time is....oh shit. I pick up the clock, unable to believe what time it really is. Nine o’fucking clock. I throw it forcefully across the room, killing it instantly when it hits the wall and shatters.

“Hello,” I grumble into the phone. I haven’t even had a chance to ignore it in case it’s Fox. Christ. First thing in the morning, I’m late, and all I can think of is, ‘Fox’. Bastard.

“Sir, is...is everything alright? I was afraid you might have gotten into an accident or - “ Kimberly. I cut her off in mid-sentence.

“-No, I’m fine, I’m.....I’ll be in directly.” CLICK. I sit up and rub my face, unable to believe that for the second time in as many days, I’m fucking late for work. Incredible. Nearly twenty years with a spotless record, and here I am, late AGAIN. Fox Mulder. Goddamn him. Goddamn the day I met him. Goddammit I miss him..... ‘Walter, no time for that shit. Get your ass up and get in the shower,’ I tell myself, nearly falling over my own feet as I attempt to stand up. I wince as I check my nightstand, and the half-empty bottle of scotch.

“Christ,” I groan aloud to no one, and manage to finally hoist myself up and lurch towards the bathroom. The room only spins for a moment, and I am quite proud of myself for not spewing the entire contents of my stomach all over the place....and then I remember that I didn’t eat enough yesterday TO throw up. Not bad enough to adopt Mulder, you had to adopt his eating habits as well, I think as I climb into the shower.

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

Twenty minutes later, I’m setting a new record for getting my shit together as I get into my car and head for JEH. I use my portable electric razor to shave on the way, ignoring the occasional honk at me for not utilizing my turn signal like a nice little g-man as I weave in and out of traffic in an attempt to speed up my approach.

Grumpy does not even begin to describe my demeanor as I enter the Hoover building some thirty minutes later, now a full two hours tardy.

Kimberly has attempted to cover up for me, seeing as how I’ve only missed one meeting with a couple of agents that I had no idea were even under my jurisdiction, and I manage to nod at her as she relays that information to me, following me into my office as she chatters on and on.

“Fine,” I growl, and her eyes open wide at my use of the trademark ‘Mulder Clenched Jaw’, this time directed at her, “That will be all, Kimberly.” She nods back at me, and thankfully, shuts my office door behind her on her way out.

I sit heavily down into my leather chair, groaning quietly to myself, swearing off all future use of scotch to dull my pain, feelings, etcetera, etcetera. It’s simply not worth it. I have a reputation to uphold. Perhaps making everyone else in the building as miserable as I am would hold some hidden reward....

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

By three o’clock, I do believe I’ve managed to instill fear into the hearts and souls of all the agents under my command. I’ve ranted and raved at the ten agents that had scheduled meetings with me today, and Kimberly is no longer even trying to see if there’s anything she can do to assist me.

I skipped lunch, my stomach rebelling at the mere thought of food, and that has made me feel even worse - as though that were possible. I can’t believe that this is what I’ve been reduced to. Because of HIM. I’ve allowed him to get under my skin that badly. Goddammit, if only....if only it didn’t hurt so goddamned much.

Two hours late today, and I leave two hours early. This day is a complete and total bust. Judging from the relieved look on Kimberly’s face when I tell her I’m leaving, I’d say that my work here is done; I have effectively alienated everyone from me in the short span of time I’ve shown my face here today. Lovely.

When I get home, I decide to catch up on some paperwork, and I fall asleep on the couch minutes into my attempt to stay busy. I’m glad that I didn’t drink tonight, I think as I nod off. I’ll feel much better tomorrow - well, about some things, anyway. I still don’t feel like sleeping alone....in my own bed.

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

I don’t wake up until Thursday morning around 4 a.m., according to my watch. Thank God I didn’t smash that up as well; guess I’ll have to pick up a new alarm clock at some point this afternoon. I decide to get a serious jump on the day to make up for yesterday; I think a trip to the florist for Kimberly is in order at some point today, too.

I make it to the parking garage by 5:15 a.m., pleasantly surprised at the lack of traffic on the road. I don’t remember the last time I made it to work in this short amount of time - except for that one morning that I was running late because Fox and I were......shit. I hang my head as I walk into the building, not even returning the janitor’s pleasant, “Good morning, sir.” Mulder is going to be the death of me yet, I think. Well, it WAS a good morning, before that last train of thought pulled into the station.

I sigh heavily to no one as I take the elevator up to my office, and proceed to immerse myself in my desk, heaped with paperwork from last weekend. Jesus, it’s Thursday already, and I’m damn near a week behind. Figures; just look what an influence Fox is on me NOW. Dammit, why can’t I get him out of my head? I HAVE to concentrate today. I CAN do this, I know I can. Not even six in the damn  morning, and he’s already defeating my plan to work myself into oblivion.

I work straight through until lunch, and leave the office for an hour to get a bite to eat and pick up a nice bouquet for Kimberly. She smiles widely when I walk in with it, and blushes a little. This comes quite close to earning her a smile - but not close enough. I nod at her, purse my lips together, and head back into my office; I’m halfway through my paperwork, and as long as no stray thoughts of certain sexy errant agents impede...who am I kidding, anyway? This puts me immediately back into a foul mood, and I ring Kim to tell her that I’m not to be disturbed for the rest of the afternoon. I don’t need to tell her twice; Hell, NO one wants to come up to my office ever again at this point. I don’t blame them.

At three-thirty, Scully calls to check in with me from Quantico. Needless to say, I’m much less than polite.

“YES,” I yell into my cell when it rings, pissed at the interruption when I was doing so well and staying so focused on the files in front of me.

“Sir, it’s Agent Scully. I just wanted to let you know that my classes are going well here, and I -” I cut her off there.

“Thank you, Scully, I’m glad to hear that things are going well there.” There is no way in Hell I’m going to give her a chance to tell me that she’s spoken to HIM. If she even has. I wonder how he’s doing. Damn.

“Is there anything else that you had for me, Agent Scully, because I’m rather busy for a social call,” I tell her gruffly, and I can hear her quick intake of breath. I immediately feel like an ass for treating her that way, but I’m so.......Jesus, I don’t even know what I am anymore. Just plain pissed and infuriated and lonely and guilty and any other negative adjective in the English language just about describes it.

“N-no, sir, that’s all I had. Have a nice afternoon, sir,” she says, and then cuts off the connection. Good. I didn’t want to chit-chat anyway, I think, and then I mentally kick myself. I could’ve asked her how he is. I’m sure she’s spoken to him; I could’ve been just a LITTLE bit nicer to one of my wunderkind agents, with the near-perfect solve rate. Nope, I resorted to surly, gruff, and incommunicado. Fuck it. I really just don’t care; about much of anything, actually.

I don’t leave the office until I’m caught up for the week, and it’s dark outside. Suits my mood, I think to myself, and I nearly smile again at the bastard that I’ve become this week. I suppose I’ll have a hard time EVER outdoing this spell of surliness; good. At least no one will think I’m a soft touch. No danger of THAT happening anytime soon. The one person that had the power to reduce me to an emotional wreck is.......gone. So why do I still feel so fucking bad?

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

I get home around nine o’clock Thursday night, and I am quite shocked to find a surprise at my front door. It’s propped up against the stark white of the wood - an envelope with my name on it, and....flowers? Jesus. H. Christ. There’s only one....Mulder, I think as I bend down to retrieve the leavings tiredly.

Irises. Huge purple Irises, swathed in Baby’s Breath and greens. I sniff them tentatively; it is like the proverbial breath of fresh air. I immediately recognize Fox’s handwriting on the envelope, and I shake my head as I enter my condo, wondering what kind of ‘Dear Walter’ letter this is going to be. I sigh deeply, again to no one, as I shed my coat, letting it rest on the floor where it falls. For once, I don’t pour myself a drink; this is intriguing, to say the least; Mulder sent me a card? And flowers?

I plop down onto my sofa as I tear open the envelope, letting the Irises remain in their plastic for a bit longer as I lay them down on the coffee table. I am mesmerized by what this envelope could possibly hold....and it’s nothing compared to what I read mere moments later. I’m not EVEN prepared for what I’m holding in my hands.

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

Walter:

Hmm, at least it’s not ‘Dear Walter’........too much like a ‘Dear John’ letter, I think to myself.

I want you to know that I understand why you said the things you did the other day.

Hmph, I grumble, GOOD. He’s off to a smashing start; the typical pity-me Mulder stance.....and then I read on.

I don’t say that to sound as if I’m wallowing in self-pity; I’m not. I know I didn’t leave you much choice in the matter. 

‘Goddamn right you didn’t,’ I murmur. And as I read the next paragraph, I might as well be in a whole new world.

But this time, I didn’t realize that there was no way for me NOT to get hurt.  I’ve simply come to depend on you too much, to love you too much.  You’re so much a part of me now, Walter, that if I lose you I might as well cut out my own heart.

What? I read it again just to make sure that I’m not hallucinating. The next page or so is just as unbelievable, and I find myself reading and rereading the letter, just to make sure that this is really what he’s written....unless it’s some cruel Consortium hoax, this is.....Fox William Mulder’s feelings on paper. His feelings about ME. Holy shit. I keep reading, transfixed, suddenly fighting the overwhelming urge to pick up the phone and......

After reading on, he’s promising NOT to go off half-cocked on anonymous tips. He’s telling me that he swears he’ll come to me before he chases down any other anonymous leads. I shake my head as I continue reading his pages and pages of prose.

Now I realize you’re reading this, shaking your head and thinking, “Yeah, he says this NOW...” But I mean it, Walter.  I’ve actually looked at this logically and determined the following:

Yes, his checklist is pretty goddamned accurate. But it’s when I reach the next part that I feel the lump in my throat; I struggle against it with all my will, but I can’t fight it - Fox Mulder knows how to sock it to me, in no uncertain terms.

...None of it matters if I don’t have my best friend or my life partner.  And that’s what you are, Walter, despite your trying to end the relationship. I know for a fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about me, and that as you’re reading this, you’ve got a lump in your throat....

Asshole; how dare you know me so well, I think, fighting tears as I read on.

...It starts to form when I think about never touching you again, about never feeling your arms around me again, never making love with you again....

...You know, when I think about why I love you, what I love about you, it’s the little things that get me every time.

OH. MY. GOD. The tears are actually in my eyes as I read this, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I lean forward and finger the Irises gently, as though they were Fox, and he could feel my touch...suddenly, I wish he could; I wish I COULD wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything is going to be alright....NO. NO. NO. I’m done with this frustration....I told him....I can’t......do...this.....but I read on, my eyes full of tears that refuse to fall, barely able to follow his words......

So, because I consider you my life partner, Walter, I’m not going to let you walk away from me.  I plan to hound you, pester you, cajole you - whatever it takes - into giving me another chance.  You want flowers? Done.

No shit, I think quietly, my sarcastic edge gone even from my subconscious now as I eye the Irises once again....

I could beg you to come back to me, Walter, but I think I’ll save that for my next letter. After all, I’ve got to give you something to look forward to, right?

There’s going to be another one? I don’t know if I can.....I finish it up slowly, relishing the words, the emotion; knowing that his hand wrote this. How long ago? Today? Yesterday? Last weekend?

I love you so much, Walter. Please remember that THAT is what this letter is about - it’s not about me just being lonely or just needing someone, ANYone. I NEED YOU.  Please give me another chance to show you just how much.

With all my love,

Fox

I....what.....oh God. I’m.....tears. I drop the pages to the floor, staring at the flowers just out of my reach - just like him.

I fall asleep well past midnight on the couch again, having read Mulder’s letter five or so times, each time building up my desire to call him......talk to him...have SOME contact with him, at the very least. Maybe tomorrow, I think, not remembering as I’m nodding off that I forgot to buy a new alarm clock today.

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

The sun is warming my face by the time I bolt upright on the couch, unsure where I am to begin with, then panicking as I look at my watch. It’s only 6:30. Thank GOD. AND it’s Friday. I look down at the floor, wondering if the words that Mulder wrote were only a dream; the pages lie at my feet, slightly rumpled, and I smile to myself as I think of the things that Fox managed to put down on paper. I thought I knew Fox Mulder; I thought he was just an inconsiderate bastard - up until last night. Now I’m being forced to reassess my evaluation of him. I know I’m not the paradigm of emotion myself, but I didn’t know he had it in him. I miss him more than ever. Asshole.

I feel the smile fade from my lips as I head upstairs to shower and get dressed, dreading another day without him. I notice a tiny spring in my step - it’s been missing this past week, but now, I feel like there might just be a flicker of hope for me. Or Mulder. Or.....us? That goddamned letter has me in a whirl of emotions that I’m not used to dealing with, let ALONE used to feeling. It’s going to be a long day, I think - followed by an even longer weekend.

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

I manage a curt smile at Kim as I walk past, to her apparent pleasure. She gives me a bubbly, “Good morning, sir,” and I actually leave my office door open for the first time all week. I can tell she’s glancing in here every so often for the next couple of hours; I can feel her gaze burning into the side of my face, and I also catch her staring a couple of times before she can blush and turn away. The last time I bust her, I tell her outright, “I’m fine, Kimberly.”

“Y-yes, sir,” she stammers, looking immediately back down at her desk. As far as I can tell, that ends her silent inquisition, and the day continues to drag on at its painfully slow snail’s pace. I check my watch for what must be the millionth time, and by noon, I can’t take it anymore. I have to go out for some fresh air. I ask Kim if she wants anything while I’m out, and she informs me that she’s brought her lunch. I take the elevator down and walk out the front doors of the J. Edgar Hoover building into the sun.

It’s a gorgeous day; the kind where Mulder and I would normally head out for lunch a couple of minutes apart, grab a sandwich from the deli across the street, and find a quiet spot in the park by the Reflecting Pool, eating and talking together, content to just have the briefest respite from work.

Melancholy kicks in as I recall the words from his letter last night, and I suddenly want to call him. I reach for my cellphone, then curse myself under my breath; I refuse to allow myself to do it. I told HIM goodbye, after all. How would it look if I came crawling back now? I ponder that question the whole time that I sit in ‘our spot’ by the pool, mindlessly chewing on a sandwich that might as well be cardboard with cheese for as much attention as I’m paying to it. Hell, at least I’m eating. I wonder if he’s eating. I wonder if he’s sleeping. I wonder if he’s taking care of himself. I wonder if he misses me half as much as I miss him.

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

I’m considerably bummed out by the time I return to the office, unsure as to what in the Hell I should do about Mulder. Luckily, a whole new slew of paperwork has been thrown in my ‘IN’ basket, and I have no time to worry about that until quitting time comes, some six hours later.

Kimberly told me goodnight and wished me a nice weekend an hour ago, so I suppose I’m only avoiding the inevitable; going home to an empty house. Jesus. I don’t even remember being this morose when Sharon left me. I must have it really bad for Fox. I shut off the lights in my office and head for the elevators, still not used to the silence of this big building on a Friday evening an hour after closing time. Of course, it’s nothing compared to what awaits me at home.

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

As I get off the elevator in Viva Towers, I see that I have another gift from my ‘admirer’. It’s again propped up against my front door, and it’s the same thing as last night, just different flowers and a much heavier envelope. Daisies? Jesus, Mulder, you ARE a soft touch, aren’t you, I think to myself as I mentally weigh the envelope - must be at LEAST 10 pages. I sigh as I open my door, stepping into my quiet dark apartment, shedding my trenchcoat, careful not to crush my new flowers. My heart is pounding in anticipation, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let on...even if there ISN’T anyone else here. Hmph.

I add the daisies to the oversized glass I put the lilies in last night, chuckling at the absurd appearance on my coffee table. Let’s see; I’m 48. That makes it officially.......48 years since ANYONE has given me flowers. Christ. I pour myself a few fingers of scotch, loosen and remove my tie, open my top couple shirt buttons, and kick off my shoes before I sit down on the couch with Mulder’s latest ‘novel’.

I take a long sip of my drink, enjoying the warmth sliding down my throat, and immediately feel much more relaxed. I have a feeling that Fox has really outdone himself this time, so I’m going to make sure I’m prepared. I prop my stocking feet up on the table as I rip open the envelope, not at all shocked at the sheath of papers inside; he talks so goddamned much, it’s hardly a surprise that he’d ramble on and on with pen and paper as well.

I lean forward a bit and set my glass down on the floor, half drained. I’ve lost interest in the scotch for the moment, focused entirely on the matter at hand. Namely, Fox William Mulder.

Walter,

I miss you. I dreamed of you last night or rather late this morning; it was a wonderful dream of you curling up around me, the heat and solidity of you firmly pressed against my back, making me feel safe.

He always WAS a sucker for my body heat, I think with the barest hint of a grin. Suddenly, I don’t even want to finish this letter. I want to go to him. I want to hold him, kiss him, tell him I’m sorry......goddammit, Walter. READ.

So I do. I read, and I read, and I read some more. He’s had nightmares. He nearly crumpled up the letter because he felt guilty for even SOUNDING like he was trying to make ME feel guilty. I don’t think I could BE any more guilty, actually.

God, your smile. Do you know that I worked for you for six years before I saw you smile? You simply don’t DO it at work. You probably don’t believe it fits with your hard-assed AD persona. It’s probably just as well. If you smiled all the time at the bureau, I would NEVER have had a chance with you. I would have had to fight off every assistant in the administrative pool. Not to mention the closeted agents - and there are QUITE a few that have checked you out over the years, Walter.  You may not have noticed it, but I certainly did.

He goes on and on with this whole smiling thing for damn near a whole page, and I’ve got a very healthy lump in my throat by the time he tells me, “It’s the little things.” Little my ASS. Closeted agents? Secretaries crazy for me? “I don’t think so, Mulder,” I say aloud, laughing heartily at the mere THOUGHT that anyone is harboring a secret desire for me. The lump comes back when he begins again, describing the changes I’ve made in his life.

I’ve never had much luck with relationships, as I’ve told you many times, not to mention how I’ve gone out of my way to show you exactly why I’ve never had much luck with them.

Yeah, Mulder, I’m just the EPITOME of healthy relationships, I think, reading on slowly, trying to absorb every word, every nuance that he’s attempting to convey to me - and I do believe I’m getting the point.

Do you have any idea what it took for me to be able to lower all my walls in order to let you in? God, Walter, I was so scared - I was scared I would let you in and get used to you, even need you, and then I’d lose you just like everyone else I’ve loved. But deep down I came to realize that it was less scary to let you in than it was to keep you out. I know you can completely relate to this because you’ve got more walls up than anyone I’ve ever met. Or at least, you HAD more walls. You let them down, one by one, for me to see the real you. And it was that voluntary exposure of of your innermost self that allowed me to garner the courage to do the same. You gave me your friendship and your trust, and for the first time in my life I felt safe enough to throw my arms open wide and say, “This is who I am! Know me!”, and in return you accepted me, warts and all.

The lump is nearly choking me now, and I’m fighting off tears; I’m sure he sobbed as he wrote this. That would explain the small smudges on the paper. It would also explain my undying urge to not even finish this letter - to toss it down and run out the door and drive as fast as I can to his apartment, grab him and hold him and NEVER let go. But I keep reading. This is important. It was important enough for him to write, and it’s definitely important enough for me to finish. This letter...this testimonial from the man who ‘trusts no one’. What have I gotten myself into, I think as I feel the tears build in my eyes; and what have I done?

You had every right to believe the relationship was over, given how I had acted and what I had said. But I need you to forget all of it, Walter. Jesus, I had to get fucking wasted to believe it enough myself to even say it to you; and then I just kept getting madder and madder because I knew it was lame, I knew it was a lie, but at that moment I needed it to be true so I had some reason to walk out. Not because I wanted to walk out, but because I was too afraid to stay. When you issued the censure, Walter, it really drove it home just how badly I had scared you, just how far I had crossed the line; when you ordered the censure, I thought for sure you were going to end it, so I decided that I’d beat you to the punch. I know I’m a selfish bastard. But I don’t want to be a selfish bastard anymore. I’d much rather concentrate on being happy with you and making you happy......what can I say? I’m turning into a sentimental fool.

Shitshitshit. He’s turning ME into a sentimental fool. I have fucked up monumentally. “I can’t believe I told him goodbye,”I murmur to my condo as the tears actually begin to trickle down my cheeks. “Fox,” I whisper, and I’m not so sure anymore that finishing this letter is the wisest move I’ve ever made. Nevertheless.....

Please give me a chance to show you how much I love you. Please allow me the opportunity to prove that I can learn from the past and be the partner you and I need me to be. I’m begging  you, Walter, to look beyond all the crazy things I said that horrible Friday to the fear which prompted my tirade. And finally, I’m pleading with you NOT to give up on me; I need you so badly; I really don’t want to do any of this without you. I don’t think I can. Not anymore. You’ve become as necessary to me as the air in my lungs. I’m reminded of a poem I read at Oxford.....

By the time I finish his poem and his last two sentences -

I love you, Walter. Please give me another chance.

With all my heart, Fox.

- I’ve been reduced to a sniveling idiot, a FAR cry from the ‘surly bastard’ that he called me exactly a week ago tonight. I reach down shakily to the floor and grab my glass, polishing off the rest of my drink in one big gulp. I look at my watch. It’s 10:00. I can’t. I shouldn’t. How can I? And then again...how can I NOT?

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

I took a long hot shower. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and I ate a sandwich to chase my mild buzz away. I wasted as much time as I could stand to, and then I nearly ran down to my car. I drove to Mulder’s apartment.

And I’m standing here now, not a fucking CLUE as to what I’m going to say when he opens the door. Of course, I probably SHOULD knock first.

BAMBAMBAM. With my fist. Shit, what if he thinks I’m pissed or something? Far from it, actually. I’m nearing ‘desperate’ to see him; and no matter how many drops I put in my eyes, they’re still fucking swollen from reading his goddamn letter.

“All right, all right,” he shouts, “Hold on a second.” I can hear shuffling around from inside; he must’ve fallen asleep on his couch watching porn again. Some things never change, I muse silently as I wait for him to open the door.

“It’s me,” I say quietly, and I can practically hear him pause on the other side of the door. Oh Jesus, I’m going to see him, he’s going to open the door and......he opens the door. He looks absolutely fucking beautiful. His hair is mussed from sleeping on the sofa, and he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, just like me. We stare at each other for a long time, me standing in the hallway, him standing just inside his place.

“I got your letters,” I manage, my voice hoarse with emotion and elation at seeing my lover for the first time in four days.

“Come in,” he says, standing aside to let me pass. I walk in slowly, taking in the cleanliness that greets me, as well as the.....is that a cooking show on the television? No porn?

I smile at him then, a genuinely huge smile, because he’s not wasting away in the utter decay of a filthy apartment. It’s clean, just like the slate that is being rebuilt between the two of us at this moment. I walk past him and he closes the door behind me. We have a lot to talk about, Fox and I. For now, though, I’m content just to be in the same room with him. For now.

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

To be continued...

Continue to Part 5 - RESTITUTION

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