From: albert@seas.ucla.edu Subject: the story Date: Sat, 3 Feb 1996 20:37:07 -0800 (PST) bitter/sweet The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully (and family), Walter Skinner and Frohike (the latter two in absentia) belong to the brilliant mind of Chris Carter and ten thirteen. Chiapparelli's is a real restaurant in Baltimore, belonging to the Chiapparellis, we suppose. The emotional angst belongs to all of us. No romance, but perhaps an inkling that deeper feelings exist. This is about guilt, redemption and the deep, abiding friendship that keeps us watching every week. After sixteen years, the authors understand friendship and the importance of telephones even better than Scully and Mulder. Our relationship is worthy of an X-File. This is our first story. Send comments to Julie at j.bestry@GEnie.com or Al at albert@SEAS.UCLA.edu. Please send flames to Al only, as Julie has too delicate a constitution to deal with them. Copyright Julie Bestry and Albert Chou, 1996. bitter/sweet Deep in concentration, the tall man hunched over his computer keyboard. An open manila folder balanced precariously on his bent right knee, his scuffed shoe perched on the handle of his lowest desk drawer. His right hand reached absently toward the open cellophane package of sunflower seeds. As he scanned from the folder to the terminal and back again, one lone detail remained, and it gnawed at him...how had the killer, heard but not seen, traveled so quickly from the site of the Rockville murder to CLICK. SWOOSH. SLAM! His reverie ended as he heard the slam of the door to the stairwell and the click of low heels echoing down the hall. Startled, his hand knocked the package off the desk, and grey seeds flecked with white skittered across the floor. "Damn," he muttered, tossing the contents of his folder onto the slightly ripped seat of the government issue chair as he knelt, frantically trying to scoop up the errant seeds with the edge of the folder. Then he realized he was no longer hearing the click of the heels. Agents were trained to be light on their feet, but.... He slowly looked up. In the time it took the woman to traverse the nondescript grey hallway from the stairwell past the yellow and black nuclear fallout shelter sign to the slightly ajar door, she had already checked her watch three times. She impatiently pulled back the sleeve of her tailored suit a fourth time and paused in the doorway. The woman quickly forced her growing smile to become a bemused smirk. Drawing herself up to her full stature of 5'2", the titian-haired agent rolled her eyes and groaned, "Mulder! Honestly, I can't leave you alone for a minute!" Mulder gave her a sheepish, plaintive grin. "But look, Scully. I'm on my knees, ready to beg forgiveness." Tilting his head to get his overlong "regulation" bangs out of his eyes, he looked to Scully more like a sheepdog than a special agent of the FBI. "One knee, actually," she observed. "I hope you do a better job with the proposal than the housekeeping." Silence. Mulder cocked an eyebrow. Unintentionally embarrassed by her own off-the-cuff banter, she quickly turned and moved toward her desk. Silently she wondered how Mulder managed to best her in a battle of wits even when she was the only one attacking. For his part, a grinning Mulder appeared to be storing away yet another piece of trivia in his filing cabinet brain. Brushing off his pant leg, he raised himself up to full height, stretched and leaned back against the bulletin board, blocking Scully's view of a somewhat faded poster declaring "I WANT TO BELIEVE". "Any news?" he asked. Scully shrugged, then shook her head. "I called the airport. The plane landed on time. Maybe it's traffic?" she offered, trying to convince herself that all was well. She wasn't worried. Not exactly. Mrs. Scully and Dana's brother, Bill, Jr. were overdue. She had only seen her older brother twice in the last three years -- once at her father's memorial service and once on Christmas Day the previous year. He had not returned for Melissa's funeral. Scully sighed. Bill Scully loved his siblings, but he had never known what to make of Missy's strange beliefs -- the candles, the crystals -- or of Charles' protracted refusal to join the Navy ROTC, or of Dana's career path. Ever serious, just like their father, Bill simply could not understand how Dana could put aside a lucrative (and safe) career in medicine to join the Bureau. But now he was coming to visit. To see his baby sister all grown up. She hoped that he would be proud. Mulder could see the wheels turning in her head, and she didn't notice as he moved to her side. "Scully? Earth to Scully..." he chided, gently knocking two knuckles on her forehead. She blinked. Her pensive look broadened into a grin as her eyes came to focus on his chest. "Mulder, are you really going to wear that tie to dinner?" "Ahg! You wound me, Scully." He placed one hand on his heart, the other, palm outward, on his forehead. "And I thought I picked the perfect fashion statement to serve as counterpoint to our scintillating dinner conversation at Chiapparelli's." Again she grinned, raising one eyebrow. "You mean you hoped it would camouflage whatever you drop on it at dinner?" He chuckled softly. She knew him too well. The phone rang before her partner could retort. Mulder noted that Scully wasn't saying much, but was mainly nodding and shaking her head, reacting to whatever the person at the other end was saying with soft grunts of assent. He took secret pleasure watching a titian lock that kept falling in front of her face as she moved. The agent struggled to restrain himself from reaching out, not-so-professionally, to smooth it back into place. Mulder was still toying with the notion when his partner hung up the phone. ===== After Maggie Scully's call, the two agents made their way to the parking lot. Following in his own car, Mulder kept one eye on the traffic and one on Scully to prepare for the turns. Bill Scully had apparently wished to go straight to the house, then to the restaurant, entirely avoiding a visit to their office. Although Bill would not have been allowed entry to restricted areas, Mulder would have expected the Navy officer to show more enthusiasm for getting a private tour of the Bureau. But then, Mulder knew very little about either of his partner's brothers, except that while Charles was a late convert to the naval life his father had held dear, Bill was "Ahab's shadow". While both Missy and Mrs. Scully had become dear to Mulder during Dana's three month absence, and later during her hospitalization, the Scully men remained relatively shrouded in mystery. Thinking of it that way, Mulder sat straighter behind the wheel, a smile curling his lips. Never one to shy away from a mystery, he thought to himself that he might actually enjoy the evening. Even if it took him away from singlehandedly solving the Rockville case. ===== Dinner was hardly a ringing success. While Mrs. Scully was warm to Mulder, as always, it didn't take his degree in psychology to know that the normally earthy brunette was tense. Throughout dinner, she changed the subject every time anything related to the FBI was brought up, prodding Dana to speak of current events, and Mulder to talk of his travels abroad. "Fox, tell Bill about Oxford," Maggie Scully pushed, her smile too insistent. He did so with enthusiasm, trying to relate events that would bridge the gap between himself and the silent, broad-shouldered man across the table. Twice, first when Scully's cellular rang, and later when Mulder's did as well, Maggie all but lurched at her son, trying to engage him in conversation. The second time, as Mulder questioned a junior field agent over the phone about new findings in the Rockville case, he was forced to cup his hand over his ear to muffle the sound of Maggie Scully's rising voice. Scully, too, seemed uncomfortable. Each question she cheerfully posed to her brother was answered in monosyllables. For his own part, Mulder's every attempt at including Bill Scully in the conversation was met by a glassy stare. Mulder sat perplexed as he watched anxious looks pass between mother and daughter. His exterior cool, Mulder eventually turned his charming attention to Maggie Scully, but the other man's -- what, annoyance? -- kept everyone ill at ease. If he hadn't known better, Mulder would have thought the tension was due to his presence. That was paranoid, wasn't it? Not that paranoia wasn't a mainstay of his world-view. However, not only had both women insisted that he stay through dessert, but Scully had kicked him when he declined returning to the house for coffee. ===== Almost as soon as they entered Mrs. Scully's home, Maggie pulled her daughter upstairs on the pretense of looking at something in the bedroom. Mulder was confused. He thought perhaps that the elder woman was trying to make it easier for him to "bond" with Bill. The only sound in the room was the humming of the refrigerator. Mulder had been to the house enough times to know that if Scully had wanted him to hear what she was discussing with her mother, the sound would carry down the stairs, right to the kitchen where the two men stood. However, straining his ears toward the bedroom, he could only faintly hear the sound of running water in the upstairs bathroom. <> he thought, momentarily smirking. Scully was always the consummate professional. However, standing next to her mother and especially her big brother, she had seemed younger, more vulnerable. Softer. Ugh. <> he chastised himself. But still, something about her was different tonight. Mulder knew that his partner had always longed for her father's approval of her career choice. It would not be an extreme possibility that she might want Bill, an echo of her father, to approve in his place. <> The silence between the two men was palpable, and Mulder was getting claustrophobic in the narrow kitchen. Shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, he rubbed the back of his head absentmindedly, searching his brain for common ground. Even standing six feet tall, Mulder felt oddly outmanned by the solid, dour figure in front of him. <> his mind clicked. <> "So, Bill," he ventured. "You see the Colts-Vikings game on Sunday?" Bill Scully grunted at him. <> Mulder drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter. What was taking Scully so long? "So, how was your dessert?" Now he just felt like a babbling fool. Only for Scully would he be attempting a meeting of the minds with this rock. "You'll have to forgive me if your company doesn't exactly aid my digestion, Mr. Mulder," Bill Scully muttered through clenched teeth. Mulder blinked. "Excuse me?" Mulder asked, tilting his head questioningly. His face was flushed. The man opposite glowered at him. "Does my breath offend?" Mulder muttered. "You sicken me, Mulder," Bill hissed. "You wreak destruction on everything in your path, and yet you have no compunction about prancing around like a jester...no, a fool...tearing after murderers and ghosts and little green men, dragging innocent people down with you. Aren't you ever bothered by the cost of your little expeditions?" Mulder felt like he'd been sucker-punched. He sucked in his breath. His expensive dinner was now lodged in the center of his breastbone. "You cocky bastard! It's all your fault!" Bill Scully struck every word as if with a hammer. "If it weren't for you, Dana never would've disappeared, and Missy would still be alive! Hasn't my family suffered enough because of you?! How much more pain do we have to endure before you tire of your amusement?" he spat. Mulder was speechless. Neither Scully nor her mother had ever said a word -- quite the contrary, they had always been kind and supportive -- but he had never stopped blaming himself for what they had been through. And now Scully's older brother had finally given voice to the accusations Mulder had always tortured himself with privately. Barely able to meet Bill's eyes, Mulder could only say, "I'm sorry." The second word came out in a gravelly whisper. Bill just stared at him. Mulder wanted to look away, to break free of the man's hard gaze, but he could not. They were Scully's eyes. Bright and flashing, the eyes of the man who stood before Mulder were the same eyes from which he daily sought comfort. He knew in that instant that he could never look at his partner again without searching her eyes for the hatred he saw now. Bill Scully clenched his fists in the pockets of his conservative blue raincoat. He pushed the pockets down and outward, as if he could sprout wings if he just pushed hard enough; he arched his neck and looked skyward, exhaling loudly. He wished he could be anywhere but here. A strong man like his father, he had never raised his hand in anger to anyone. But this was his family, dammit. Missy was gone. Dana could be lost again at any moment. He wondered if Mulder's enemies, and surely there were many, could reach out and hurt even his own wife and children. Such thoughts never left him for very long. At that moment, his throat burned, but he would not shame himself by showing the tears that he had kept hidden for so long. His eyes were still tightly shut when he heard the front door click closed. ===== "I'm sorry," he had said. Mulder kept hearing the echo of his own voice as he stumbled to the car. <> he mocked himself, starting the car and pulling out, tires screeching, down the tree-lined street. Hours later he would wonder how he made it to the on-ramp for the Beltway unharmed, unable to see clearly through his tears. ===== Head in hands, Mulder heard the *snap* of a lockpick gun just before the door burst open. Berating himself for not setting the door chain, Mulder had already drawn his gun and half aimed it before he realized who it was. He squinted in the darkness, lowering his gun. A solitary desk lamp illuminated the overheated room, but the fluorescent overhead lights of the hallway flooded in, blocked only by the diminutive but shapely figure in the doorway. "Dammit, Mulder, I can't believe you ditched me again! After all we've been through -- I thought we were past this sort of thing!" She glowered at him, hands on her hips. He imagined her gaze burning twin holes into his back as he turned away from her. Behind him, he heard her slam the door. "Nice digs," she huffed, eyeing the cramped Rockville motel room. Mulder slumped into the oversized armchair in a dark corner of the room. He wouldn't, couldn't meet her eyes. "How did you find me?" "Frohike's not nearly as good at keeping secrets from me as you'd like. I have a distinct advantage over you in that area." At this, Mulder almost smiled. She stepped closer. "Now, would you mind telling me what's going on? One minute I'm suggesting headache remedies to my mother, and the next my brother is storming out of the house for a two hour walk. You don't answer your cellular. Skinner didn't know where you'd gone. I felt like a fool having to ask everyone where my own partner was." "Scully, I..." His voice trailed off. How could he explain having run out? It had been over a year since he'd last betrayed her trust in him, and there had been an implicit agreement then that it would be the last time. He hung his head. He had failed her again. Something about his voice was wrong. Very wrong. She could tell this wasn't about a case. "Mulder, what is it? What's the matter?" He tried to look at her, but his gaze was caught by the tiny gold cross hanging from the delicate chain around her neck. He bit his lip, remembering how he had discovered the necklace in Duane Barry's trunk and carried it with him as a talisman those three long months -- something he would never have had to do if he'd been there for her in the first place. <> His eyes burned. How could he apologize? <> an angry voice inside him screamed. He swallowed hard and started again. "Scully, I want you to know ... how deeply I regret ever doing anything that might hurt you." His throat tightened as he thought of all the pain he'd been to blame for. He regained his voice enough to continue, "I've never forgiven myself for your abduction ... and your sister, and ... if anything ever..." "Oh, Mulder," she sighed. His head hung low. Immediately she understood. It pained her to see him like this. He never let go of the guilt. Someday, she feared, it would break him. Scully moved to him and sat on the arm of the chair, half-kneeling on the exposed corner of the cushion, leaning over him from the side. When he flinched, she just leaned in closer, resting her chin on the top of his head. Her right hand stroked the back of his neck tenderly, as if he were her patient...or her child. Softly, she spoke. "Mulder, I'm a grown woman, a medical doctor, and an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Not," she emphasized gently, "an eight-year-old girl." At this he stiffened. She tugged softly on his hair, raising him out of his slouch. Her hand rested at the base of his neck as she continued, voice lowered again. "I knew the risks, and I accepted them. You're not my protector, and you're not responsible for everything that happens to me." She paused, taking a deep breath. Her voice barely more than a whisper, she said, "But it's nice to know you care." In that moment, close enough to feel her breath against his face and her heartbeat against his shoulder, his eyes were drawn to her own. No matter how deeply he searched, he saw no hatred, no fear, no pain. He managed a weak smile as he looked into her eyes. She made no move to avert her gaze, and they stayed that way, inches apart in the darkened room, for an eternity. Finally, a small grin blossomed. "You know something, Scully? You smell good." "Mulder!" She pushed him away in mock outrage. Then she smiled at him. A beautiful smile. "C'mon, let's get out of here." ### -- Internet: albert@SEAS.UCLA.edu GEnie: A.Chou1 Check out the Mac-Mgrs home page at . There is something fundamentally wrong in treating the Earth as if it were a business in liquidation. - Herman Daly