From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Sat, 17 Feb 2001 18:10:09 -0600 Subject: BRANDED by Ewa Source: direct Reply To: ewa@whatewa.com BRANDED AUTHOR: Ewa E-mail: ewa@whatewa.com RATING: PG CATEGORY: V SPOILER: S4 Never again KEYWORDS: S/M POV A SUMMARY: Regrets. DISCLAIMER: Any characters you recognize belong to Mr. Carter & Co. Any others are probably mine, who knows, who cares? ARCHIVES: You mean, I don't have to pay? Let me know where it's gone please! THANKS To Peggy and Leslie who polished it up into what it is. I'm learning, I'm learning guys! AUTHOR'S NOTES at the end Feedback please! It's the only reward I get. ewa@whatewa.com See my stories at www.whatewa.com 02.01.01 BRANDED WASHINGTON DC Dermatologist's Office It feels like rubber band snaps on my skin, as the ruby laser works on destroying the symbol of my weakness. The laser light is absorbed by the melanin in my skin and by the carbon-based pigments. The circular area of skin on my lower back will initially turn white, then after ten to twenty minutes, it will swell and redden. My doctor told me it will feel like a bad case of sunburn. Mulder's favorite point of physical contact will stay red and sore for up to three weeks, not that there's been any contact recently. Right now, I would gladly bear the pain, just for the feel of his hand on the small of my back, on that special place that is his alone. I would bear it all day, every day, for it would mean that he isn't angry any more, that we are friends again. The doctor reassures me that there should be almost no sign left within a couple of months, but I know that I'll never be able to erase this brand from my soul. Erasing this brand from my body is the first thing to do. I don't need a constant reminder of my needs and weaknesses. I'll settle for what I have. In a famine a few grains of rice are better than starvation. I need Mulder in my life, and if the only way for that to happen is through work, then so be it. I'm a fool, I know. I have no pride as far as my need for this man is concerned. I've come to understand that if it means being without Mulder, I don't want a life. When did it start to go wrong? When did we lose this thing we had between us? When did we start sniping at each other? What started this overt hostility? Why? Will the destruction of the evidence of my moments of madness be enough for me to be able to put this behind me? Will I, will *we* be able to move on, and if we can, where will we move to? The circumstances leading up to this moment have been a long time coming. Insidiously creeping up on me, eroding me from inside little by little, until the morning I woke up and realized how little I have in life. We are completely isolated in that basement office. It used to be us against *them*. Now that subtle isolation has crept further into our lives; now we each live in our own little habitats, our own personal biospheres. Totally unconnected with the 'real world' and each other. Everywhere I look around me there are couples - kids walking down the sidewalk arm in arm; families with children. Groups. Together, always together. Mulder and I stopped off at a diner and he'd gone to order. Across the room in a booth were an elderly couple. The balding, old man smiled at his wife and reached across the table to pat her weathered hand affectionately. She laid her hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Another adoring smile and the elderly gentleman scooted across the vinyl seat, stood and extended his hand. His wife shook her silver-gray head and stubbornly tried to stand alone. Her legs wobbled a bit and then gave way. Undaunted, she gave it another try. Same result. Again she smiled up, this time sheepishly. Then took the hand that was still there-had always, would always be there-and came to her feet. I was staring, but I couldn't drag my eyes away from the tableau. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Until that very moment, I'd never realized that what they had was all I've ever wanted in my life. Someone to love and to love me in return, someone to share days and nights, dreams and disappointments. Forever. Glancing away from the couple I was unnerved to find Mulder's gaze on me. I feel like a hungry child, her face pressed up against the window of a candy store, looking in, always looking in. Seeing all the things I need, I want, but can never, ever ask for. There they are, tantalizing, teasing, just out of reach. I am sick of pretending it doesn't matter, sick of pretending that this loneliness I live with every day of my life is something I have chosen willingly for myself. Is it so very selfish to want a life, to need another human being? I end each day trying to persuade myself of the validity of it all. How long must I live, trying to believe that my life is fine, that I'm fine, that everything is wonderful? I saw a young woman on my way home tonight. She wasn't anyone out of the ordinary. I watched her as she paused for a moment to rub her hand over her pregnant abdomen. I caught her eye at that moment and she smiled at me, happiness and serenity in her face and I felt the ache in my chest, such pain, such emptiness. But I don't want this in my life. I have my work, I have my quest, I have Mulder. I am an independent woman; there is no place for belonging in my life.... Bullshit! Who am I trying to kid here? I have nothing and no one. It is Mulder's work, Mulder's quest. I certainly have no claims on Mulder. Who am I to him? *What* am I to him? Would that he.... Belonging...belonging to him is the one thing I crave for. Each tiny fix of his attention...it is everything to me. Like an addict I can't function, can't get through a day, without him. I thought...I believed...was it all an illusion? Had I just seen what I wanted to see, believed what I so needed to believe? What do I need to be to him? Why him? What is it that ties me to him? What's happened to our relationship? We've been friends forever...there was a time...I assumed we were so close. What happened? Where did I go wrong? What has caused this rift between us? When did it all go to hell? Or was it all an illusion? Something dreamt up by a fevered mind in the lonely hours of sleepless nights? I've tried to talk to him but our office is more of a battleground than the refuge it once was. We don't need *them* to inflict pain on us, to try to separate us; we're doing a grand job of it all on our own. He won't talk, won't see that there's a problem. Is it me? Am I just seeing things that aren't there? The only time there is a verbal exchange between us is when we're snipping at each other. I feel so tired, so disillusioned. At least before I had his vision, his enthusiasm. Now the connection between us seems severed and I feel so lonely, so dreadfully alone. In a crowed room, I am alone. I tag along behind him, doing as I'm told. I don't feel important to him anymore. I'm no longer part.... Okay, so maybe I *did* make a big deal out of not having a desk. The desk wasn't the important factor here. It wasn't even the fact that I was taken for granted; it was his attitude that saddened me. He had to take a week's vacation. Although he denied it, he didn't seem too upset over the idea. The way he told me to take on an assignment finally pushed the situation and the remnants of any relationship we might have had over the edge. "Refusing an assignment? It makes it sound like you're my superior Mulder." Okay, so he's always been the senior agent, that wasn't ever a point in question, but he's never ever treated me as his assistant, he's never acted as my boss; we've always worked as equals, as a team. "Do what you want. Don't go to Philadelphia, but let me remind you that I worked my ass off to get the files reopened. You were just assigned. This work is my life...." That he should pull rank on me, that he should accuse me of not caring about the work, that was hurtful enough, but his saying all this was merely a job for me crucified me. The injustice of it all but took my breath away. "And it's become mine." "You don't want it to be?" I'd always thought I had a life, a life that was inextricably linked to his, not much of a life granted. It was obvious he didn't see it like that at all. "This isn't about you. Or maybe it is, indirectly. I don't know. I feel like I've lost sight of myself, Mulder. It's hard to see, let alone find in the darkness of covert locations. I mean, I wish I could say that we were going in circles, but we're not. We're going in an endless line - two steps forwards and three steps back. While my own life is...standing still." He broke me with the unfairness of his words, the injustice of what he said, lanced through me, but my unhappiness seemed only to provoke him to anger. "Well, maybe it's good that we get away from each other for a while." He turned to leave "Where will you be?" "Ironically enough, it's personal. It's a... place I always wanted to go. What I anticipate to be a spiritual journey. I hope to...discover something about myself. Maybe you should do the same." I stared at him my eyes widening in disbelief. Was he saying that he didn't want me to work with him anymore? We said a lot of things; cruel, hurtful things, before he left, and I, once I calmed down, went to do his bidding. In Philadelphia, I did the surveillance he'd wanted me to do. I was just ripe for the events of the next few days. Would I, in my normal state of mind, ever have exposed myself to the sort of dangers that I did? What drew me to the tattoo parlor? What drew me inside? There was one design in particular that caught my attention. Was I really contemplating the idea of getting a tattoo? I felt as if I was becoming schizophrenic...one part of me logical and increasingly weak, and the other, reckless, 'devil may care'. There is still a feeling of something wicked, something forbidden about tattooing, something that 'nice' girls didn't do. There was something about the circular snake design, the ouroboros, that spoke to me. I felt it was almost symbolic of my life, singular, self-contained, isolated. And then I got talking to a guy in the parlor. The tattoo he had on his arm was nothing short of a work of art. I felt kind of drawn to him, sort of as if we were kindred spirits. Mulder wouldn't approve. Maybe that's what made me drop my usual inhibitions and all common sense and act the way I did. It was like when I was a teenager, sneaking out to smoke. Was it now, like then, the possibility of being found out that made it all so much more appealing? What would Mulder say? How would he react? Why should I care *what* he though? Why was his opinion of me so important? I found myself flirting with the man, found that I was enjoying the attention, enjoying feeling attractive. He didn't make me feel like the Ice Queen and for a moment I felt feminine, fragile. And when he gave me his phone number, I took it. That was the end of the matter as far as I was concerned, but Mulder's attitude when he phoned me changed my mind for me. He was checking up on me as if I were some rookie on her first assignment. I felt my eyebrow shoot skywards at what he had to say and, as usual, we ended up having 'words'. Why can't we exchange a few words without hurting each other? I just don't seem to be able to understand him any more. That link, that connection, where is it? The tone of his voice and his closing remark both hurt me and stung me into action. "What, have you got a date or something?" He sneered over the phone. I didn't dignify the question with an answer. I ended the call, only to pick the phone up a moment later, to dial Ed Jerse and take him up on his invitation. "Damn you, Mulder, I'll show you. I *do* have a life. There are men who find me attractive, who want to spend time with me, even if you don't." Why was I feeling so upset? Why were my eyes stinging? Why did I feel as if I'd let him down? At Ed's apartment, we were soon commiserating with each other. We were two sad people in every sense of the word. We understood each other all too well. We talked for ages, and then, needing to do something daring, I persuaded him to take me to a bar he'd told me about. It sounded very sleazy, but the mood I was in, it sounded all the more appealing. Was it the drink, or the fact that we both needed a sympathetic ear ? I found myself telling him all sorts of things that normally stay hidden deep within me, things I would tell no one, not even Mulder in a million years. The strange thing was it felt good to voice all the feelings and doubts I had. It was like going to confession, but this other human being could actually empathize; he knew what I was feeling; he understood my pain, my emptiness. All the same, in the back of my mind, I was wishing it were *Mulder* I was talking to, *Mulder* who understood. As the evening wore on I became more and more uninhibited. The idea of getting that tattoo done just seemed so right. This was going to be my way of regaining my independence; I didn't need Mulder in my life, didn't need anyone. It was a statement of intent, two fingers to the world, Mulder and ... well, just everything. The effects of the liquor were beginning to wear off part way through the tattooing. The experience of the needle on my naked flesh was both painful and exhilarating, forbidden fruit. I tried to cut Mulder out of this equation, yet he was there all the time, in the back of my mind. What would he say? Another voice whispered, "What do you care, he's had his chance, he doesn't want you, to hell with him!" The old responsible, reliable Scully was breaking out of the mold. I craved to be irresponsible, flighty, to court danger, to have fun, to have a life. I did a lot of stupid things, dangerous things in the next twenty-four hours. I'd made a fool of myself before, but this...this took all the prizes. I would never have picked a guy up, stayed the night with a stranger...but someone up there was looking out for me. Ed was the perfect gentleman; he never took advantage of me. That night I had his bed and he slept on the sofa, but, nevertheless, within a few short hours I came so close to paying for my behaviour with my life. How was I to know about what else was in the dye? About Jerse's psychopathic tendencies? The effect the chemical would have on him? I nearly lost my life that day, and all because of what? To cut to the chase, it took a week's stay in the hospital before I was fit to return to duty. It was my first time in the hospital that Mulder wasn't there, the first time he hadn't been there to cover my back. I hurt physically, but far worse was the sense of loneliness, of abandonment. To tell the truth, I didn't know where to call anyway and I wasn't strong enough to face the inevitable rejection. I was still bruised and sore, that first day back at work. I played my injuries down. I was too ashamed to admit to myself, let alone to Mulder, what a fool I'd been. "Welcome back. You look a lot better than they said you did in the hospital. And congratulations for making an personal appearance in the X-files for the second time." Mulder walked over to the cabinet to retrieve a file. He was waiting for an answer, but I had nothing to say. "Ed Jerse is in custody at the St. John's burn facility in Philadelphia. Traces of ergot were found in his bloodstream as in yours, but not to the degree that should cause hallucinogenic ergotism." I slowly sink down on to the chair. "He'll undergo psychiatric evaluation after recovering from burn trauma. Comrade Svo has been shut down, he was under investigation for having connections to my friend Pudovkin. Case closed on Boris Badenov, which is really a shame because I was thinking of having an 'N.Y.' tattooed on my ass to the Yankees' World Series victory. Better late than never, hunh?" Well, this was what I wanted wasn't it? This was what my brand stated; that I'm independent, that I need no one....that I'm a liar. I missed him, my life is so empty. Oh, Mulder, I didn't betray you, I could never do that to you. How can I ever find the words to tell you how I feel, what I need, when I can't even admit it to myself? I can't live with the man, but I can't exist without him. Why can't I open up to Mulder the way I had to Ed? Why won't I tell him? Tell him about the other side of me, the side that goes home at night depressed and lonely, the side that will mentally binge and purge, the side that feels so incomplete? What do I really want? Do I know? FBI BUILDING Basement office Mulder is subdued when I return back to our basement office. I feel so uncomfortable in his presence. He sits on the edge of his desk looking at me disbelievingly. When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is low and tight. "Why, Scully?" I don't look up at him, I don't speak. How do I explain to him, what do I say? We both know this past week was so out of character for me. I hadn't told him about the tattoo, but he found out anyway and he looked puzzled, disappointed. It's that disappointment I can't handle, I've let him down. He looks at me as though I've betrayed him. Well that was one thing we could agree on; I feel I betrayed him, too. Why? By his own admission, he has no claims on me and I've done nothing to be ashamed of. But ashamed I feel. I'm awkward as he looks at me. At last he has the grace to look away. "All this because I didn't get you a desk?" He stands by that damned desk, hands on hips, seemingly amused at my behaviour. I just stare at him. He still doesn't get it. He *still* doesn't understand. I don't need this from Mulder, I'm smarting enough as it is. He stands there, so judgmental of my action, waiting for me to explain myself, to elaborate, and I simply can't. I can't voice my need. I understand then, the tattoo, the brand that I inflicted on myself wasn't a badge of independence; it's a cry for help, a plea for understanding, a sign of mourning for a lost friendship. My eyes sting, but I'm not about to give him the satisfaction, I'm not going to show how hurt I feel. I shake my head slowly, trying to clear my thoughts. Defending my ego as best I can, I attack. "Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life." "Yes, but it's m...." I wonder what Mulder is going to say as the anger is replaced on his face by a sad, baffled look. I already regret what I've said to him. I will always regret what I did. I didn't mean to hurt him; I'd never willingly do that. Why can't I tell him what is in my head if not my heart? The enormity of the risks I'd taken in Philadelphia hit me, I could have lost everything because of a homicidal stranger I chose to trust. That I could choose to trust a psychopath with my thoughts and feelings rather than my partner.... The silence between us grows. *~*~*~* I look into her sad, confused face and feel shame. I can see each injury in her eye, the bewilderment, the misery I cause her. I feel sick to my stomach, I grip the table with my hands to stop them from trembling. All this is my fault; I've driven her to it. In Philadelphia, I nearly lost the most important thing in my life. Why do I treat her like this? Why do I hurt her so? The reason is really quite clear. I've had a whole week to work it out. I'm afraid. I'm afraid she will leave me. I'm afraid that I will lose her. Years of studying psychology, and I still can't work this one out! What is it that drives me to be such a schmuck around you, Scully? I could have lost you to that lunatic, and it terrifies me. You never talk to me, never tell me what I need to hear, what I'm so desperate and afraid to know. But aren't I just as guilty of the same? I'm afraid I've become too dependant on you. I can see you're dissatisfied, unhappy, and I'm afraid that it's because of me. I don't know what to say to you. I don't know what to do. I feel so vulnerable, so inadequate. So I say nothing, do nothing. What am I hoping for? That one day you'll wake up a mind reader? What do I want of this woman who is so important in my life? What does *she* want? Does she care at all for me? Is it finally over for us? Has this been the final straw that breaks the camel's back? I have seen her gazing longingly at couples, at families. Is this what she wants? Sometimes alone in the night, I dare admit my secret dreams involving Scully, but they are so unlikely. I can't go on like this. Not another lonely night, not another unhappy day. There has to be an end to this. Is that what drove me to go to her apartment at two-thirty in the morning? I stand outside her door, her key in my hand, the coward in me urging me to slink away into the darkness of the night before I do more damage. Is that why I'm treating her so badly, so she'll leave now, before it's too late for me? But it's too late for me, way too late; that time is already here. I can't exist without her. I take a deep rugged breath and follow my instincts. Silently I turn the key in her lock. Soundlessly I glide through the door into her apartment. It is all in darkness, the only illumination, the streetlights filtering through one or two chinks in the blinds. I move quietly forward, towards her bedroom... "Freeze Special Agent Dana Scully FBI! Down on the floor, get down on the floor!" I can't believe this is happening. What did I expect? "Scully, it's me. Mulder!" A light snaps on in the corner of the room. I turn to Scully, and I'm shocked at how pale she is. What an asshole! I berate myself. How many times has she been attacked in this very room. "You bastard Mulder, you bastard... how could you." She is shaking so much she drops the gun she was pointing at me. She launches herself at me, pummeling me with her small fists, tears trailing down her cheeks. At first I don't try to stop her, I deserve this, every blow, every word. Then as I see how distressed she's becoming, I pull her into my arms. She continues fighting me and I hold her all the tighter. "God, I'm sorry Scully, I'm *so* sorry." Eventually, she runs out of steam; she stops struggling and rests in my arms limply, still shaking from the adrenaline rush. "I could have killed you Mulder!" I hear the shock in her voice. Gradually as her trembling subsides, she allows me hold her. "Why, Mulder?" I know she's not asking about the here and now, I'm not so obtuse that I don't understand. "I don't know, Scully, I don't know how to do this. I was just so scared. How did we ever get ourselves into such a mess? I didn't know what to say or do to make things right. I don't want to go on like this. I can't go on like this" Her arms snaking around my waist, she doesn't shy away from me. Her head resting against my heart, I bury my nose in her fragrant hair. We hold on to each other almost in desperation; we touch. No words, we're better off without words. I can read her mind I realize; she needs exactly what I need, and she's just as afraid as I am, to admit it. "Could we start again Scully....please, could we start again." END Wouldn't mind some feedback. ewa@whatewa.com Author's Notes: Why do we always hurt those closest to us? We can expose our hopes, our dreams and thoughts to complete strangers, yet we keep them from those dearest to us. What is it about the human nature that makes us act this way? 'I have spread my dreams under you feet; tread softly for you tread on my dreams.'