From: skeeter@bcinet.net Date: Wed, 30 Jun 1999 16:52:35 -0400 Subject: xfc: NEW! "Forgiveness Revisited" by Robby Keofe Source: xfc TITLE: Forgiveness Revisited AUTHOR: Robby Keofe FEEDBACK: Please! RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: SR KEYWORDS: MSR, Mulder POV SPOILERS: Pre- "Arcadia;" a bunch o' general spoilers. DISCLAIMER: Not mine. DEDICATION: This one's for Lorri, who guilt-tripped me into it. (Don't you *ever* play the 'personal problems' card again, Lorri!! I'm powerless against it!!) On a more serious note, I hope it makes you smile. SUMMARY: The hours preceding "Arcadia," and a few lost minutes from their first night at the Falls. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* FORGIVENESS REVISITED by robby keofe I hear Scully and Skinner's muffled voices through the door as I click around the internet, watching for porn updates, and hoping my boss and partner decide against walking in here. I don't know how I could explain the workplace importance of porn to the Assistant Director of the FBI. God, won't these pictures load a little faster? I quickly look over my shoulder - they're still talking outside, the door shut. As an extra precaution, I have one hand on the mouse, with the pointer trained on the 'minimize' button. I click on one of the tasty- looking thumbnails, hoping Skinner and Scully can talk a little longer. As if on cue, the picture finishes loading at the same nanosecond I hear the door opening, and I'm caught completely off guard. I don't know whether to minimize the screen or block it with my back or lie and say this lurid material was on my computer when I got here. I'm so flustered I end up grabbing Scully's English-German German-English dictionary and do a really awful job of pretending I'm doing something other than getting off on nude pics of some chick named Ginger. Scully and Skinner stare at me, and I flip through the book, pretending I haven't seen them. Brilliant, Mulder. I finally risk a look up, feign a look of surprise, and then glance at my screen. "How did *that* get there?" I say loudly, hoping I sound shocked. I feel sick. Scully sighs dramatically and walks to the computer, where she calmly hits 'file' and 'exit.' So together and controlled, and here I am, acting like a total ass, trying to pretend I had *nothing* to do with those photos. I am *such* an asshole. Skinner clears his throat, nods at me, and says something along the lines of, "It was nice chatting with you, Agent Scully." He leaves, shooting me a "you fucking pervert," look while doing so. Scully sighs again, crossing her arms over her chest. I stare up at her sheepishly. "It was there when I came down here, I swear!" I yelp. I don't know why I bother denying it; she knows about my porn habit. "Mulder," she begins calmly. "Would there have been no better place to look at porn than in front of the assistant director?" I shrug. "Mulder," she sighs yet again, sounding every bit like my mother when I was five years old and tried to give the cat a bath. Like the cat story, this is a classic example of 'seemed like a good idea at the time.' The cat ended up trying to claw me to death, which is what Scully looks ready to do right now. "I'm sorry?" I suggest, not sure if she expects an apology or not. 'Scully, I'm sorry I'm such a pervert.' Yeah, I'm sure she'd love that. "For what?" she asks, looking surprised. I don't really blame her. I don't apologize as much as I should. I figure that if I begged for forgiveness for everything I ever did that deserved it, 99.9% of everything that came out of my mouth would include the phrase, 'I'm sorry, Scully.' I should've apologized for last week, though, after that episode at the Gunmen's. I didn't. I won't. I'm not going to bring it up ever, ever again. The woman is a goddess. If I were her, I would've kicked my sorry ass by now. I've put her through so much, if she wanted to smack me around a little, I'd let her. Instead, she simply asks if I've seen the receipt for the last car rental; apparently, she needs it to clear something up with Kersch. Of course I haven't seen it. What was she expecting? Judging by the look on her face when I tell her it's gone, she's not too surprised to hear that I've lost it, either. I assumed this would be a happy day, our first day back on the X-Files, after months of dealing with Kersch and his nightmare assignments. I thought we'd clean the office together, get settled in, maybe go out and have dinner tonight. I was hoping to talk to her, to laugh with her, to walk her home and maybe sneak in a peck on the cheek as she walks inside. Not gonna happen. No way in hell. She's staring at nothing now, arms crossed, face tense. "Uh, Scully?" I ask carefully. She glances up at me. "Yes?" "Our new case . . . it's near San Diego." "I know," she informs me flatly, sitting down in front of her computer. "You know?" "Yeah, Skinner was talking to me about it. The planned neighborhood. I know. We're going undercover." "As husband and wife," I add, and the look she shoots me reminds me that she hates me right now. "Yeah," she mutters. "We need names," I say. "Yeah," she repeats, typing away. "Any ideas?" I press. She sighs, and turns to me. "I really don't care, Mulder," she says with exasperation. "Would you just leave me alone? I really have to get this done." "I always interrupt you," I remind her snidely. I didn't mean to say that, I really didn't. "Yeah, and you always piss me off," she mumbles, but she's close enough to me that I can hear her. She's gonna pay for that one. I remember her telling me once that she'd absolutely hated 'The Dick Van Dyke Show' as a kid. ~*~ I wander back into the office after lunch, carrying two rings from Evidence. Scully is still at her computer, working diligently on her mystery project, munching on a salad as she works. She doesn't look up as I enter, she's engrossed in her work, but there's the tiniest blob of ranch dressing on the side of her mouth. I want to wipe it off for her, but she'd probably pull a gun on me if I put my hands anywhere near her. If I'd attempted to wipe her face clean of condiments two weeks ago, it would be a different situation, but with the current tension I know better than to try it. I settle onto one knee beside her, ignoring a series of pops that reminds me I'm pushing, oh God, 40. "Hey, Scully?" I say quietly. This is my shot at civility, right here, and I have a bad feeling it's going to fail miserably. In about five seconds, I'll realize that my intuition was right on the money. "What?" she half-growls in response, not looking up. Wordlessly, I reach for her hand and push one of the rings onto the fourth finger of her left hand. I see her glance down quickly, not wanting me to know that she's acknowledging me at all, but I caught the brief look. The dressing is still there, and on impulse I wipe it away with my finger. She jerks away, and for a moment I'm reminded of the time the neighbor's dog made the same sharp movement right before he bit me. Instinctively, I pull my hand back, and then take a moment to chastise myself for thinking Scully was going to chomp off a few of my fingers. "Stop it," she says, wiping her mouth herself to verify that no dressing remains. She takes the ring off her hand and places it on the table, not looking at me. For some inexplicable reason, I feel stabbed. ~*~ She hasn't gotten up from her computer since this morning. I'm beginning to think she's not really doing anything productive, she just wants an excuse to ignore me. Gee, ya think? I chide myself. "We're leaving tomorrow afternoon," I tell her. She looks at the clock; closing time. She begins to shut down her computer. "Fine." "We're taking off at 2:00." "Fine." I watch her for a moment. "What's with the monosyllabic answers?" "Mulder, we're leaving at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. I understand. I follow. The information has registered," she says, looking at me like one would look at a sick little dog that's so pathetically disgusting no one will take it home, the dog at the pound with matted patches of fur and one ear missing. "Okay," I say stupidly. For lack of anything better to do, I hand her one of the plane tickets, and she deposits it carefully in the pocket of her briefcase. "I'm not coming in tomorrow morning. I'm going shopping," she informs me. "Yeah, me too," I mumble. "Do you want to go together?" I ask, as though I didn't already know the answer. "No." Big shock. In the moment before she shot me down, I thought about what it would be like to shop with Scully. People would think we were married, I'm sure - who else would be shopping for clothes with a man other than his wife? Maybe I would've been able to talk her into wearing the wedding ring, for practice or whatever. I could've come up with something. I hate to admit how often I want us to be married, and I hate what a sick sense of happiness I'm getting out of the knowledge that Scully's going to have to pretend to be my wife for a few days, whether she likes it or not. "Do you want to get dinner or something?" I ask desperately, hoping for a chance to clean the slate before we leave for California. If nothing is said now, it won't be; we'll throw ourselves into the work and the Diana escapade will become a thing of the past, ignored but not forgotten. For the first time I want to fix things with Scully; I can't live with her so angry at me, and I don't want this to go unresolved. I want her to forgive me. I'm afraid to tell her how truly sorry I am, but I need her to know that I regret every word that flew out of my mouth at the Gunmen's. She was as shut down today as I've ever seen her, but if she could give me the slightest glimmer of a chance I could make things okay. I would try, anyway, and Scully is the only person that has ever made me want to try. "No, I have to get ready to leave," she says, with a look that informs me she'd rather drive a rusty railroad spike into her eye than have dinner with me. "Please?" I say quietly, watching as she pulls her trenchcoat on. She eyes me oddly, and it occurs to me that I rarely say 'please.' "Not tonight." "Do you want to have breakfast in the morning?" Why the hell can't I shut up? "I'd like to get some extra sleep so I could try to fend off jet lag," she lies. In six years I have never once seen evidence of jet lag. "How late do you plan to sleep?" I say coolly. "Mulder, would you knock it off?" "I'd like to know, Scully, because I've never seen you stay in bed later than 7:30," I sneer at her. "Just stop, okay? I'll meet you at the airport tomorrow," she announces, handing me her ring as she walks past me. "Hang onto this for me." She leaves, shutting the door behind her. I squeeze her ring in my fist, feeling the sharp edges of the cubic zirconia digging into my palm. I stare at the door, not knowing how to chase after her without making everything worse. I'm sorry, Scully. For everything. ~*~ Scully's not here. I'm standing at the airport terminal, waiting for her, ignoring the flight attendant who's been telling me for the past twenty minutes that I have to board *right now.* She's never been late for anything, and extraordinary fear washes over me as I try her cell number for the millionth time since I got here an hour ago. It's turned off, and I try to hush the voices in my head that endlessly provide grim explanations for why she hasn't arrived. The only solace I can find is that I'm certain I'm her emergency contact if anything happens; if she'd been in a car accident or something, the hospital would've called me. Of course, she could've been abducted, she could've fallen and hit her head in the tub, and now she lay drowning in her own bath, she could've been electrocuted as wet, post-shower fingers tried to plug in the hair dryer, she could've been bitten by a poisonous spider that escaped from the zoo . . . I'm ready to cry. Or throw up. Heather the Flight Attendant asks me again if anything's wrong, and I finally tell her that I've lost the other member of my party. "Maybe she's already boarded?" Heather the Flight Attendant suggests. I shake my head; Scully would never get on a plane without waiting for me. "Why don't you give me her name anyway, and I can check?" "Dana Scully," I say. "Though it's pointless. I'm telling you, she'd wait for me." Heather the Flight Attendant ignores this information as she sifts through her boarding passes. "Scully?" she says. "Yes!" I yelp. "She's already boarded," Heather the Flight Attendant informs me. There's a moment of relief, and then I decide that I'm going to kill Scully. The plane isn't crowded, and Coach is practically deserted. Scully is sitting in a seat by the window, her jacket and carry-on bag spread out on the seat next to her, like a sign saying, 'DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT SITTING HERE, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.' I *knew* I should've hung onto both our plane tickets. Then she would've been forced to wait outside for me. I practically leap down the aisle and over to her. "Where the hell were you??" I ask sharply, eyeing her things on the chair next to her. "Right here," she says flatly. "I've been waiting for you for an hour!" "Why didn't you just board?" she says slowly. "Forget it," I sigh, sliding into the seat across from her. "You can sit anywhere you want," she tells me after a moment. "The whole plane is practically empty." "I'm aware of that," I snap. She sighs. "I'm sorry." "Don't worry about it," I mutter. "I am sorry. It was immature of me to just get on." "Yeah, no kidding!" I explode. "I thought you'd been bitten by a spider!" Ugh, why did I say that aloud? "What?" she asks, sounding amused. "Yeah, laugh it up," I grumble. "Mulder, do share." I consider this for a moment. "If you'll let me sit next to you," I say, gesturing to her bag and coat. Grudgingly, she stands up, picking up her stuff. "Let me do that," I insist, trying to take her things from her. She doesn't release her grip on them. "I just wanted to get them into the overhead compartment, and I'm capable of doing it by myself," she says firmly. "Scully, can you even *reach* the overhead compartment?" I ask teasingly. Too soon for jokes; she glares at me, and struggles to get her stuff away by herself. I try not to look too entertained. "Stop it," she says, her voice huffy. "What, you think that just because you're a man you're better able to put things into the overhead compartment?" Oh, please, not the 'big macho man' speech again. She looks like she's ready to go off on her tirade when the 'fasten seatbelt' sign comes on, and a voice over the intercom tells us to hurry up and park our asses. The captain didn't put it exactly like that, but you get the idea. Silently she sits and tightens her seatbelt, nervously drumming her fingers on the armrests. She always insists on leaving the armrests down for the entire flight, and she holds onto them. I understand that she's afraid to fly, and I don't tease her about it that often. But I can't figure out why she seems to believe that, in the event of a crash, hanging onto those armrests is gonna save her. She's quiet during the ascent, as she always is, her eyes are clamped shut, as though trying to will the plane to stay in the air. It's really sweet, and I watch her affectionately, rather than listening to my new friend Heather lecture us on the importance of safety belts - seatbelts in airplanes, another useless contraption. I haven't figured out what good a seatbelt's going to do if the plane explodes. Scully tugs on hers again, verifying that it's as tight as it possibly can be. "Don't worry," I whisper. "You're much safer in a plane than you are in a car." I always remind her of those statistics when we take off, but it never works. It's amazing to me how stubborn she can be. Everyone thinks I'm the difficult one in the partnership, but I'm a lot more easygoing than she is. "I'm safer in a plane than I am in a car with *you*, that's for sure," she shoots back. "Don't insult my driving. At least my feet can reach the pedals." Ouch, Mulder, low blow. "Shut *up,*" she growls. As the plane levels off, Scully relaxes her grip on the armrests slightly, and we sit in silence for a while. After about ten minutes, I turn to her. "Hey, Scully?" "Yes, Mulder?" Her one of the voice is flat, dry - I wonder what I'd do with some enthusiasm. It would shock the living hell out of me, that's for sure. "Guess what happened to me last night," I announce. This is actually a really cool story, right here. "What, Mulder?" "Last night, I was eating Chinese with a plastic fork, and when I stopped eating, I noticed that one of the little fork thingys -" "The tines, Mulder?" she corrects me. "Yeah, tines. Anyway, one of them was gone." "And?" she asks after a moment. "I guess I ate it," I conclude. Silence. The story didn't go over as well as I thought it would. "You ate the tine of a plastic fork?" "Yup." I shrug. "Anyway, just wanted to tell you that." She nods slowly. "You can go to sleep now," I inform her. Scully likes to sleep when we're on trips. Any time of the day or night, it doesn't matter, she sleeps. I think it's because, in this case, she doesn't have to focus on the fact that she's in what she considers an untrustworthy means of transportation. She sleeps in the car so she won't have to cope with my horrible driving. Not horrible. Aggressive, maybe. But I'm a safe driver. Most of the time. "Thank you," she says sarcastically, pulling the scratchy blanket over her body. I watch her for a few minutes, then I pry her fingers off the armrest and take her hand in mine. She hasn't moved at all. "Scully?" I whisper. Nothing. Without any real awareness of it, I begin stroking her hand with my thumb. "Scuh-leeee," I sing softly, rolling the sounds around in my mouth. "Scuh-leeee," I repeat, and a flight attendant with a drink cart looks at me like I'm a nutcase as he walks past. "Scully, I know you're *really* mad at me right now," I say, my voice barely audible. "But don't be. Because I'm sorry. See, Scully, I'm sending subliminal messages: DON'T BE MAD AT MULDER. MULDER LOVES YOU. DON'T BE MAD AT MULDER." I drop my voice an octave with my "subliminal messages." I sound kind of like Darth Vader, I realize happily. Now *two* flight attendants are pointing at me and snickering. Great. Scully murmurs something about Cherry Coke in her sleep, then pulls her hand out of my grasp and tucks it under her chin. O-kay. I glance over at Scully, with her little head pressed against the window, her hair falling in front of her face, her mouth open slightly. The blanket has settled around her stomach, and her hands are clasped together near her neck. She looks cold. Very, very carefully, I lift up the armrest. I slide one arm around her, and slowly, gently, pull her onto my shoulder, which I assume is slightly more comfortable than the window. I pull her blanket over her again, and I leave my arm around her. She nuzzles her face into my arm, and I want to cry from sheer happiness. I don't know how I could ever doubt her. I would do anything to change what happened last week, and it's frustrating to know that I managed to warp back to 1939 but I can't go back a few days. "I'm sorry," I whisper, turning to kiss the top of her head. The idiot with the drink cart chooses that second, my perfect moment in time, to smash into my arm as he walks by me. I jump, jerking a confused-looking Scully awake. "I'm sorry, Scully," I say softly, stroking her hair. "Go back to sleep." Instead she glares at me, sitting upright. "That's alright, I'll stay up," she mumbles, moving over and pulling the armrest down. "We still have about four hours in the air, Scully." "I'll be fine." "What do you want to do?" I ask her. "Excuse me?" "We have four hours, Scully, and you just want to sit here?" "What else is there to do?" "We could talk, Scully," I suggest. "We never talk anymore." "That could be because you're always running off with ex-girlfriends," she says snidely. I deserved that. I really did. I'm going to ignore it, though. "We could play Truth or Dare." "Yeah, and then we can play Spin the Bottle," she says drily. Perhaps my suggestion was a bit juvenile, but she's not going to ignore me the entire ride out there. "Okay." I raise my eyebrows suggestively. She looks ready to punch me. I quickly neutralize my expression. "You start," I direct her. "No," she says flatly. I thought things were looking up, but those few minutes of sleep has made Scully *mean.* I sigh. "Fine, then, I'll start. Truth or dare," I say. "Dare." "Scully, you can't say dare!" "Why the hell not?" "Because I want you to talk to me!" I screech. "Why, Mulder? You want some confirmation that I don't hate you? Fine, I don't. Happy?" "No," I growl. "What do you want me to say? That you didn't hurt me? You did. That I wasn't angry? I was. You don't trust me? Fine. Whatever. I don't care." "You should care." "And why's that?" "Because I do trust you. You're the only person I trust," I say carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. "You tell me that every time you've done something asinine. You're trying to B.S. your way to forgiveness. I'm mad because you ditch me, and you tell me you only left me to protect me. I'm leaving for the other side of the country, and all of a sudden I make you a whole person. You take off on me for the middle of the ocean somewhere, not telling me where you're going, you nearly die, and then you love me. You run off with your ex-girlfriend, then humiliate me in front of three other people, and now I'm the only one you trust. I've heard it before. I'm used to it," she says flatly. She's so composed, so together, and it hurts. "I'm sorry," I say again. "How can you not know what you mean to me?" I whisper, looking at the floor. "Scully, I never meant to hurt you." When I gather the courage to look up again, her eyes are wide and bright, less angry than before. "And I've always told you the truth. I do want to keep you safe. You are the only one I trust. You do make me a whole person. And I do love you, Scully." The last part is barely a whisper. She inhales deeply, then leans back, shaking her head. "Mulder, I don't even know how to respond to that." "I'm not asking you to join the Mile High Club, Scully, I'm asking you to believe in me," I say desperately. "I do," she says carefully, nodding slowly. "I want you to trust me." "I do." "You're it for me, Scully. There's no one else. You're my best friend." I take her hand, and to my surprise she doesn't pull away. ~*~ It's very late at night, our first in this house, and I can't fall asleep. It's too quiet. I miss the sirens and gunshots of Alexandria. I'm used to those noises; it's alike a nice staccato symphony after 11 p.m. I hear Scully coming down the stairs, and I roll over to see her standing at the doorway, so much shorter without her mega-pumps. "You okay?" I ask, my voice low and scratchy. "Yeah, just can't sleep," she answers. "Me, either," I tell her, sitting up. "I was going to make some tea or something. Want a cup?" "Nah," I say, and she walks into the kitchen. I follow her, flipping on the bright florescent light. "Ah! Mulder, did you have to do that?" she grumbles, rubbing her eyes and blinking in the harsh light. "I'm sorry!! I figured you needed it to see." "I can find the faucet and the stove okay in the dark. I wouldn't look for an earring back in light like this, but I can locate the sink," she says, sounding annoyed. I turn the light off to shut her up. "Thanks," she adds. "S'okay," I tell her, sitting down at the kitchen table, where we ate pizza a few hours before. It was the first time I'd eaten at a kitchen table in years. Even at Scully's we always ate at the coffee table. "I probably shouldn't have eaten three pieces of pizza with everything before trying to get to bed," she tells me, eyeing the empty pizza box standing up near the trash can. "Your stomach okay?" I ask, concerned. "Oh, I'm fine. Just can't sleep." She takes the kettle from the stove and pours some steaming water into a mug. She silently dunks a tea bag for a moment, then looks up at me, her blue cat's eyes unfocused and warm. "This hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be," she says with a slight smile. "The case?" "What else?" She adds some milk to the tea, and I watch her, in the event that I ever get a chance to make her tea. "I don't know, *Laura,* you didn't seem particularly thrilled earlier." "I had to adjust. I wasn't used to you pawing me all of a sudden," she says defensively. "Pawing you? All I did was put my arm around you, and you looked disgusted! And the minute we were out of everyone's line of vision you shoved me away like I had the plague." "Mulder, you know it's been a difficult few weeks, and this isn't helping." "I think it is helping." "In what way?" "We're in a kitchen together in the middle of the night, talking - how often does that happen?" She's grown quiet. "You have a point," she says softly. "I'm not sure it's much of a case, but I'm glad we're here," I admit, walking closer to her. "Look, I know you're mad," I continue, bring my hand up to touch her new, short hair. "But I just want you to know I'm sorry. I don't know what I could say to make you believe that. And maybe it's okay that I can't come up with anything to convince you - maybe I should just leave you alone and let you figure it out by yourself. But I don't want to leave you alone, Scully. I can't. I want to be around you all the time, and I was so excited about this case because it gave me a chance to do that. And I hate that you're so miserable." I think this is the most honest I've ever been in my whole life. "I'm not miserable," she tells me, her voice quiet as she stares down at her tea. "And Mulder, what the hell did you expect? You weren't putting your arm around *me,* Mulder. Rob was hugging Laura Petrie." Oh, Scully, no. Mulder was hugging Scully. I don't tell her this, of course. I just stare at her, hoping she, who knows me better than anyone, can see the truth, can see everything I hide from her. I wish she knew much I care. I wish she knew how pretty I think she is. I wish she knew that her laughter is my favorite sound in all the world. I wish she knew that she can heal me with her smile. I wish she knew that she saves me, keeps me from the cold, reminds me that my life is worth living. I wish she knew I loved her. I love her. In the darkness, she smiles. ~*THE END*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Hang in there, Lorri, and let me know whenever you need a story to cheer you up. :-) To the rest of you . . . feedback me already!!