********************************************************************* This author's e-mail address has changed to: xanaduxf@yahoo.com ********************************************************************* From: eloconnor@hotmail.com Date: Mon, 16 Feb 1998 18:16:16 GMT Subject: Jericho.Oconner.atxc TITLE: Jericho AUTHOR: Erin O'Connor E-MAIL: eloconnor@hotmail.com DATE: 15 February 1998 DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere; retain this header RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: SAH CONTENT WARNING: None SPOILERS: Emily KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully friendship/UST SUMMARY: Mulder reacts when he feels Scully has shut him out. COMMENTS/DEDICATION: This is my first attempt at fanfic. I've read tons of it, and finally succumbed to the pressure from my sister and her best friend who have been trying to get me to write one for some time now. So, I guess this is dedicated to Shannon and Kris, my inspirations. Please, I beg you for feedback, but please, go easy on me. This IS my first attempt. DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Emily belong to Chris Carter, Fox and 1013 productions. I wish I had thought of them first, but I didn't. Oh well, that's life. And that means I can't make any money off of this. ********** Jericho By Erin O'Connor Fox Mulder looked up from his paper and glanced across the room where his auburn-haired partner Dana Scully sat busily typing away at her latest field report. He suddenly had to fight back tears as his photographic memory began rerunning the past few cases in his head. They had been excruciatingly difficult for him as he had watched his best friend slip farther away from him -- into a dark existence he no longer felt a part of. he thought, His thoughts took him back to December when Scully had endured a severe psychological trauma. She had ridden an emotional roller coaster through shock, exhilaration, terror and, sadness at the discovery and subsequent loss of her daughter, Emily. Emily -- the terribly misguided mistake someone had made, and at the same time, the answer to Scully's maternal cry for children. But Emily was cruelly snatched from Scully as quickly as she had been given. The trained psychologist in Mulder was aware of the potential reactions she might suffer -- withdrawal being one -- but he also knew she *needed* to talk. Victims of this type of experience tend to become distant as they sort through their feelings, but Scully usually included Mulder in this process. She'd been through the loss of her father and her sister, both of which seemed to bring the agents closer together not tear them apart. He did not understand, nor was he prepared for, her self-created alienation. When he looked at her, he could almost visualize the walls that had formed around her, that had formed between them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen that wonderful child-like grin flash across her face. What hurt even more was that his attempts to get her to talk about Emily only seemed to push Scully further away. He couldn't stand to watch her suffer and not be able to do anything about it. Suddenly, he was angry. He could no longer bear the silence that had made its home in the office so often recently. "Scully!" he said, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. He was more upset than he realized. "Huh?" she managed to get out as she looked up from her abruptly interrupted work. "Scully, I can't take this anymore!" "Take what?" she responded, seemingly generally confused. "This!" he repeated, more emphatically, waving his arms around, as if the office itself was to blame. "This silence; this tension; this ... wall between us." There, he'd said it. The confusion, frustration, and pain that had been growing in him for months released itself in the form of anger. "Mulder, what are you talking about? Tension? Wall? There's nothing different between us." "Then, dammit, talk to me!" He surprised himself at how angry he was. "You've said virtually nothing to me that didn't link to the cases since Emily died." Immediately he was sorry as he watched the pain form on the brow of Scully's face. Why mention Emily? He hadn't intended to; at least not in that way. Unable to witness, again, the anguish on Scully's face -- the pain he felt as though he caused so often -- he grabbed his coat and fled the room before she could say anything. Scully sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity before her ears stopped ringing from the shouts of her partner and the slamming of the door behind him. "What just happened here?" she inquired aloud, to no one in particular. She had rarely seen Mulder so upset and she swore she saw the glistening of tears in his eyes as he went past. She hated to think of him off by himself in that condition, and she wanted to go after him. However, something inside of her refused to let the rest of her move towards the door. What would she say to him? She had no clue what he was talking about, but she knew she somehow must be the source of the pain she distinctly heard in his voice. It was the same pain Mulder exhibited when hurt by someone he cared for. Scully also knew it was best to let Mulder cool off after an episode like this. She made a mental note to call him later. ***** Mulder jumped into his car and headed ... he didn't know where he was going, but he knew he had to get away from *her*. He could barely navigate as his eyes filled with tears which quickly made their way down his cheek, landing in his lap. He hated himself. He'd blown up at her, making the situation worse and causing her more pain. The abduction, the ova harvesting, and the resulting fate of little Emily were all ultimately his fault. Emily. Again, his thoughts were at the hospital where he and Scully stood watching the child die. Mulder left the room, out of respect for Scully's wishes. How could he ever tell her how it broke his heart to leave? How he was hurting for Scully, yes, but also for that precious child whom he loved as much as he had any other human being. He felt as though a part of himself died with Emily. He needed Scully's support for his healing, as much as he knew she needed him for hers. This had made the past few months even more difficult, as she wasn't there for him and wouldn't let him be there for her. Mulder found himself in front of a liquor store. He didn't drink and didn't think he had any at home, but he wanted -- he needed to forget this evening as soon as possible. Figuring it would be fast and efficient, he chose straight whiskey -- no mixers -- and started home. In the car, he looked down at his cell phone. Could he deal with that? He answered his own question as his thumb reached out and touched the power button. ***** Scully was getting worried. She had arrived home several hours before and was already changed into her pajamas for bed, but her repeated attempts to call Mulder over the past few hours had gotten her nowhere. The recorded message on his cell phone indicated he was out of range, or that it was turned off. Her calls to his apartment got her nothing but his answering machine. she thought. At that point, Scully knew something more serious than his usual mood swings was going on. She became filled with panic, as she always did when she thought Mulder was in trouble. She didn't even take the time to change out of her pajamas, just throwing on her trench coat before rushing out the door. ***** Once home, Mulder wasted no time; he popped Elvis in the stereo and turned up the volume. The King always managed to lift his spirits. With the strains of "Heart Break Hotel" filling his apartment, he went to work on the whiskey. Mulder's body shook slightly in reaction to the rarely consumed substance. He strolled into his bedroom, making a beeline for the nightstand, where he kept *it*. She didn't even know he had it. He often brought it out to comfort himself after a bad day or one of his countless nightmares. He smiled as he stared into those penetrating blue eyes. He had taken the picture outside their motel rooms as they were preparing to hike into the Florida forest to hunt for an unidentified creature, or creatures. He'd had a couple of pictures left on his roll of film, and he talked her into posing so he could "waste" the film and start a new roll. Again, his mind took him into the past, to that night alone in the woods. He laughed when he recalled Scully's version of the famous Three Dog Night song. he told himself. He also remembered the other events of that night. He had never felt so close to Scully. He had been injured by one of the creatures and Scully was trying to keep him warm. He'd never forget how he felt when she began to pull him over into her lap. "I don't want to wrestle," he had joked. In reality, he had felt totally safe and secure in her arms. Scully's embrace had always had that effect on him. The smile faded from Mulder's face and he realized he was crying again. How long had it been since he had received that warm, caring touch from her? Even after Linda Bowman, all she could muster was a light touch on his arm. Wiping his eyes, Mulder staggered back into his living room. He had already downed about a fourth of the bottle was beginning to get a buzz. He'd never had much of a tolerance for alcohol. he thought. He took another swig and turned the music up even louder. ********* Scully's mind was racing as she made the drive to Virginia. She never gave herself a chance to answer these questions, and soon she was at Mulder's building. She ran in and headed up to Number 42. She could hear faint music as she made her way upstairs: *Elvis*?!? No need to guess as to whose apartment the tune was coming from. She'd never forget the time he phoned her in order to share his "spiritual pilgrimage" to Graceland with her. When she arrived at Mulder's door, the music was so loud that she couldn't hear herself knock. Knowing further attempts would be futile, she fished out her key marked "MULDER" and let herself in. She opened the door slowly, not sure what she would find on the other side. What she saw made her jaw drop to the floor. Mulder was in the middle of the room dancing. He was holding a nearly empty bottle and what looked to be a picture frame. She headed to the stereo and hit "stop," but it didn't phase Mulder. He continued singing. Staring straight into the photo, he butchered the next line of the song "... I ... can't ... help ... fal-ling in love ... with ... you." Scully approached him just as he tripped and knocked a lamp off the table before falling against her. Slightly dazed, Mulder looked down at her and spoke. "Scully, when did you get here?" He half-grinned. "Great party, huh?" That was all he managed to say before collapsing onto the couch. She stared at him for a full minute trying to decide what to do. He was dead weight, but Scully managed to move him into a semi-comfortable looking position. She picked the bottle of the floor, where Mulder had dropped it, and read the label. she wondered. He was still clutching the picture frame tightly. She pried it out of his grasp. Her heart jumped when she flipped it over and saw her own image staring back at her. She immediately associated it with the song Mulder was singing. Her scientific mind quickly made an attempt to rationalize the situation. Still, what was he doing with a picture of her? She thought it better not to think about that question. She grabbed a blanket and covered the sleeping man. She was about to sneak out, then decided to stay, afraid Mulder would wake up and try to travel in this condition. She sat down on the coffee table and watched Mulder sleep. She allowed her mind to replay that day's events. She'd never seen Mulder so upset. Normally, he never drank at all, much less get himself wasted. In a desperate attempt to explain his odd behavior, her brain sorted through the past few months. As she did, she realized that she couldn't recall the last time she had felt this close to Mulder. Changing her perspective, she tried to look at things from Mulder's point of view. Maybe she had pushed herself away from him ... away from everyone. She hadn't intended to and didn't even realize she was doing so, but the events surrounding Emily were so shocking and devastating that she hadn't been able to deal with them. She hadn't even been able to talk to Mulder. Mulder, the man she trusted more than any human being. The man that had saved her life so many times. Why was it so hard for her to talk to him about this? She was almost startled to discover that she had tears running down her cheeks. She slowly came to another realization. Scully sank to the floor and rested her head on the stomach of the only person strong enough to penetrate her wall and bring her back to life. "Mulder, I'm so sorry," she whispered gently. She sat up and gingerly touched Mulder's face with her fingertips, then her lips. "I never wanted to hurt you." She again rested her head on his rhythmically rising and lowering stomach and softly cried until she felt no more tears. Then she drifted off to sleep. ********** Mulder awoke with a start, sitting straight up, not sure of where he was. It took himself a minute for him to realize he was at home. Only then did he notice the throbbing headache and the miserable nausea. He fell back onto the sofa and chuckled as he recalled part of what he'd done the previous night. He wasn't sure how he had gotten to bed, or anything past getting out Scully's picture, for that matter. He started to get up but saw Scully's sleeping form just in time. She had stretched out on the floor after waking up during the night with a stiff neck. He didn't want to wake her, but the questions floating around in his head demanded answers. "Scully," he whispered, bending to gently touch the side of her face. She roused slowly, forcing herself into an upright position. Her body was not going to quickly forgive a night on the hard floor. "Scully, are you seeing a new hairsylist?" Mulder said, sending her hands flying to her head in an attempt to smooth the orange mop. Then she laughed as she caught sight of Mulder's own do. "Not so bad yourself," she said, and he responded by throwiing a cushion at her. Scully climbed up onto the couch next to him, her stiff body basking in its relative softness. Mulder wasted no time, but got right to the point, as he usually did. "Scully, can you fill me in on what happened here last night?" Scully had to suppress a laugh as the image of Mulder dancing around the room flashed across her memory. She reported everything she'd witnessed, choosing to leave out the part of him singing to her picture. she thought. However, she was curious about the picture itself, which was still sitting on the coffee table, and figured it was a generally safe topic. "Mulder, why ... can you ... I need to know ..." "About the picture." He had read her mind, as usual. "Scully, there's no easy way to explain, so I'll do it bluntly. I tricked you into posing for this photo so I could sort of have you with me any time. I ... I ... I use it to comfort myself. I never feel safer or more at ease than when I'm with you. And, well, I can't always have you around, especially recently..." The last few words trailed off and Mulder kicked himself as he saw that they caused Scully's eyes to fill with tears. He was so tired of doing that to her. "Scully, I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..." "Mulder, it's okay," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "While you were sleeping, I realized what I've been doing for months and I'm the one who should have to apologize. I'm sorry. I don't know why it's been so hard to talk to you. I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe me. Will you forgive me?" Her tears were flowing freely now, and he answered her by reaching over and pulling her towards him. She laid her head against his chest as he began stroking her hair. She let out a deep sigh as all of the tension left her body. Mulder's embrace had always had that affect on her. They stayed that way for a long time, as the invisible walls came tumbling down around them. Mulder finally broke the silence. "Scully, I need to know one more thing --" "Hmmmm?" "Why are you in your pajamas?" **********END**********