From: bedina2@my-deja.com
Date: Fri, 11 Jun 1999 21:55:19 GMT
Subject: Rationalize by Bennett and Risley

Rationalize
By B. Bennett and Elaine Risley
Rated PG
Spoilers: Milagro
Summary: Our version of what happened after the episode.
Disclaimer: Not ours; they're too distracting as is.
Feedback: We would appreciate it - please send to bedina@juno.com and
postjade@yahoo.com. If you're interested, our other stories can be
found at home.earthlink.net/~bedina.

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

Scully pulled the faded, ripped Oxford sweatshirt over her head. The
sleeves dangled almost to her knees, but she had expected as much:
Mulder's arms were obviously longer than hers. Even though there was no
blood on her dress trousers, the people from the crime unit had asked
for them as well, so she pulled on Mulder's knit sweat shorts. The
elastic was worn out, so she tightened the drawstring as much as she
could and hoped they would stay up until she could change. She turned
to the doctor.

"Is that all?" They had spent almost two hours taking a description of
her attacker, scraping under her nails, and theorizing about how she
lost all that blood when she had no wound. She was tired, and she
wanted to go home.

The doctor told her she could leave. She thanked him, then made her way
from the exam room to the waiting area of the ER. She found Mulder
there, pacing.

"Hey," he said, the calm of his voice belying the concern she saw in
his eyes, "everything okay?"

Scully nodded wearily. "Yeah, fine." She tugged at the hem of her
sweatshirt-dress. "Thanks for bringing this."

Mulder smiled briefly. "Sorry if it smells. It's been in the trunk of
my car for a couple of weeks. I should have thought to grab something
for you when I left my apartment."

Scully shook her head. It did smell like Mulder, but she didn't mind.
Besides, he hadn't been the only one not thinking clearly today. "It's
better than the alternative. So what happened?"

"After the paramedics left with you, I went back to the basement.
Padgett's dead." Mulder eyes were intent, watching for a reaction. "It
appears he ripped his own heart out, but besides a lot of blood, there
was no evidence of a wound. We won't know more until the autopsy."

Scully nodded, her expression blank. "Can you take me home?" she asked.

Mulder momentarily looked surprised, then his face blanked into
something unreadable. "Sure," he replied evenly.

Neither of them talked on the way to Scully's Georgetown apartment,
although Scully knew Mulder was waging an internal battle between
allowing her silence and deluging her with questions. Quiet won. When
they reached her building, Mulder found an on street parking spot. He
walked around the car and opened her door for her, then walked her up
the stairs and opened the front door with his key. Without comment, he
held it open, then followed her through and closed it behind him.

"Hot tea?" he asked, starting toward the kitchen.

"I don't think so," Scully said. She went to her living room bookcase
and pulled a bottle of bourbon from behind a stack of National
Geographics. The bottle had never been opened. Scully broke the wax
seal without hesitation.

Mulder followed her into the kitchen. When she turned around after
pulling a glass from the cabinet, he was looked at her as if she had
three heads.

"Do you want a drink?" she asked.

Mulder eyed her. "Are you sure you should be drinking?"

She shrugged. "One glass won't hurt me. Do you want some?"

Mulder hesitated briefly before nodding. "Okay."

Scully got another glass and poured two fingers for each of them.

Mulder picked up the bottle. "Maker's Mark. This is good stuff."

Scully downed the contents of her glass. It burned smoothly as it slid
down her throat.  "I don't drink often, so I don't drink cheap." She
poured herself another and picked up the glass. "I'm going to go
change. Be right back."

She shut her bedroom door behind her, relieved to finally have some
privacy. Sitting down on the side of her bed to take off the hospital
footies she was wearing, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Sitting there in Mulder's rumpled clothes with a glass of bourbon in
her hand, she looked as if she had just gotten back from some kind of
wild party, not like she had almost been killed.

The light on the answering machine beside her bed was flickering; she
punched the 'play' button.

"Dana? Honey, it's Mom. I guess you're not home, either." There was a
pause. "I tried your cel phone, but you didn't answer. I just wanted to
tell you I'd be out for the evening. Edith and Renee and I are driving
up to New York to visit with Helen. Edith wants to see some play about
dancing. She has a church function early Sunday, so we should be back
tomorrow night. I'll have my phone with me if you need to reach me.
Have a good weekend, sweetheart; I love you."

Scully fell back against the bed. "Damn," she muttered. She had been
planning to call her mother and ask if she would stay with her tonight.
She didn't want to spend the evening alone, but having Mulder hovering
around sounded even worse after the emotional breakdown she'd had in
front of him. The events of the last twenty-four hours had her head
spinning and she knew her mother would just sit quietly and let her
think. Her mother understood how to be company without being trouble.

She sat up to reach for the bourbon, and had a flash of Padgett and his
bedroom. Tilting her head, she drained the glass, but it didn't help
shake the memory. With a sudden burst of energy, she stood and yanked
off the baggy shorts, followed by the sweatshirt. Clad in only her
panties, she went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her
face. Water dripping from her chin, she looked up into the mirror. Her
cheeks were flushed, and she knew it wasn't because of the alcohol, or
even the near death experience. It was the embarrassment of admitting
to herself that if things had turned out differently, she probably
would have ended up in Padgett's bed.

She sighed and shut off the water. The really disturbing thing was that
the author had been absolutely right when he said Agent Scully was
already in love, but not that it really mattered. In her experience,
love and sex didn't work together. She'd tried that once with Jack
Willis and it had been a fiasco. While they were involved, she'd
constantly felt like she was missing out on a secret, like there was a
vital clue to relationships that would keep her from screwing up all
the time. Then after eight months, when their relationship ended, she
not only lost a friend, she had to endure the pain of learning to be
alone again. It just wasn't worth it. Scully was a practical girl; she
recognized when she was not good at something, and she was definitely
not good at relationships.

Stripping out of her underwear, she climbed into the tub and took a hot
shower. She dried off, combed her hair, smoothed lotion over her body,
and returned to her bedroom to fish through the chest of drawers until
she found a pair of knit leggings. She glanced at Mulder's Oxford
sweatshirt, but reached for a T-shirt instead. Picking up her empty
glass, she took a deep breath and went back to the living room.

Mulder was sitting on the sofa, the half-empty highball glass on the
coffee table in front of him. He looked up when she walked into the
room. Dark circles were under his eyes.

Scully swallowed and forced concern into her expression. "You look
really worn out, Mulder. Go home and get some sleep."

Mulder shook his head. "I haven't finished my drink," he said lightly,
reaching for his glass.

Scully shook her head. "You don't have to baby-sit me. I'll be fine."

Mulder leaned his head against the headrest. "Sure you will," he said
calmly, "but I don't want to leave you alone. He held up his glass.
"Besides," he added, "I'm not exactly in driving condition. This isn't
my first."

Scully felt her expression start to slip. "You're tired, though,
Mulder. I can call you a taxi..."

Mulder laughed harshly. "Jesus, Scully, give me a break here!"

"Okay, okay," Scully said quickly. "Stay." Her eyes were drawn to the
front of his dark pullover. "Uh, do you want your sweatshirt back?"

Mulder looked down at his chest. He had obviously forgotten about the
blood. "No," he said as he pulled off the navy sweatshirt, revealing a
fitted white T. "I'm kind of hot anyway." He lightly brushed his
fingertips over the dark stain. When he looked up, his eyes were red-
rimmed. "When I saw you lying there, with all that blood," he said,
his voice hoarse, "I thought..."

Scully sat next to him and put a hand on his arm. "Don't, Mulder," she
said. "I'm fine. You're fine. It's over."

Mulder slowly leaned back against the sofa, staring at her in what
Scully took to be disbelief. It made her distinctly uncomfortable.

"And that's it?" he finally asked.

Scully shrugged and looked away from his challenging gaze. "What else
is there? What's the point in reliving the whole thing?"

Jaw clenched, Mulder shook his head. "What's the point?" he asked, his
voice bitter. "Excuse me for sounding like a psychologist, but I did
just almost lose you for like the fourth time this year. I don't know,
call me crazy, but I happen to have some issues about your near death
that I'd like to discuss, and I'm sorry if that's an inconvenience for
you."

His face was flushed and his tone biting; Scully couldn't remember
him being so angry with her. She decided to appeal for a reprieve.

"Mulder, I'm tired. Can't we talk about this some other time?"

Mulder shook his head. "Some other time," he repeated. "No. You want to
know why?"

Scully didn't respond.

"Because it's never the right time," Mulder continued, "If I left this
up to you, we'd never talk about it."

Scully abruptly stood. "Forgive me," she said sarcastically, suddenly
angry herself at his tone and his insight, "But my near death is not
exactly high on my list of pleasant dinner conversation."

"No, it's not good dinner conversation," Mulder threw back, "and good
dinner conversation is all we ever have anymore," he stood, and his
sudden invasion of her personal space made her dizzy. "I can talk to
you about anything, Scully," he said. "Any thing. Just nothing
important."

Scully felt a shiver run down her spine, but she tried to keep her
voice neutral. "What are you saying?"

Mulder took a step back and crossed his arms. "I'd like to have a
conversation about us, Scully," he said, watching her face intently.
"There is an us, isn't there? Or is that just my imagination?"

Scully opened her mouth to respond, but no words came forth.

Mulder's anger suddenly dissipated. "I want to talk about us, Scully
before it's too late," he finished. His voice was barely above a
whisper.

'Shit.' The word echoed repeatedly through Scully's mind, followed by
nothing else remotely useful. She wracked her brain for something to
say. "I can't...do this Mulder. I'm too tired. I need to step back,
pull myself together. It's been an awful day. We can talk later."

Mulder threw his arms up into the air. "That's exactly my point,
Scully!" he said with exasperation. "You're always stepping back, but
you don't ever step forward again." He suddenly leaned in and captured
her hand, which he held in both of his. He looked into her face, his
expression both earnest and desperate. "You know what I'm talking about
Scully. Pretending nothing is there worked for a long time, but I can't
do it anymore. Please talk to me."

It was the 'please' that did it. To Scully's horror, she felt a tear
slip from her right eye and roll down her cheek.

"I can't," she shook her head.

He tightened his grip on her hand. "Can't what?"

"I can't talk about this. I can't do this. I'll just screw it up and
then where would that leave us, Mulder? Nowhere." She adamantly shook
her head. "I won't do that, to me or to you."

Mulder's brow wrinkled. "Screw this up?" he asked, his expression
confused. "What are you talking about?  You never screw up anything."

Scully jerked her hand away and crossed her arms tightly across her
Chest. "You only think that because you've never seen me do anything
I'm not good at."

Suddenly comprehending, Mulder's tone changed. He laughed gently and
shook his head. "It's been six years. You are good at this. I'm good at
this. WE work." He reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her to look
at him. "You couldn't screw us up if you tried," he said positively.

"It's not the same thing, Mulder," she forced her voice to be calm.
"Just because our partnership works doesn't mean another kind of
relationship would. You don't know me, not really. I'm not good at this
kind of thing. All I do is bumble around and mess things up, and I
don't want to put you through that."

Mulder smiled. His fingers drifted to her cheek, where he brushed a
strand of hair behind her ear. "What could you possibly put me through
that would be worse than flukemen or lake monsters?"

Scully took a step back, away from his touch. Mulder didn't follow. She
thought a moment. "You know how you feel when I start discussing
genetic sequencing?" she asked. "How you're always asking me to put
things in plain English?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Well, that's how I feel about relationships. Like I haven't read the
right books or seen the right movies; like everyone is playing violins
and all I have is a saxophone."

"But Scully, I love your sax," Mulder said, straight-faced.

Scully pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

He leaned closer. "Look, I'm not exactly the poster boy for great
relationship either, Scully, but we're not talking about the past,
we're talking about us, right now. "

Mulder's confidence made her want to believe him. She watched as he
lifted a hand to cup her face. He leaned closer, his eyes holding her
gaze. His lips were only inches from hers when she stepped away from
him.

"No, Mulder," she said quietly.

Mulder sighed. He looked disappointed. "Scully..."

She threw up a hand, palm forward, and he stopped speaking. "Listen to
me!" she demanded. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." Suddenly
at a loss for words, she turned away, blinking back tears.

"Scully, look," Mulder tried again, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She shook it off violently. "Dammit, Mulder, can't you just do what I
ask for once!" she shouted, her voice breaking.

The desperation in her tone must have registered. "Yes, I can." He said
softly. "Consider the subject dropped." Scully heard him move away from
her. "But I'm still spending the night."

Scully watched as he went to get a pillow and blanket from her linen
closet.  He tossed them on the couch and then went into her bedroom.
After a moment's hesitation she followed and found him turning down the
covers on her bed.

"Go to bed," he said, not looking at her, "I'm going to do the same."

Scully felt like she should say something, but she didn't know what.
"Mulder," she started.

Mulder looked up, expressionless. He lifted a finger and pressed
it against her lips, silencing her. "You don't have to say anything,
Scully," he said. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." He
leaned in and brushed his lips quickly across her forehead.

Scully opened her mouth again, but it was too late. Mulder had already
walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

She let herself drop on to the bed. Mulder's kiss had been
affectionate, but nothing more.

So she guessed it was settled.

Shrugging out of her leggings, Scully crawled under the covers.

Half an hour later, she was still staring at the patterns the
streetlight threw across her ceiling.

'I should be relieved,' she thought. Instead, she felt anxious. Like
she was once again missing out on something. Like she'd just been
offered a cruise around the world and she'd turned it down because she
might get seasick.

She was still trying to convince herself it was for the best when she
fell asleep.

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

Standing in the middle of Scully's living room, Mulder stripped off his
jeans and dropped them to the floor. He hunted the seat cushions for
the remote, and humming lightly, he flipped on the TV. He sat down on
the sofa and pulled a blanket over his legs. He felt surprisingly good
for a man who'd just been rejected.

But if Scully thought it was settled, she was wrong.

He started paging through the channels.

Halfway through their conversation, a theory had occurred to him. He
had suddenly realized it wasn't the action that disturbed Scully, it
was the thinking. Scully could handle anything as long as she didn't
have the time to stop and analyze it first. It was now clear to him
that Scully was never going to be able to discuss a relationship with
him, but it was just as clear that it didn't matter. They were going to
be involved, and if Scully couldn't deal with that - well, then she'd
just have to catch up later.

So in that moment before she had pleaded for him to stop talking, he'd
formulated a plan.

If he wanted to touch her, he was going to. If he wanted to eat off her
plate he was going to. If he wanted to teach her how to throw a Frisbee
or hit a baseball, then she would just have to deal with it. He was
going to take her to movies, and out to dinner, and eventually they
were going to have sweaty, wall-trembling, bed-breaking, Scully-
screaming-his-name-sex in at least a couple dozen locations he could
think of off the top of his head, but he would be damned if he ever
mentioned a relationship again.

A grin spread across his face. He bet he could even get her in front of
a justice of the peace before she noticed.

Mulder tossed the remote aside and stood. Whistling off key, he walked
into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

He was suddenly very hungry.

End.