From: Heather Stone Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 01:41:44 GMT Subject: New: "Separation Anxiety" (1/1) TITLE: Separation Anxiety (1/1) AUTHOR: Heather Stone heaths36@yahoo.com RATING: no more than PG CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: VA, post-ep, Scully SPOILERS: Tithonus SUMMARY: Just a little post-ep character study of Scully. ARCHIVE: Sure, but let me know where it's going. FEEDBACK: I live for it. :) DISCLAIMER: I don't own the any of the characters mentioned in the story. ::sniffle:: NOTES: Thanks to the lovely and talented Annie and Jenn for beta reading. Thanks to anyone else who takes the time to read this post-Tithonus fic in the midst of all the Biogensis post-eps! "Separation Anxiety" (1/1) I'm just so tired. He's tiring sometimes. When he makes the decision to take care of a situation, he focuses all of his energy on the task. It can very be overwhelming for the object of his attention. I know this from personal experience. This time is not the first time I've been the recipient of his attention, and it is likely that it will not be the last. He's hurt right now. I know. I made it happen. All it took were four short words, spit out of my mouth with carefully controlled anger, for his liquid brown eyes to fill with surprise and hurt. He stumbled back a few steps in a daze, as if my words had been shards of glass piercing his flesh. Or maybe even a bullet. Before the guilt set in, washing over me in familiar waves, threatening to drown me, I was pleased with myself. I needed him to let up, to go away. And go away, he did. Mission accomplished. Still, I did not need to use the weapon that I did. I could have said something else. I could have said anything else. But I chose my words with purpose. I knew what I was saying, and knew how he would respond. And it felt good to see that my words had the desired effect. Like I said, I'm tired. His was the first face I saw when I came to in the hospital. Looking back on it, I don't even know how he managed to get in to town so fast. But there he was, his hand clasped inextricably onto mine, tears streaking his face, chanting almost incoherently, "You're going to be okay, you're going to be okay." I was confused. I didn't know where I was, or why my mind and body felt numb. I could not understand why he was at my bedside with fear shining in his eyes. Of course, the confusion did not last. I soon realised his purpose in being there beside me, and I was grateful for it. He stayed close by throughout my stay in the hospital, displaying his usual chivalry in the face of a threat to my well being. During his short absences to shower, change clothes, and procure for me embarrassingly large and increasingly tacky floral displays, the nurses would tell me the familiar stories of his actions. <> <> <> I smiled and nodded, as if I did not already know how he had reacted. It was sort of comforting to know that he was staying true to form, that he still cared enough to take that familiar leap off the deep end. And I did appreciate the company while I was still hospitalized. As soon as anyone would let me near a phone I called my mother and told her I was fine, and she need not fly up to see me. I knew better than to waste my breath telling Mulder that he didn't have to stay. Besides, he can be good company. And I'd missed him when I was working with Peyton. He continued his faithful companion activity after we got back home. Kersh, and bastards that he is loyal to, either out of guilt or a rare showing of humanity, granted Mulder vacation time to last the duration of my sick leave. So Mulder is free to hover protectively. He left only briefly that first day back, arriving at my door a hour later with an armful of groceries. He had been a considerate shopper too, buying all the food listed on the mouth watering post-surgery diet list the nurses gave him. After putting away the food and loading up my dishwasher, he left again with a load of my dirty laundry. I got over my slight embarrassment at the thought of him handling my dirty delicates when he returned with the laundry a short while later, impeccably clean and perfectly folded. I couldn't help but be impressed, and he could tell. "See, Scully?" He had remarked to me. "I'm a man of many talents." He had been so obviously pleased with himself that I favoured him with a big toothy grin. Sometimes Mulder exudes a sort of boyish need to please, to be recognized and appreciated. And, unless I am in a mood like I am right now, I am usually helpless to deny him. But it's been over a week now, over a week of his unending presence. And I'm tired. I'm tired of being the centre of his universe. I'm tired of having to constantly show my appreciation of him, when all I can think are reasons to resent his separation anxiety. Or maybe it's my own separation anxiety that I resent. It's hard to tell the difference anymore. I keep replaying the events of the Fellig case. I try to tell myself that I was acting in the best interests of the case. I was acting out of experience. Fellig would have ran if I hadn't gone when I did. Ritter was incapable of being the primary investigator on a case like this. He didn't know what he was dealing with. Hell, he didn't even know the difference between a camera and a gun! I did what I knew was right. And I *was* right. Right? It doesn't matter how I rationalize it though. I still cringe when I think about the way I handled things. I went off on my own, ditched my partner, broke countless protocols, and ignored my personal safety. And why did I do this? Because I was sure that everybody was wrong, and I was right. It was exactly what Mulder would have done. That's what I really resent. That we have become so inseparable, in thought and in deed. I wonder where exactly it was that I lost my independence, that I become a part of him, and him, me. I wonder how long it has been since I was Dana Scully, and not a just a piece of this new creature, some sort of mulderandscully amalgam. The thought scares me. It terrifies me. I needed to prove it wasn't true. So when he tried to gently left me up out of bed, telling me he was going to help me change the bandages, I glared at him with ice in my eyes, and frost on my tongue, and I said it, for my benefit as much as his. "I don't need you." His arms dropped off my body and he stumbled back. After a frozen moment of shock, his shoulders slumped and he turned for the door. "Okay," he said with a failed attempt at disinterest as he slinked out of the room. He couldn't have seen it coming. I didn't drop the usual hints. For more than a week I let him baby me, without giving him so much as a stilted "I'm fine," to let him know that I needed some space. I didn't mean it. I don't really want him to go. This isn't really his fault. It's just that I have clung to that illusion of independence. I need have needed it to sustain me. And it seems especially important now, with the lingering thought I might now long outlive him, and everyone else for that matter. I won't let him wallow for too long. Besides, it really is time to change the bandages, and I as much as I hate to admit it, I do need him. I just needed some time to think. I'm just tired, that's all. END *******