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  This author's e-mail address has changed to: xanaduxf@yahoo.com
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***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.
The song "Stiletto" belongs to Billy Joel.

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Stiletto
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Vignette, Scully angst, Scully first person, Mulder/Scully UST

Rated PG

Spoilers through "Mind's Eye"

Summary: Scully thinks about Mulder's pointed look at the police
station.

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Stiletto
by shannono

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She cuts you once, she cuts you twice
But still you believe.
The wound is so fresh you can taste the blood
But you don't have strength to leave.
You've been bought, you've been sold,
You've been locked outside the door,
But you stand there pleadin',
With your insides bleedin',
'Cause you deep down want some more ...

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Sometimes, I think we know each other *too* well.

It's moments like the one from a couple of days ago, standing in
a tiny observation room inside Wilmington's police headquarters,
which make me wonder about that.

We both do it. We pick up on the tiniest thing and use it to jab
the other. The wounds are usually superficial and painless, really
just little inside jokes. But occasionally we slip, the stiletto
stabs deep -- and the pain can be excruciating.

We don't do it that often. In fact, we're more likely to *avoid*
certain comments, because we know the effect they can have. And
there are some subjects we never, *ever* mention. But when we do
aim to wound, we know exactly what will do the most damage, and
that's what we use. We send out neat, precise little stabs that,
unerringly, find the most vulnerable areas. We know every chink
in the armor, every soft spot in the psyche.

It wasn't always this way. This precise knowledge of each others'
vulnerabilities has evolved gradually during the course of our
partnership. Early on, we were careful and wary, still learning
our own roles. We knew so little about each other that we could
only fall back on the obvious and the cliched.

//Mulder, you're crazy.//

//Oh, if you were that stoned, what?//

//Is *that* what you were extending?//

But the years and the events of our lives have developed our
affinity to the point that a look can be enough to make the
recipient squirm. Like the look Mulder gave me in that little
room.

We were crowded in with Detective Pennock, watching Marty smoke
and sneer at the table next door following Mulder's somewhat
unorthodox interrogation. (Unorthodox? Mulder? Would *anyone* be
surprised by this?) Mulder was spouting off his latest theory,
enumerating the reasons why he believed Marty to be innocent.

And then, in mid-sentence, his eyes flickered over to meet mine,
and I heard his words: "I think she just wants us to think she's
strong, independent. It's important to her."

He kept watching me for a few more moments, even as he continued
speaking, and I finally looked away. It was a small gouge, to be
sure, but it was just as precisely placed as any of our others.

Yes, Mulder, I know I do that. I put on my cool, professional
mask every day and rarely allow it to slip. I hold everything
inside. I've done it for as long as I can remember. I don't think
I could stop now even if I wanted to.

They say the first step in overcoming an addiction is to admit
you have a problem. Okay, I've admitted it to myself. Does that
mean I have to admit it to someone else now?

But, then, Mulder does the same thing I do. My facade is a smooth,
porcelain mask, befitting my "Ice Queen" nickname. His is a
multicolored mosaic of paranoia and far-out theories, the visual
rendering of his "Spooky" moniker. He uses that reputation to
hide himself away, to keep his pain out of sight.

Only one person truly sees beyond my mask.

Only one person sees beyond his.

This time, the little nick is inconsequential in the scheme of
things, but it's a symptom of something much larger. And I can't
quite decide whether that's a good thing or not.

There's a psychological disorder that causes people to injure
themselves, usually with small cuts. It's a form of release for
them, a way to overcome emotional stress. I look at our jabs in
much the same way. They are relatively painless, most of the time,
and they help release a bit of the pressure inherent in our complex
relationship.

But now, we're addicted. We just can't stop, and I don't think
we ever will, until one of us errs and cuts too deep one time
too many.

And then our worlds will come crashing down around us.