From: valmoria@eisa.net.au Date: Sun, 15 Nov 1998 06:20:03 GMT Subject: NEW: The Truth In The Lie II -- Through The Eyes Of A Stranger 1/1 The Truth In The Lie Pt II -- Through The Eyes of a Stranger. (1/1) Classification: V, A Keywords: UST?! Rating: G Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine, I'm just stringing them along for the sake of good writing . . . CC, you sue me, and I'll put Mulder and Scully through more angst. I will, I will, I will, I will . . . Author's Notes: I have gotten so many responses to this story, it is incredible! By the way, many many many thanks to Gerry Hill, a great writer who proof-read for me. I think I forgot to acknowledge her last time -- sorry! Okay, let's keep going . . . I can tell you're deciding right now. I'm not exactly sure how I know that, of course; these last few moments have left me little choice but to wonder if I know you at all. So . . . do I? Or were all my former perceptions of you just another part of the great lie that you have created around us? Never before in my life have I ever felt such turmoil within me. This is one time where I cannot separate myself from the fate which has befallen me -- once again I am left to stand, watch and wait for what is to come next. I cannot influence the destinies to bring me a satisfactory conclusion, not after all of *this*. So what *will* happen? We stand apart and alone in my apartment, mere metres away from each other but light-years away as well. Your eyes are dark -- if it is shocked passion from that kiss or something far much more, I don't know. Are you searching within yourself to find the answers we both so desperately seek? Everything is so quiet. Too quiet. The silence fills the room, creeps up my spine, trickles down my veins. Is there any minor possibility in the world that you could possibly feel the same? Not only about the absolute quiet. About everything. I can't look at you the same way ever again. I'm sorry. That's how I feel. How do I feel . . . So? Scully, have you decided? I'm not only asking because I want to know if you're going to stand in the middle of the room like this, looking at me and yet *not* looking at me with those indecisive eyes. I want to know because . . . dammit, Scully, I just have to decide myself. I think you should go. Before something else happens. Before I end up regretting my decisions forever . . . Mulder, look at me. No, not like that. Look *at* me. See all that you see. Don't stare at me with those vacant eyes, as if I no longer exist. Even if it repels you to do so, just look at me. Should I go or should I stay? I have to choose. Perhaps it is better that I should leave. Then maybe you could stop looking at me with the eyes of a stranger. I wonder how many tears I will shed over this one moment, this stretch of time that threatens to ruin me. I'm sorry I did this. I wasn't thinking. Why do I have to think *after* all of this happened? After the damage is done? Once the pieces are on the floor and we have no choice but to pick them up? It's all . . . everything has just shattered now, hasn't it? We could pick up every shard, at the risk of cutting ourselves and bleeding further, and reassemble everything until it is a poor imitation of the great thing it once was. All it will be is . . . broken pieces. Melded together with love, but with something missing . . . I guess what I'm trying to say is that nothing will ever be the same. I feel so isolated from you, and I wish somehow that things can be different. But you cannot change the past. As much as I wish and hope that I could, I know that could never happen. Not unless we'd be thrown into some kind of time warp which would send us backwards, far away from this moment to a time when these worries would never affect us . . . I want to believe, Mulder, but not that much. I want to run away from this place, run as far as my feet can carry me. What the hell is it that holds me to this place, to stare at your tortured face for all of time? One day, I may be able to move from this spot; find another journey to walk through. I will never be able to do anything with these journeys, though. Every time I close my eyes, I will always see your face. I won't even have to close them at all. You will always stay at the back of my mind. How on earth will we ever be able to work with each other again? Our job, the job that had brought us together, had the potential to tear us apart and it did. I have to choose. Now. Or I never will. You just made your choice. You chose to run. I saw that look flickering in your eyes, Scully. Another moment of indecisiveness. When you were silently debating whether to follow your own instincts to safety, or follow mine to danger and enjoy the ride. You chose safety. But your memories will never escape you. They will follow you to the ends of the earth, adding darkness to your shadow, as they have mine. The memories alone, that is. The other 'they', the ones that we fear so much and have battled against for years, are left forgotten. The memories of this moment will never disappear. Certainly, they would fade a little. The sharp, painful edges will be sanded down with time. The hard edges will grow soft, blurry, out of focus. It will always remain. So now I stand here vacantly, Scully. Alone and abandoned. What am I saying? I was alone before you even ran out of the door. You left the door wide open in your wake. But that is not what I am looking at. I am looking far beyond that, trying to examine our past and discern our future. Admittedly, I am ignoring the present. Missing your presence. Scully, we've been partners, friends, confidantes for so long. I thought I didn't deserve you, would *never* deserve you. Up until this moment, I was thankful for you always beside me, my silent strength. I don't have you now. You have betrayed me, Scully. Broken my trust forever. The shattered pieces of our relationship can be gathered and reassembled. But only if we are willing to. And even when it's all over, there will still be little pieces missing from when the breaking occured. Those minute shards of solidarity and trust that make the relationship whole. I guess what I'm saying is that it will never be the same. I can't look at you in the same light again, Scully. Not without having doubts. I thought our friendship was a true one. Now I have to wonder. Was this 'true friendship' merely a safety net to stop me when I wanted to turn around and fling myself into the abyss? A safety net that finally tore and gave way because of the burdening pressure of my guilt? I know that you are wondering if I feel guilty right now, Scully. I am. If only I'd known, if only I could have seen this before it happened. But it did. And I don't know what's going to happen next. I shouldn't be driving in this condition. My hands are shaking -- every time I turn the wheel a cold hand of fear clutches around my gut, fear that I might lose control. What am I saying? I already *have* lost control. Mulder . . . I chose. Or did I? Because I didn't *have* a choice. The damage was already done. What are you thinking, Mulder? Are you waiting for me to return? Are you spilling your heart out to Samantha? Are you -- oh, God, please tell me that you aren't letting the guilt get to you again. Usually I have such a clear head when it comes to these things -- I don't know what could have clouded it now. I suppose that I *do*, though. I was jealous. More of the fact that suddenly your down-time would be taken up by someone other than me. And that someone being your *sister* -- I know you, Mulder, you'd throw yourself into taking care of her and you'll lose sight with the unfinished business we have at the X-Files. *Had* at the X-Files -- there is no way I could ever work with you again after this. You'd never trust me again. You could *say* that you would -- but I know there would always be doubts. I would save your back and you would save mine, but there would never again be such a wonderful level of communication as we had. Never engage in playful banter or work in companionable silence. Is this what it is like to be a true friend? I don't *deserve* to be one. I shouldn't lie to and manipulate those whom I love the most. Especially if I think it is for their own good -- I'm beginning to realise that the best intentions really *could* have the worst outcomes. But you - I may have had no choice just now. But I know *you* were going to choose eventually, Mulder. Me or Samantha. You could try as you might, but in the long run you couldn't have us both. I know you would try, going for the ultimate goal with your usual stubbornness and intensity. Mulder, every time you do this more things than needed are sacrificed. I should know. I have lost my sister, my daughter, and more than I will ever know due to your quest. But I will not let these events break me. I will just continue fighting until the battle is won. I only gave up now because I doubt that you'll have the willpower to see all of this through. Mulder, we have so much to fight for . . . I can't do it alone. But now it looks as though we'll have to. I can do what I want, but I'll always end up alone. That is the destiny which has been designated for me. It is useless to fight. Sometimes, the future can't be fought. Not if it is fated to happen. It is always said that things will get worse before they get better. So I only have one question to the mysterious workings of fate: Have I not yet filled my quota? Samantha I have, Scully I lost. I want it all, I want them both. Shall the twain never meet? I know I shouldn't think this, let alone admit it -- it would be far worse for me to spend my life without Scully. All the memories I have of Samantha is as a stubborn, pig-headed little girl who loathed and loved her older brother. Her life experiences have changed her; formed her into someone it will take me double her present lifetime to know. Scully on the other hand . . . I know her as an adult, and I have suffered through countless heart-rending times with her. I have seen how she has changed. I have welcomed and regretted it. I look at her and although imagine how she was as a child, I can never really see it. Most of my life I have never known her, like Samantha. But Sam was the one who I had known and lost when she was young. I never knew Scully when she was younger. That bittersweet past isn't there. Although I know that in time, I will look upon all of *this* as my bittersweet past with her. Scully, how could you think the way this has ended hasn't hurt me? I know what it is like to have a broken heart, to suffer the isolation that many fear. I've lived through it. And it's hell. I lie awake at night, wondering if there will ever be anyone to reach out and comfort me. Being in a crowd and yet being so isolated. Where there is nothing, and no-one, around me to say that everything will be all right. Even loved ones are no matter. Because the loved one that mattered the most was you. Scully, how could you do this? I close my eyes and, not for the first time, curse my eidetic memory. Your startling blue eyes, cold with resolve -- Your position so far in the wall you were almost part of it -- Your words -- God, those words -- I'd give up anything but you, Scully, to take back those words -- The fear in your eyes when I approached -- That kiss -- I never thought a kiss as being savage warfare before. Those are the only words I can find to describe it now. I think, somewhere along the line, I have turned my car around and headed back in the direction I was fleeing from. That thought scares me -- maybe I *have* lost control. I am running back to you, Mulder, even if you don't want me. I can't leave without an apology. This is the most irrational, stupid thing I have ever done -- barring that one moment just . . . could it have only been less than an hour ago? I don't crawl back easily, Mulder. I mean, I'm not crawling back. It was *me* that hurt you, not the other way around. There must be a word for it. I'm surprised that in the maelstrom passing itself off as my mind, I can think clearly enough to think of looking into a thesaurus. I know it is a kind of defense mechanism -- Mulder, the psychologist when he remembers to be one, could tell me. Dana, get it through your head! Mulder might not want to tell you *anything*, except to get out and never return. I can hope, though. I can wish with all my heart to make all of this go away. But the strength of my heart can only go so far. I must have been speeding because suddenly I am at the door of his apartment. My irrationality scares me -- in all of the relationships I've had in my life, none have been this intense. And it isn't even a *romantic* relationship. It is with my friend. Did I lock the door on my car? No time for thinking about that now. I have to think. His wooden door is cool and hard. Though strong and supporting, it brings no comfort to my aching forehead. It merely stands there, a silent barrier. I wonder how thick his door is -- it is funny how a matter of inches can separate us. Suddenly the surface gives way and I find myself falling forward. Strong hands grab hold of me as I fall. They steady me, and almost as abruptly let go of me. "Scully." His voice is cool, indifferent. Like door, like tenant. I must look like a mess. I have to say something. The only thing I can say. "Mulder . . . I'm sorry." Scully . . . what are you doing here? That is merely the first of a million questions that crowd my head, each with their own separate emotion. I never would have expected you to come back. Scully, you're stronger than that. Yet I could hear you crying on the other side of the door. And you didn't make any move to steady yourself when I opened it. I shouldn't be opening my door to you. I just can't ignore you forever. I should really turn away from this train of thought. This way, madness *does* lie. In a different sense of the word, so do you, Scully. I can't help but look at you and feel betrayed. No, not betrayed. Something much more. My trust has been abused. If what you said was true, Scully, does that mean that my concerned words fell on mocking ears and alligator tears? If what you said was false, why would you go so far as to get rid of me? After all we've been through . . . Was all the time I willingly spent learning to trust you a waste? No, it was never a waste. Being in your presence, no matter how deceptive, would never be a waste of my time. It's weird how I could still think that and yet look upon you with the eyes of a stranger. I am weak. Because even if I didn't know you, I would still want you. I run a hand over my face. I am tired. So tired. There is a slow pounding in my head that I didn't even know was there until just now. "Yeah, I know you are, Scully." Your tears flow faster, and dammit, there would still be anything in the world that I would do to make them stop. "Dammit, Mulder! I need you to listen!" "I *did* listen!" I scream back at her, suddenly coming to the realisation that I have forgotten where my thoughts end and my spoken words begin. I *did* listen to you, Scully. You ripped my heart out and slashed my soul. What do you want? To kill me with your words? To hollow my feelings out to such an extent that they no longer exist? "I'm sorry," you say, faintly. Repeating yourself. And I have no idea if what I have just thought, I have spoken out loud. There is nothing more in the world that I want to do than to fold you in my arms and make the pain go away -- "Then do it," you say quietly. I guess I have said it. But the hurt is too much. Scully -- and I hope I am not saying this as I think -- to have you around only makes my soul bleed more. Isn't it strange how things turn out? Only two, three hours ago I was more than willing to make the sacrifice. Now, I'm not so sure. Mulder, I don't like how you look at me. So indifferent. If I look into your eyes, I think I can see something there. What is it? We stand less than thirty metres away from each other, and yet somehow there is an incredible gulf between us. Not that former instant connection that brought us closer together than we were. That, obviously, belongs in the past now. Sometimes, I used to think you belonged to me. I keep forgetting you need to have a life of your own. Now you have it. Will you ever enjoy it again? I can't just stand here and look at you. I have to say something. "Mulder, please let me explain." "I think I know what's going on, Scully," you reply, your eyes turning bleak and lonely. I think you *do* know. You're smart enough to figure it out. "I need you to hear it from me." I take a step towards him, and feel my heart twist inside me when he steps back. "Scully, I think you should leave." "And I think I should stay, at least long enough so that you know --" "Dana, I *know*!" he finally yells. I think he feels the gap between us as much as I do. He is yelling not from anger, but from a *need* to yell. "What I need to know is why." I quickly approach him, fast enough so that he has trouble stepping backwards. "Don't come near me," he says, with enough intensity in his voice to make me stop in my tracks. "Mulder --" "Scully, get out." My heart suddenly gives a huge, painful thump until I look into his eyes and realise what he means before he says it. "Scully, leave before I do something stupid! Something I'll regret forever! Just please leave!" A desperation has crept into his voice, almost like that which I have heard before but under different circumstances. Except there is something more raw and painful about this, affecting me more because part of this is about me. The silence stretches out between us, somehow flinging itself across the chasm I have created for us. Nothing is ever borne out of silence except for thoughts. But I hold onto the silence, grateful the opportunity it gives me to try and distance myself, to be objective. It has given you an opportunity to try and regain control. The wordlessness lets us both struggle with our worries. "I'm not leaving," I finally say to him. "But I won't come near you. All right?" You look at me with a war raging in your eyes, and finally nod in return. This is the last chance for us. I don't want us to go though our lives acting as strangers. END What do you think so far? I hope this is somewhat of a resolution for those readers hanging on for Scully's choice . . . Later!! Louise valmoria@eisa.net.au