Title: Wild Things VII: This. This. This.
Author: RocketMan

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me and I take no credit
or wealth from their creation. They are the full property of Chris
Carter and 1013 in production with Twentieth Century Fox Broadcasting.
No infringement is intended.
Lucille Clifton is a poet and the following poem is hers also, found in
"The Book Of Light" published by Copper Canyon Press. No infringment is
intended.
Can I help it if I  am inspired?

SPOILER FOR ****KITSUNEGARI****

Wild Things VII: This. This. This.

"it was a dream

in which my greater self
rose up before me
accusing me of my life
with her extra finger
whirling in a gyre of rage
at what my days had come to.
what,
i pleaded with her, could i do,
oh what could i have done?
and she twisted her wild hair
and sparked her wild eyes
and screamed as long as
i could hear her
This.   This.   This."

This. This. This. (1/1)

So maybe I was very anxious to get Mulder away from anything relating to
Robert Patrick Modell, but I really didn't mean to get him away from me.

I mean, I only wanted to keep him safe from Pusher's words and thoughts
that could somehow, somehow, destroy a man's will and eat away his soul.

I didn't want that happening again.

But he saw it as me not trusting him enough. Of course, Mulder would,
being Mulder.

I want to reach out to him now, tell him that I was wrong and he was
right, but that won't change what he thinks I've done to him.

I thought things had changed, evolved beyond this pettiness, this sudden
Mulder attitude that he gets -- 'I'm alone in the world and no one
understands me.'

He is *not* alone and I *do* understand him.

I don't agree, but I understand.

But, really, to keep him safe, what *else* could I have done?

Something in me says I could have approached it differently, had a
little more faith, believed more in him and less in Modell.

This: I could have let him come to me and we could have done it together
no matter how much I did not believe his theory -- if only to prove him
wrong.

This: I could have soothed his wounded ego and told him that I did
believe him, but that Skinner was Skinner and we had to obey him -- but
I'd keep an eye out for Linda Bowman.

This: I could have gone to him and made him see that it was crazy at the
time to think what he was thinking but that I didn't love him any less
or think him any worse.

<Yes, but just as Skinner is Skinner, Mulder is Mulder and do you really
think he would have stopped?>

I wish I had done something, I wish I had stopped it.

But he has come out cleanly again, without injury and with the killer.

His soul may be a bit more battered but I can help --

"Scully?"

"Yeah?" My head turns to see him exit Skinner's office and although I'm
dying to know what has happened, I can tell by his face he won't talk
about it.

"Thanks for waiting."

"Sure Mulder. And good job. You figured it out again."

"What?" He is startled by words and by my suddenly odd demeanor. Maybe I
can shock him back to reality. I want the old easiness back with us
again.

"You did a good job catching Linda Bowman, Mulder. Let's celebrate,
okay?"

I can tell I am completely confusing him.

"But Scully, I almost killed you."

"So?"

"So......I almost ki --"

"I heard you the first time you said it and the other million times you
thought it at me."

His eyebrow curls up and I can see exactly what he's thinking -- psychic?
-- but it's not because of any kind of mental telepathy that I can tell,
only that he is the most readable man when you really know him like I
do.

"Scully, I really just want to go home...."

"So let me come with you and I'll make you dinner, how about that?"

He shakes his head. "Can't believe I'd hear that from you, but I'm going
to be incredibly stupid and say no."

"Why be stupid more than you have to these past few days and just say
yes?"

Ouch. I got him.

One for Scully.

Not that I'm enjoying this . . . well, maybe a little. But he deserves
it.

A sigh emerges from deep within him. "All right."

"Cheer up, Mulder. I'm not such a burden as all that, am I?"

"No, but you really are confusing my poor deluded mind right now."

I raise an eyebrow and let him follow me out.

~~~~

"So, Mulder. Talk to me." I say, sitting beside him after rinsing the
dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. He is sitting on the couch
moodily and staring above his glass of tea like he is completely lost in
whatever slide show his mind is replaying for him.

"No." he says, quite bluntly, and quite honestly hurting me.

"Why not?" I say, but it is not soft like it should be: I hurt from his
words and his distance too much to let my guard down.

With Mulder. I do this with Mulder. This is sad.

"Because right now I would say things that would hurt you."

"You've already said things to hurt me."

His face swivels and it is touched with lasting pain. "I didn't mean
to."

"Well, then talk to me. You do love me, right?"

"That's not fair, Scully."

"I know. But I want to know that I haven't completely messed things up
for us."

His surprise is tantamount to mine when I'd heard his theory about Linda
Bowman. "You? That *you* haven't messed things up?"

"I guess I have." I say it before I can think.

I bite my lip and feel my defenses crumbling even though I had tried
very hard not to even let them slip. But he does that to me. Slips right
through my walls and then has a huge party in my heart for awhile and
then slips back out and I wonder why I miss all the noise.

"What?!" It takes time for my words to register, whispered as they were.
I look up at his incredulousness and watch the storm rage over his eyes
and be replaced by fear. "No, no. I -- You -- no. You haven't done
anything...."

"And that's just it, isn't it? I haven't done anything and I should
have. I should have called and said I didn't think you had lost your
senses. I should have --"

"But, Scully, did you think I had?"

I frown. "At the time, yes."

"Then I'm glad you didn't. I would feel worse if you had lied."

"You made me feel pretty bad for telling the truth, though."

"You deserved it. I never asked you to believe my theories, only me."

"But I do --"

"No, you don't. Maybe in me. But not just me. It's like that Jerry
Maguire thing."

Now I am the one confused.

"Remember what that girl says about being in love with Jerry? That she
loves him for the man he wants to be and the man he almost is."

I feel my heart shrivel as I realize the association he's made.

"No, Mulder. No, not --"

"Yes. Do you love me for me:  or the man I almost am?"

His words are shaky and his eyes are spilling over silently and I wish I
had never even begun this, never forced him to talk to me. He was right.

He is only hurting me more.

"You can't answer."

I shake my head and turn away and feel that if I can run far enough I
will be away from this horribleness.

"So, you do think that." It's not a question any longer.

I want to shake my head no and fall into him and hold onto him for dear
life because he has to understand that it's not that, not at all.....

"Well, let me tell you Scully. This is what I am and even if -- if I had
the truth it is who I would be. I d-don't want your love if it is in the
hope of my changing. I don't want it."

I think he is trying to convince himself, but he is doing a good job of
convincing me and I turn away from him and dig my fist into my mouth and
cannot let out my scream.

It's all gone so wrong.

I can't keep it from going out of control. I have to leave before it's
even worse, before it hurts even more.

I snatch my coat and purse and keys, scrambling to be away from this
hurt even though I know somewhere that my leaving will hurt him more and
in that way, hurt me.

But as my hand catches the doorknob he speaks.

"I never wanted to hurt you."

Fury replaces fear. Harshness replaces hurt.

"How dare you! How dare you say that to me as you rip me apart?!"
I spin around and snatch at the door and it won't turn and I twist
blindly, rage clouding my eyes and I could kill him for this, I could
kill him....

"The door is locked, Scully," he whispers in my ear.

I moan at this wonderful, invigorating voice as it slides across me and
into my heart.

"Damn you Mulder, stop it."

"You're coming to hell with me."

His words echo through me, across me, around and under and in me and I
can't help but fall back.

Retreat: fall back: die to my pain.

"Mulder, why do I do this? And why do you let me?"

"I'm not letting you anymore."

I turn and refuse his eyes. It is as hard as refusing my body of breath.

"Tell me how it is then, Scully. Tell me how you love me."

<How do I love thee..... There are no ways to count. It just is.>

"I just do. I just do. Can I stop now? Can I? Because this hurts more
than anything -- more than --"

"More than it's worth?"

"No!" My cry is anguished. "You keep twisting my words around. Why do
you think like that? I just love you! Isn't that enough?"

"No."

It is hard and cold and cruel and I am crying and not even realizing it
and I want to leave him, but I can't because I do love him and if I hurt
him, then I'd hurt me even more.

"It's not enough. Scully...." He lets out a choked, pent-up sound of
fury and fear. Fear rising above and stinking the whole room. "It can't
be only that to be worth it. I almost killed you! I almost killed you! I
won't let you stay if it's only love and nothing else! Don't you see? If
it's only for loving me that you will keep putting yourself in danger
then I can't -- I won't -- it can't keep going.....it's not worth it."

I slap him.

Slap him.

The sound of stinging flesh echoes coldly.

"It is worth it. Am I worth it?"

And as I whisper coldly, forcing my words out to be cruel, I see
realization on his face like lightning and he shakes, trembles deep
within and falls.

I let him fall.

He can't speak, but only crawls on the floor, like a stunned wild animal
in pain, cringing with the blow.

He looks up at me as I lower myself to the floor.

His eyes are open arms and I take him to me, son to mother, lover to
lover, friend to friend.

I cradle his head in my lap and he does not cry, does not talk, only
lays there.

It is his apology.

It is my apology.

And this is what I have done to right the wrong.

This.

This.

This.

end
adios
RM