Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1998 01:48:24 -0400 From: Laura Pisoni Subject: NEW: Always Like This (1/1) Title: Always Like This Author: Laura Pisoni Rating: PG-13 (for language) Classification: VA, some UST, ScullyPOV Spoilers: Some reference to cancer-centric episodes. Archive: Gossamer is fine. Anywhere else, please ask me first. Disclaimers: I don't own them, they belong to CC and 1013 and Fox (oh my!). Thanks: To all of my beta readers / editors (including Anna, Marion, Mara, Joey, and Jennifer) for the absolutely amazing help they gave. Feedback: Most assuredly, everything except blatant flames. Note on timeframe: In my mind, this story occurs about a year from the time of the season finale, and in this universe, FTF never happened. Summary: Scully and Mulder have a conversation in a car on a dark night. ~*~ Always Like This by Laura Pisoni ~ * ~ "In the Car We were looking for ourselves but found each other In the Car We groped for excuses not to be alone anymore In the Car We were waiting for our lives to start their endings In the Car We were never making love." -'In the Car,' Barenaked Ladies ~ * ~ You're talking to me, giving me details about the case as we sit in this dark, cold car, but I stopped listening a long time ago. Longer than you know, and in more ways than you could ever understand. I stopped listening, but you never stopped talking. I shake my head to clear it of these thoughts, and you look at me questioningly. You're asking me what's wrong. You're asking me if I heard a word you said. You're waiting for a response. The accusations hang heavy in the air. Sometimes, I think you know. I think you know I'm not listening. So what do I answer? I'm giving a smile. "Of course I heard what you said. Of course I was listening. I'm fine, Mulder, I'm fine." That's what you want to hear, isn't it? And it's what I always give you. So maybe that's how we go on day after day. I say I'm fine, and you believe me. The world keeps spinning, and paychecks keep rolling in, and I'm not dead yet. That surprises me. Thought I would've been by now. There _have_ been enough threats. You cock your head to the side as if there's more on your mind, and then you nod a little. You're not talking, but I can hear the words you're saying. Yeah, Scully, you're fine, your eyes say. You're always fine. Fine. I can deal with fine. That's safe. You give me a sliver of a smile, as if to reassure me, but it isn't working. Safe. This is safe. I'm not listening to a word you're saying when you talk, and yet I'm trying to understand. I'm deaf to you now, but I'm trying to read the words you aren't saying. Usually, they're more important. How long did it take for me to stop listening? Too long^ not long enough^ I'm not sure. I listened for so long, wishing and hoping for the things you never said. And we came to the impasse a hundred times^ the awkward silence, the uncomfortable pause, and the more-than-just-friends look in your eyes. I was waiting for the moment when we'd shift. When the relationship would take a turn. But years came and went, and the moment never came. Now I'm fine, and you're alone. We're both alone. Not a foot apart, and we're alone inside our own heads. When our eyes meet, there's more there than either of us would like to admit, and we look away like there's fire in the gaze. You're a little pale, Mulder. I'm a doctor; I notice these things. I can't help but notice the heavy rings under your eyes, and the dark hollowness of your cheeks. Haven't you been eating well? Can't you sleep? Why can^ t you sleep, Mulder? What keeps you awake at night? Do you wake up sometimes in earliest hours of the morning and feel sobs wracking your body? Do you wake up sweating while the loneliness makes this ache in the pit of your stomach? Do you lay there, unable ^ unwilling ^ to go back to sleep because the nightmares haunt you? Do you wrap the blankets tighter around your shuddering body, trying to protect yourself from everything that's out to get you? Yes, you probably do. And yet, that doesn't make me feel closer to you; it only pushes me farther away. You're on the other side of a wall that isn't made of stone and mortar but blood and tears ^ no less impenetrable. I'm losing you, and you're losing me. Or maybe we're already lost. Standing on different sides of the wall, the wall that we've been carefully building since our first moments together. For protection^ from ourselves, and from one another. But I'm fine. I can deal with this ^ like I always do with you. Like I've dealt with everything in my life that's kept me from being the perfect daughter, the perfect agent, or the perfect woman. I'll deal with it. It'll be fine. Again, it's all too obvious that I'm not listening. Again, you're asking me if I'm alright. Demanding, insisting that I tell you the truth. Oh Mulder, what's the truth anymore? "Yes, I'm fine," I'm telling you. I don't hate lying anymore, not like I used to. I'm fine. It's a defense mechanism. I'm sure you understand them. You have a few of your own. Your eyes tell me you're worried, but I'm trying not to listen to them either. I'm fine. I'm fine. I've been fine for the past five years. Can't you tell from the way I look at you that I'm not fine? Can't you tell by the look in my eyes? Desperation, fear, sadness, and so much more is there; if you'd only bother to look. But you accept my fineness with a nod and a shrug, because that's the _safe_ thing to do, and I wonder if you even care. I suppose you do. Why would a man make a silent vigil by the bedside of a dying woman, why would he risk his own life for her, why would he put everything he believes in on the line^ for a woman he doesn't even care about? Sometimes, I even think you love me. And of course, I love you back. The kind of love that leaves you feeling a little warm and heady and safe. I've betrayed myself for that love. I've grown and changed and lived and died, yet through it all, there's been that love. And I can't explain why, but that love isn't enough to make everything right. I'm not fine, Mulder. God damnit, I'm not fine. You're giving me this look that threatens to push me over the edge. God, stop worrying about me like you do. I'm better off without your sympathy, without your pity. Dana Scully needs no one, and most especially not you. But that's a lie, and we both know it. I'm lost without you. I'm not fine, Mulder. Figure it out! I must've given you all the pieces by now. Slip them together, make them fit. I believe you can do it. I'm not strong enough to do it for you. The sky's falling and shattering all around me, and I'm not fine. I'm scared, that's what I am. That tenseness in my jaw and in the way I grip my pen ^ yes, I know you watch me ^ it's stress, and it's fear, and it's pain. I'm telling you my secrets when I'm talking my sleep, but you're never there, you're never listening, and the secrets go unheard. I'm trusting you with everything now, Mulder. Don't screw this up. Please God, don't let him screw this up. One screw up, and we're fucked here, Mulder. I'm looking you in the eye now, when you're staring at me, and a little flush is creeping up from under your heavily starched collar. I can tell even in the dark. You think I don't notice when you look at me like that, but I do. I always do. I'm more perceptive than you give me credit for, sometimes. But I'm meeting the look unflinchingly ^ I hope ^ and I wish you could see everything inside of me by the dim light of the overcast sky. "What?" Your eyes ask the question, and perhaps your lips did, too, and I merely didn't hear them. How do I form the words to tell you what I'm thinking? Millions of words to choose from, and I cannot pick even a few to tell you how I feel. Finally, I settle on a phrase, and I hope it's enough. "I never expected this," I say. Those are not the words I anticipated. I intended to say, I'm sorry, but I opened my mouth and^ Oh God, it's _that_ look. That hurt, pouty, "feel sorry for me" look. Stop that, Mulder. "What do you mean?" you ask me. What do I mean? So many answers to such a simple question. We're still staring at one another, as though breaking the eye contact would ruin the moment. I guess it would. But, oh Lord, we need this moment. "I never expected to^" I pause, and you don't want to wait, so you're asking me to continue. "I never expected to^ "End up here," I tell you, but we're both left unfulfilled by the implications. Where? This job? This stuffy, cramped car in the middle of a bitterly cold winter? With this beautiful, shattered man of a partner, sitting beside me, as we talk about chasing after aliens with not so much as a laser blaster or a ray gun? More than thirty years old, and I'm not married, like I expected to be. Don't even have a boyfriend, and you know that all too well. I can see the jealousy in your eyes when another man's around, rare as it may be. And yes, Mulder, I've seen you check me out. I've seen you run your eyes over my chest. I've felt you run those tendrils of fire up my legs, from my feet to my ass. I'm trying so hard not to let on that I know, that I've found out your little secret. I wonder if I'm a player in the little porno flicks inside your head. "I'm not keeping you here," you say. I'm startled by your words, torn from my reverie. Oh, Mulder. I know you aren't keeping me here, because I know the power I have over you. I know that if I really told you I was leaving, no buts, you'd beg me to stay, but what else would you really be able to do? I've got you on a leash, and you know it. "You couldn't keep me here." You almost smile. I can tell by your eyes, because I know your face so well. "I know." I shake my head a little. There was a time, though it feels so long ago, that I would've stayed here if you'd have asked me. But that time isn't now. Never again, Mulder. Now I'm the one with the hold over you, and I know it. I see it in your eyes, even now. I can see you thinking, 'Don't go, Scully.' I can see you praying to whatever God you choose to believe in. "And that's not really what I meant," I say finally. "What did you mean, then?" "I wasn't talking about this car, necessarily." "Okay," you say simply. Mulder, do you love me? I want to ask. I want to just say the question, and have the answer. I want to hear the confession either way. I want to know. I need to know. I need this night to be my witness. I need to be able to remember this stuffy rental car and this night^ to know that this is real. That anything's real anymore. "I wish there were stars out," I say, looking out the windshield into the dark night. "There're too many clouds." Of course I already know this. That's obvious, but you say it because I know you can' t think of anything else to say in response. Hell, I can't think of a good response either. "I wonder if it'll storm tonight." "I hate lightning." "I hate the thunder. I can deal with the lightning." "Once, when I was young, someone told me the thunder was God yelling." I look at you from the corner of my eye, wondering why you chose to tell me that. But you're looking intently into the sky, hands firmly on the steering wheel. "I once thought the rain was God crying." "It's funny the things that you'll believe when you're young." Before I can stop myself, I'm asking the question I don't want to know the answer to. "Do you still believe?" You're wincing. That wasn't fair; forgive me. "God doesn't yell," you answer, but we both know that's not the question I was asking. But what _was_ I asking? Do you believe in anything anymore? Do I? Aliens, God, goodness and mercy^ Do we believe in anything now? You're mesmerized by the wind blowing the leaves and limbs of the trees, and your voice is so quiet. I shouldn't have asked that question. It's been so off limits for so long. I think I may have screwed something up, now. And I was worried _you_ would, Mulder. We can't ruin this night. We need it so much. Jesus, I'm such a bitch to you. "He whispers." The words surprise even me, and you turn to look at me. You reach out, and your finger hovers just above the cross that hangs around my neck. You don't touch it, you don't touch my skin. "Do you talk to Him, Scully?" My throat closes at the tone of your voice. I clear it, and I whisper, "Yes." "What do you ask for?" We've stumbled into something I never expected, and I don't think you did either. How did you do this? How did we walk so blindly into a conversation that is so damned intense? I wonder if you know^ you're the only person in the world that I'd even consider answering this question for. There's not one other soul in the entire universe who could get a response out of me. "Oh^ lots of things." Fuck. What kind of answer is that? And why am I letting you get to me like this? This is dangerous. We both know it. "Like what?" You draw back your finger and look up, and you're staring into my eyes, and I know that you need to know the answer, and I need to tell you. We need this. "Safety, I guess." Can you understand how hard this is for me? Can you see it in my eyes? "Safety? For who?" "Oh, me," I pause, "You^ Lots of^ " I stop, and shake my head. There's no one else I pray for. My prayers are for you and me alone. Can you understand that? Can you ever know what that really means? You don't know what to say. That's clear enough. I can't break the hold your eyes have over me. Begging, pleading. For what, I'm not sure. "I don't want anything to happen to you," I say quietly. "You don't need to worry about me," you say defensively. "Of course I do." Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell am I thinking? "I don't need you to watch over me." "I didn't mean it that way^" "How did you mean it then?" Your voice is tired and cold. "I need to worry about you^ It's who I am." "What are you worried about?" Damn. I'm cornered. How did you do this, Mulder? How do you manage to be the only person who can catch me completely off guard like this? I take a deep breath, and you watch me. When did we become these people, Mulder? Calculating, cold, and cut off? Cut off from one another, cut off from ourselves. The breath I'm taking shudders a little, and you notice, I can tell by the way you look at me. "I'm worried^ I^" Take the plunge, Scully. Go on. "I don't want to lose you to something stupid." "You're afraid of losing me?" I can do little more than nod. The tone of your voice^ How the hell are you doing this to me? Making me crumble^ No one else can do that, because I make sure of it. But you're tearing down the walls, and for the first time in a long while, I'm listening. I'm listening to your words, and you're taking my breath away, Mulder. "Yeah. I guess I am." "Shit, Scully." You look away, and my mouth falls open a little, I think. What just happened? You shake your head, and say again, "Shit." Words form on my lips, but you don't give me a chance to say any of them before you're talking again. Thank God. I don't know what I might say. "You know, that's just one of those things you never expect to hear. Dana Scully^ worried about someone else's welfare." I'm angry and hurt, and my face must show it because you add. "Well^ _my_ welfare." "You doubted?" The tone of my voice, wounded by your words, makes your eyes cloudy and you sigh. I bite my lip, taking a deep breath. How did this conversation take such a dangerous turn? Damnit, I never expected this. There is a long, drawn out pause. "Does He listen?" you ask, clasping your hands in your lap, staring out the driver's side window. I think for a moment. "I suppose it depends on how you look at it." "What do you mean?" "Well^ I'm still here, and so are you." I'm saying so much more than the words, and I hope you understand. There's another pause, and I think I may be holding my breath, clutching the sides of my seat. "Did you pray when you had cancer, Scully?" Your voice is so soft and so tender^ "For a while." You look at me and raise an eyebrow, and I continue. "I stopped after a few months." "Why?" "Because I was convinced^ that He wasn't going to help me. That I^ had to do it on my own." "All by yourself?" I nod. "Yes." "Wasn't that lonely?" Oh, God, Mulder^ More than you could ever know. More than you could ever understand. Convinced of the fact that I was going to die by the hand of a silent killer^ You could never understand. No one could. I can't explain how lonely it was, Mulder. Don't ask me to. "Yes, it was." "I^" you stop, as if catching yourself. "You what?" I ask after a quiet moment. "I never wanted you to feel alone." I know that, Mulder. I saw it in your face, and I heard it in the sobs you didn't think I was awake for. I could feel it in your touch on my hand, even through the haze of pain that constantly muddled my thoughts. "I know." You won't meet my eyes. "I tried so hard, but God, I couldn't watch you like that." "I was dying." The words are dry and bitter on my tongue. You shake your head. "I wish you wouldn't say it like that." "It's the truth." You take a deep breath, and you let it out through your nose. "I tried^ to convince myself that it wasn't true. I tried so hard to think that if we worked hard enough we could overcome it. I tried to shrug it off. But then^ I just couldn't do it anymore. I was watching you waste away, and there was nothing I could do^ Sometimes I would just^ break down sobbing. I would wake in the night to the sound of my own tears. I was pretty torn up." "Are you still?" You think for a moment. "Yeah," you admit softly. There is a long silence, and we're both thinking. I can almost see the wheels in your head turning as I look at you out of the corner of my eye. "I used to wish on falling stars when I was a little girl." "Did your wishes ever come true?" "Sometimes^ I guess it all depended on what I wished for." "If there was a falling star tonight, what would you wish for?" Oh God, you had to ask that, didn't you Mulder? Couldn't contain yourself, could you? Why the hell are you doing this to me? Do you like to watch me squirm like this? "I don't know. Lots of things, I guess." "Pick one." You say it immediately. "Only if you do it, too." "Who says I wish on falling stars?" "Mulder." The tone is slightly threatening, I guess, because you shrug your shoulders. "Alright, alright. So, what would you wish for?" "I wish^ that there^ were more answers, and fewer questions." You nod and lean your head back against the seat. "Now you." You nod again, "I know. I wish^" You stop mid-sentence, and you look over at me with an intensity that's rare. I arch my eyebrow, and you look into my eyes. "I can't tell you." I furrow my brow. Oh my God. This couldn't be happening. Friday night, I'm waiting outside some madman's house in a darkened car with my partner^ and now you're wishing for things you can't tell me and we're talking about my cancer and I cannot believe this is happening. "Why not?" You shake your head, lips pressed together as if you're afraid the words might slip out of their own accord. Damn you, Mulder. You're doing it to me again. The walls are falling, and I'm setting myself up to be hurt again. I can't protect myself from this. I know you, and you know me. This is as good as it gets, Mulder, isn't it? If we're going to change everything, let's get ready for it at least. I hear a sigh escape my lips. You wince a little at the sound, and I almost feel bad because I know this is hurting you, too. Why does it always come back to this? This cat and mouse, this back and forth. Pain and pleasure, and never a compromise. Either we're screwing ourselves over with misplaced professions or badly timed looks of adoration, or we're cold and distant, running on auto-pilot through our days. It's all or nothing, with you and me. And Mulder, I can't deal with it. I don't want it all, but I can't stand having none, and so I'm begging for a middle ground. "I wish we could see the stars tonight, Scully." "Want to catch a falling star?" I ask you. You seem to think for a moment, and then you nod. Your hand reaches out to touch my cheek, but there's no contact. Your fingers hover above my skin, and I press my lips together. "One of the things I want, yeah." And then you turn away from me and put your hands back on the steering wheel, staring out into the murky, purple sky. Oh Mulder, I wish I could make our dreams come true. But I can't. Not tonight. Not in this stuffy rental car. Maybe never. How we got here, I don't know, and how we'll ever escape^ I don't know that either. I turn to look at you, but your eyes are closed now. Your voice breaks the stillness. "Will it ever be enough, Scully? Or will it always be like this?" I take a deep breath, and I think my body's trembling. "I'm not sure." "Yeah. Me, neither." ~ * ~ End. Please! I'm begging you! Let me know what you thought! :) -- Laura Ellen Pisoni - lpisoni@mindspring.com Http://fly.to/visions.of.sugarplums & Http://welcome.to/youthfic ~*~*~*~*~*~ "I may not be perfect, but parts of me are excellent." - Ashleigh Brilliant