I'm in the middle...

In Ice he spits out "I want to trust you." In Beyond the Sea, he yells "You could be dead right now!" In One Breath, he rails against Scully's coma, her family's decisions, the men that were getting away with her abduction and impending death. In Anasazi, he confronts Scully over her perceived treachery ("taking your LITTLE NOTES.") In Elegy, he snaps that Scully withheld information from him, implying that she owed him more because of their trust and partnership. In All Souls he admits his heightened fear that Scully was being emotionally manipulated by what Father Joseph(?) was saying. And pivotally in FTF he ran into the hallway when Scully was literally walking out of his life, pinning her on her misunderstandings and telling her intensely how wrong she was by confessing his love in the most Mulder way possible. His intensity and fervor isn't threatening: it's raw, intense vulnerability-- with Scully, with informants, with his parents, with his boss, with his friends, with his enemies. This continues the rest of the series (Triangle, One Son, Milagro, Field Trip, En Ami, Closure, etc.)

The only time Mulder has ever let Scully leave something unsaid is because she was fragile in the face of another trauma, giving her space to recover before he probed the issue further: the almost rape in Genderbender, Scully's second kidnapping in Irresistible, her injury in Fresh Bones, her prison jump scare in The List, her bristle in Never Again, her avoidance in Memento Mori, most of her health scares in Elegy, her daughter's death in Emily, her Pfaster part two in Orison, etc.) His deep care for her revolves on the axis of trust: he will let her recover, but he inevitably needs her to be transparent with him.

This is a core part of Mulder's character from day one: David Duchovny talked about how he portrayed Mulder as an intense, morose character, narrow-mindedly searching for the Truth to the detriment of everything. He often incorporated that fallen-from-a-pedestal quality in Mulder's reactions to Scully, making him disagreeable, taciturn, and more human. And Mulder made his intentions clear from the first time he met Scully, baldly telling her he knew she was a spy each and every step of the way until she earns his trust with her guileless, morally impeccable behavior.

Mulder is a man who sniffs something buried and digs and digs and digs at it until it's brought into the sunlight and exposed. He has always treated-- will always treat-- Scully the same; and she respects that about him, trying to answer as transparently as she can in the moment (always honest, yet not always vulnerable.) Whenever Scully has withdrawn, Mulder has pursued. (That's also why Scully was so confused in Three Words when Mulder was listless in the face of many unanswered personal questions-- his trauma manifesting until he is given an enemy to pursue. But that's a post for another time.)

"Let's go back to the office. There must be something we're missing." She tries to keep up with Mulder's long, athletic strides and finds that she can't. She should have kept on her sneakers. The heels squish her toes, make her slow and sluggish. Mulder stops to open a door and Scully, breathless, averts her face so that he doesn't notice. When his fingers come into contact with her back, right where they always do, at the tip of her tattoo, tears shoot into her eyes. Her glazed skin cracks and she winces.

Mulder, oblivious to her internal turmoil, removes his hand but the pain remains. Ahead of her, his form turns blurry. Every step is agony, like she's walking on coals. The heat spreads thickly, gathers in her stomach.

"Scully? Are you okay?"

How many 'I'm fine's’ are too much, she wonders as she stares at him, leaning against the wall. She's breathless, can't take in enough air. Her stomach revolts against everything and she prays silently like she never has before to please, please not be sick right here, right now.

"Hey." Mulder is by her side, crouching down to be eye-level with her. She doesn't want to look at him. She wants to tell him that she's fine. She wants to be okay.

"I'm- I don't-," she breaks up, sobs; she doesn't want to cry but her tears fall anyway. If she doesn't say it, if she doesn't admit she's sick, then she won't be, right?

"It's okay," Mulder says and touches her arm. "Do you- can you walk on your own? Do you need an ambulance? I'm gonna call-"

"Mulder, no." She puts her hand on his where it lays on her arm. "I just want to go home. Just... home."

He helps her out of the building and into the car. They're taking baby steps. One foot in front of the other as if she's just learned how to do it. Mulder is quiet next to her but his thoughts are screaming, piercing through her mind.

"What about work?" She asks once they start driving. Her tongue feels three times its normal size and it's a struggle to get the words out.

"Work can wait. It's not that important."

Any other day she would protest. Any other day she'd tell him she was better already. Today, though, she stays silent, accepts the fate her body has inflicted on her.

She leans her head against the cold glass window, watches the scenery pass by. It makes her nauseous. They drive past roadkill; a small fox, its life over before it's really begun. Scully closes her eyes against the pain, against the unfairness of it all.

She doesn't remember falling asleep but when she opens her eyes again, they're at her apartment building and she's in Mulder's arms.

"What are you doing?" She asks, her voice thick with sleep.

"Didn't have the heart to wake you," he says, his words in her hair, like new fallen snow. "How are you feeling?"

"Sick," she says, too exhausted to lie.

"We're almost there. Can you stand? I need to unlock the door." As if she were his grandmother's porcelain, he puts her down and opens the door.

"I can walk," she says quickly before Mulder can pick her up again. He follows her like a guard dog, watching her every move. She walks straight to her bedroom and collapses on the bed.

"Do you want me to call your mother?"

"What for?" She mumbles, feeling Mulder remove her shoes.

He doesn't answer right away but he's still there because she feels his hand on her ankle.

"Mulder?" She asks.

"To help you... get changed, eat something. Do you want me to call her?"

"No. I'm fine." As long as she doesn't open her eyes again. She will manage. Her clothes are loose enough to sleep in; she's done so before.

"Tell me if anything is uncomfortable." She hears Mulder's voice, but it doesn't register. The sound of a zipper tears through the silence and as cold air hits her legs, she realizes it's her own. Mulder is removing her pants. She should say something, stop him. But she can't. The words won't come. She shivers and Mulder mumbles an apology, quickly finding her pajamas.

"I won't look," he swears with a gentle smile that distracts her for just a moment. He opens her blouse, one button at a time. "Bra on or off?" He asks, glancing at her face. Only someone who's never worn a bra would ask that question.

"Off," she manages to say. Mulder nods, keeps his eyes on her face and takes her bra off. How often has she dreamed about Mulder undressing her? How many fantasies has she had? None have ever been like this. Not a single one. She’d scream if she had the strength.

He helps her into an oversized t-shirt that she's certain used to be his. Neither comments on it.

"Lie down," he says. "I'll get you your meds." Scully listens to him moving around in her kitchen and swearing once or twice. She can't move. Her eyes keep falling shut, too heavy to stay open. She fights it, fights everything. Somewhere in her apartment, Mulder is talking. She hears snippets, deducts that he must be talking to her mother. 'Tired' is one word, 'worried' and 'stubborn' are uttered as well.

"I'll take care of, Mrs. Scully. I won’t leave her alone," Mulder says close to her bedroom. Fresh tears threaten to fall. This is everything she didn't want. Nothing was supposed to change. She's a medical doctor and she should know better. This is only the beginning.

"I'll call you if anything changes. Bye." Mulder walks back into the bedroom and sets a cup of tea and crackers on her nightstand. He leaves again, returns with a small bucket, a towel, and another blanket.

"I hope you're not crying cause the tea tastes bad." She touches her cheek, unaware that she's started crying. "Do you need anything else? Do we need to call your doctor?"

We. Not her, we. She merely shakes her head no, not trusting her voice.

"I won't leave. Anything you need, just tell me. Okay? Anything at all." He touches her forehead, his fingertips gentle against her skin.

"Try to get some rest, hm?"

"Where are you going?" She asks him.

"The living- I can stay here if you want." She's too tired to fight it. She knows in half an hour, an hour tops, her limbs will feel as if they're freezing. She will shiver and there will be nothing that can keep her warm. Except... tonight, she wants to take. This disease is taking from her every day, chipping away at her life every passing moment. Tonight she'll, too, be outlandishly demanding.

"Stay," she whispers. "Please stay."

“Have you seen him since then?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Scully huffs out a breath. “We went out last night. Mulder, I’m trying to focus-”

“He called me,” Mulder admits suddenly. “On Sunday.” Whelp, consider the beans spilled, Mark, he thinks. You dick.

Scully looks up at him then, brows furrowed. “He did? Why?”

“First of all, let me make it clear that I wanted nothing to do with any of this,” Mulder says, setting down the newspaper. “He dragged me into it. I wasn’t going to say anything but it’s been pissing me off.”

Scully gets up from the little table and walks over to the desk, perching on the edge of the chair across from him. “Mulder,” she says slowly, “What are you talking about?”

“Mark called me on Sunday night, saying he had some questions for me regarding your character.”

“My character,” Scully echoes, eyes sharp and questioning.

“That’s what he said,” Mulder says, picking up a pencil and rolling it between his fingers nervously. His heart is leaping in his throat. “But what he really wanted to know was if you… um. Sleep around.”

The words land heavily, their weight sending ripples through Mulder’s body.

Scully’s face turns to stone. “Really,” she says tightly. “I don’t see how that is any business of his, or yours,” she adds.

Mulder’s blood pressure has to be at a record high. “He mentioned something about planning for long term, and his daughter. And he thinks we, um.”

Scully crosses her arms, and Mulder’s never seen such an icy, quiet rage. “He thinks we what, Mulder? Tell me exactly what he said.”

Mulder digs the point of the pencil into the desk until the sharpened lead snaps. “He thinks I fucked you,” he says quietly, not looking at her.

“Oh,” she says, louder than he expected. “Well, that’s lovely, Mulder. Did you happen to tell him that it’s not true?”

“I essentially said ‘see you in hell’,” Mulder admits.

“Right,” Scully says, pressing her lips together so hard they turn white. “And you weren’t going to inform me of this because…”

“Because it’s none of my business,” Mulder explains. “I didn’t want to overstep.”

“A first,” Scully says sharply.

“Hey, I learned from last time,” he replies, feeling suddenly defensive. Why am I in trouble here? “You made it pretty clear after Jerse that this is your life, and I’m genuinely trying to honor that. But your boyfriend called me, Scully. I didn’t ask to get dragged into this shit.”

She’s angry now, and he can’t tell if it’s directed at him or Mark. It feels like both. “You didn’t think I might want to know about this, Mulder? You didn’t think to give me a heads-up that the man I’m seeing thinks I’m an easy lay?”

“Whoa, whoa, nobody said that,” Mulder says quickly. “And I’m telling you now because I think you should know I had this conversation with him. I’m sorry I waited but I was unsure how to-”

Scully’s eyes are red, and Mulder stops. “Scully?” he asks quietly.

“He kissed me,” she says hoarsely. She takes a deep breath. “Can’t think why… don’t really want to think why.”

Mulder feels hot and cold all at once.

“It’s funny,” Scully continues, “I-I could tell he wanted more. It was surprising, and not entirely unwelcome, but I stopped it because something felt off.” She emits one small sniff before setting her jaw firmly. “I guess now it makes sense.”

“Scully…” Mulder says softly.

She gets up from the chair. “Thank you for letting me know,” she says woodenly, before returning to the annex and sitting behind the microscope once more.

Well that went perfectly.

-

They barely speak for the rest of the day, buried in their respective piles of research.

At the end of the day Scully packs her briefcase with short, sharp movements, her shoulders rigid. She slips into her coat, and Mulder sees her mouth set in a grim line.

“Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

She shakes her head once, the smallest negative movement. “I have a phone call to make.”

-

He leaves the office about forty minutes later, a parcel of newspapers under his arm; homework he knows he won’t be able to focus on.

He takes the elevator to the fourth floor of the parking garage, and sees Scully standing at the far end of the row of cars, leaning against the cement wall, cigarette in hand. He walks to her and rests his elbows on the wall, looking out at the twilit city.

“How many of those have you gone through?” Mulder asks, peering around her in search of burnt stubs.

She doesn’t answer, just holds the cigarette out to him. He hesitates, then gingerly takes it and raises it to his mouth. There’s smudges of lipstick on the filter, and he’s not a good enough man to ignore the eroticism of it.

“I haven’t smoked since ’89,” Mulder says, exhaling. He passes the cigarette back to her.

“Sorry to break your streak,” she murmurs, taking a puff. He watches the smoke escape her full lips, her angelic face profaned by tobacco and a dishonest man’s kiss.

“You didn’t,” he says softly.

They watch the world rotate below.

“I broke it off,” she says, eyes tracing the skyline. He doesn’t need to ask what she’s referring to, and she doesn’t elaborate.

Mulder shifts his weight awkwardly. “That night we got drunk… you asked if I thought you were settling.”

“Mm,” she hums. “No spark,” she recalls.

He nods. “It didn’t feel right to say at the time, but the answer was yes. You should be with who you want to be with, Scully. Someone who makes you… makes you feel things. Not the guy who seems good on paper.”

“It would have been right to say,” Scully says. “I asked you. I don’t- I don’t know why you’re suddenly hellbent on staying out of my life, Mulder, when I’m asking you to be in it. I appreciate your respecting my privacy and boundaries, don’t get me wrong; it’s a welcome change from past experiences. But I… I need a friend.”

There’s a tightness in his chest at her words. “I guess I’m overcorrecting,” Mulder admits. “You’ve been through so much hell, had so much taken away… I wanted to let you choose for once.”

Scully shakes her head. “This mentality you have of letting me choose isn’t much better,” she says softly. “Someone else still controls the information. You trying to protect me by omission doesn’t give me much more agency, Mulder.” She stubs out the cigarette and turns back to the rows of parked cars. “You of all people should know the most empowering thing you can give someone.” She starts to walk away.

“What’s that?” he asks.