Not Your Fault by littlegreen42 Email: littlegreen42@ymail.com Rating: G Summary: Maybe everything isn't his fault, but he still has certain obligations. Takes place post-IWTB. He has two years to stop the alien invasion and save the world, but he has no idea how he's going to do that. More likely than not, humanity is doomed. "You need to stop blaming yourself for everything." He snaps out of his daze and fidgets on the couch, fighting the urge to chew on his fingernails. He misses his sunflower seeds. He forgot to bring them, but maybe it's for the best. It wouldn't look good to get shells all over the carpet. He knows Scully has a grudging acceptance for that sort of thing (as long as he cleans up afterward), but he's not sure about Dr. Phillips. "Yeah, I do need to stop blaming myself," he says unconvincingly. But she smiles, as though he's made a great breakthrough. Poor Dr. Phillips, so young and naive -- like he used to be, only worse. "It's not your fault your sister was kidnapped," Dr. Phillips says earnestly, as though he's never heard this before, as though the first shrink his parents had dragged him kicking and screaming to see hadn't already told him so. "No, it's not my fault," he says, nodding to show his agreement. This isn't something he needs to be told anymore. The wounds will never fully heal, but at least he no longer feels like he's duty-bound to find her. Most of the guilt is gone. There are other things to worry about, now. She goes through a whole litany of "it's not your faults." Not his fault that Scully left a promising career to wither away in the basement (when not out chasing shadows with him), not his fault Scully was abducted, not his fault Scully gave up their only son. "That's not Scully's fault, either," he snaps. "I wasn't implying that it was," Dr. Phillips says awkwardly. She doesn't say anything for quite a while. She stares out the window and doesn't trouble him with her questions. Most people would find the silence excruciating, but he welcomes it. "Mr. Mulder," Dr. Phillips says at last. He looks at her. She's so small, so thin, like a little bird. He doesn't believe for a moment she's a real psychologist -- she's just some kid, dressed up, impersonating her mother. He knows why Scully suggested her. She hadn't wanted him to be intimidated. "Just Mulder." She nods. "Mulder, you don't seem to like talking about yourself." "What an *astute* observation, Dr. Phillips," he says. She smiles weakly. He's being unfair to her. She doesn't deserve his snarky attitude. She's only trying to help. He can relate to that, somewhat. He'd once been a sweet kid with a big heart too. "Well, Mr. Mulder -- er, Mulder, if you don't feel comfortable with talking about yourself, maybe we should try to break the ice and discuss something else. What would you *like* to talk about?" He smirks. He doesn't really want to talk all that much, not even about all things arcane and occult. *You don't need to mention Mexican goat suckers or explain why you think Elvis faked his own death,* Scully'd teased him this morning. She'd had a wry smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye that reminded him of when she was young and green and still laughed every chance she got. For all her teasing, he'd sensed she was a little worried. But she had no reason to be. Freaking out Tom Colton and his ilk with tales of liver-eating Reticulans is one thing, making a psychologist think he's insane is another. He checks his watch. "I think our session is almost up." "We still have ten minutes," she says quietly. He yawns and stretches. "Don't worry. I'll still pay you the full amount." A thin smile. He gets up and grabs his jacket off the hook. As he slides it on, he says good-bye to Dr. Phillips. He even manages to give her a friendly smile. Poor kid. He feels sorry for her. "If you'd like to make another appointment --" "I'll call," he says, nodding. He's not going to make another appointment. His problems can't be solved by a little talk therapy. Maybe at one time, they could have been. Not now. Not after everything stopped being about *him* and started being about the whole world. He leaves the psychologist's office, stepping out into the cool April air and squinting against the sun. He looks up at the sky, thinks about how its brilliant blue skin hides so much from view.