The Return (2/12) by charvill Email: charityharvill@yahoo.com Genre: MSR Spoilers: Post-IWTB Summary: There are some things you just can't escape My finger absentmindedly rubs the tiny pucker of skin on the base of my neck. Tired of staring, unseeing, at the pile of papers the doctor gave me, I turn my key hard to the right. My engine roars in protest. Dr. Ashwandi knows I was, at one time, a physician myself --- that I understand every minute, horrific detail of the misery I would have to go through if I choose her recommended path of treatment. A treatment that I know is completely useless. My thoughts turn to Mulder, just as they had since I'd made the appointment, and I feel the ever-present knot tighten in my belly. He has been through so much since the FBI jumped back into our lives a few months ago, and now he was finally putting his life as a free-man together. What kind of person would I be to screw that up? My fingers fly up to my face, swiping angrily at the tears I promised myself I wouldn't cry anymore. I turn on my blinker and take the exit that will take me home. Home. The thought normally made me smile, but now...the darkness has found us again. Or, more specifically, found me again. The road winds down the path I know by heart and my eyes glance again at the papers beside me, wondering how I can hide this any longer. *Hypocrite!* my mind screams. My knuckles turn white as I clutch the steering wheel tighter, trying to push my inner voices down. But, I just can't escape the memory of seeing Mulder's tombstone; or the feeling of betrayal I experienced when it was unveiled --- in front of a room full of people who thought that I, of all people, should have known he was ill. I swerve hard onto the shoulder, putting the gear shift into park before it's completely stopped. Then, I begin cursing --- and punching. The steering wheel, the dashboard, the leather console between our seats, the headrest, the passenger seat...until finally, I am too tired to move. The exhaustion comes much quicker than the last time --- I don't even make it out of the car to start in on the tires today. It only takes two minutes before the eye drops work their magic so I may continue towards home. The gravel of our unpaved drive is full of potholes after last night's thunderstorm and I am bounced around so hard that I quickly check my upper lip. My finger comes away clean, but my heart starts racing anyway at the sight I'm confronted with when I pull into my spot in front of the house: Mulder. And he's got my cell phone in his hand. This morning, before I left to go into town to do some "shopping", I took his phone and left mine here to charge. This isn't an unusual thing for us we often switch phones whenever one of us forgets to plug in ours. This way we don't have to buy new chargers for our cars every year when a better phone comes out on the market. It always seemed like a great idea before... My palms begin to sweat as I open the door, moving to the trunk to retrieve the items I bought to make it look like I'd been shopping all day. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shifting his weight from one foot to another --- back and forth. Not good. I force myself to smile at him and I stand a little straighter. "You got a call while you were out," he greets, his voice full of bitterness. I stop just in front of the bottom step, my neck craning as I wait for him to drop the other shoe. "A Dr. Ashwandi." *So this is what it sounds like when the world crashes around your ears...* "Oh really? What did she want?" I am impressed when my voice keeps from shaking. Surely she wouldn't have said anything that would give me away. She didn't know who Mulder was to me so telling him anything that would clue him in to my condition would be a violation of privacy. "She left you a voicemail." I feel the blood drain from my face. "You checked my messages?" *Oh, good one. Put him on the defensive. All those years in the FBI, and that's the best you've got?* "It was a DC number with no name," he says, his eyes narrowing. "I thought it might be an emergency." I force myself not to look away. "Was it?" Our silent face-off lasts about thirty seconds --- long enough to make the muscles in my neck scream --- before I stomp up the stairs. When I move to push past him, he grabs my arm and spins me around. "She said that she forgot to have you sign off on the order to fax your test results to the number you gave her" --- his eyes narrow -- - "at your appointment today." A heavy sigh escapes my lips. "Mulder, I can explain---" "Oh, by all means, Scully," he says, sweeping his arm through the air, dramatically. "And while you're at it, maybe you can explain why you felt the need to keep the fact that you met with an," he pauses, his Adam's apple bobbing under the skin of his throat as he swallows, "oncologist today." My eyes widen in shock. "How did you...?" "I googled her name and number. In five seconds, I knew more than you would have probably ever revealed to me. Am I right?" I tilt my head up when I hear his voice crack and the tears I see in his eyes shatter every ounce of resolve I have left. "Mulder..." I reach up to touch his face, but he swats my hand away. "How long?" "What do you mean?" His eyes seem to darken as he glares down at me. "How long since you started having symptoms?" Oh. I bite down on my lip as I try and decide what the best answer is. "Scully." "Four months," I blurt. I watch his jaw go slack, and he staggers backwards one step before my grasp steadies him. "Four...". He can't even make himself say it. "But that's right around the time..." "Yes." In fact, it was the very same day we came back from our "getaway" vacation in Fiji. Life was funny that way. Absolutely hilarious. And, as his face contorts with fury, I know my confession has hit home. "You've known you were sick for all this time...and you didn't tell me? What if something had happened, Scully? What if...?" I can see by the way his forehead is creased in concentration that he has a million different scenarios running through his head --- and I know none of them have a happy ending. "I'm sorry," I say, my voice lacking of any emotion. He shakes his head. "It doesn't make any sense. Why?" For some reason, I didn't expect that to be his next question. "Why what, Mulder?" As he opens his mouth to answer, his face suddenly goes white. "Oh, Scully..." Realization dawns on me immediately and I run inside the house, tilting my head just slightly to keep the blood from running into my mouth. I quickly grab some tissues from the box on the coffee table and collapse on the sofa, pinching my nose to staunch the flow. Mulder stands across the room, one hand on his hip while the other worries with his lower lip, watching me closely. He waits until I finally rest my hands in my lap to speak. "Why did you think you couldn't tell me?" "Because I know how you get," I say with more venom than I intended. "Ha! And how do I get, Scully?" I raise one eyebrow at him. "Do you really want this conversation to happen right now?" He shrugs his shoulders. "Hit me with it." "Okay..." I take a deep breath. "You have a tendency to turn things around until it becomes about you." He looks at me in confusion, so I elaborate. "Even if there is something that in no way could be construed as your fault, you figure out a way to make it so." He looks down at the floor and remains silent, chewing on what I've given him. "I remember, vividly, how bad it got last time. You nearly got yourself killed trying to save me. And that was *before* we told each other how we felt, Mulder. I am terrified to think of what you would put yourself through now." I feel tears rising up the back of my throat and take a shaky breath. "Especially since..." I cut myself off, hoping he didn't hear that last part. "Especially since...what?" *Shit!* My mind tries to come up with something else that might possibly sound plausible in that context. Mulder pushes himself off the wall and kneels so that he is looking directly at me --- even though I am concentrating very hard on this stain that resembles a strange-looking star on our rug. "What were you going to say, Scully?" I look into his eyes and the vulnerability I see there renders me completely unable to speak --- so I reach behind his head and touch the base of his neck with my index finger. END PART 2/?