Schisms (11/?)       
by Singing Violin (Pearl on Ephemeral/Gossamer)

Email: perlner@mit.edu
Rating: PG/K+
Category: X-Files VRA

Spoilers: Revival rumors (This one's particularly spoilerific.)

Summary: What could possibly cause these two to break up? A series
of short stories explaining the reported status of Mulder's and
Scully's relationship upon the revival miniseries.

Disclaimer: The X-Files characters and universe are not mine.
Archiving: Anywhere, as long as you let me know. I put stuff on AO3,
ffnet, and Ephemeral/Gossamer.


Chapter 11: Depression

"I'm home!" called Dana Scully as she dragged herself through the
door, barely summoning the energy to hang up her coat before she
dropped her bag on the floor.

When she was not immediately met with an acknowledgement of
her existence, she plodded upstairs to investigate, her heart
immediately upping its pace as her adrenal gland secreted the
hormone necessary to fuel her ability to deal with her anticipated
difficulty. With new, nervous energy now coursing through her
veins, she opened the door to her bedroom and was assaulted
with a whiff of the most foul-scented air she'd smelled in a while...
and since she worked in a hospital, among all sorts of medical
waste and byproducts, this was particularly remarkable.

Her eyes searched the darkness of the room to find the unmoving
lump in her bed, and her heart seemed to leap into her throat,
causing her to forcefully swallow. "Mulder?" she murmured,
dreading the response -- or lack thereof -- as she flicked on
the light.

And then the lump moved slightly, and she breathed an incredible
sigh of relief as she moved to his side, laying a soft hand on his
thigh as he groggily opened his eyes a crack. "You're home early,"
he told her.

She shook her head. "Actually, I'm home late. Have you been in bed
this whole time?" she asked him.

"Dunno, what time is it?" he returned, mumbling his words while
he sat up slightly and rubbed his eyes.

"It's after midnight," she said. "I was in surgery all day, and then
I had to catch up on some paperwork. Plus, it's a long drive. Did
you make an appointment with the therapist?"

He coughed slightly. "I took a nap instead."

"Ugh," Scully couldn't help flinching slightly at the stench of his
breath. "When was the last time you brushed your teeth? Did
you even get up to go to the bathroom? No wait, I'm not sure I
want to know. But it's ripe in here. We should open the
windows and I need to wash the sheets."

"Now?" Mulder whined. "But you said it's after midnight. Just
come to bed."

"You got me all worked up," she told him. "I'm not sure I could
sleep anyway. And I certainly can't sleep in here, now. Not until
we clean up. And tomorrow, I'm calling the therapist for you.
This has gone on too long."

"No, Scully," Mulder objected, reaching out his arms in an attempt
to capture her. "No therapist."

"Mulder!" she berated, twisting away from his touch and standing
up. "You need to see someone. You need treatment. This is getting
ridiculous. And stinky. And you're worrying me."

"No need to worry, Scully," Mulder told her. "I've got you."

"I am not a psychiatrist!" she objected. "I can't help you with this,
not directly. If I could, you'd be better already."

"You diagnosed me," he pointed out. "And I don't trust those shrinks
anyway."

"You could have been one yourself!" she argued. "You have a degree
in psychology. You know I'm right."

He shook his head. "And you know we can't trust anyone," he told
her. "How many times did we see a doctor only to find out he was
working with Cancer Man or worse? You can treat me. I know you
can."

"I can't," she insisted. "I wish I could, but I can't. And it's only
you that can't trust anyone. I trust the therapist I found. I was
hoping you would make the appointment, but I guess I'm
going to have to."

"I won't go," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Then I'll drag you kicking and screaming if I have to," she
retorted, her eyes brimming with tears now.

"You know you can't," he pointed out. "I'm bigger than you, and I'll
run if you send people after me."

"You're scaring me, Mulder," she murmured quietly, watching him
intently.

"Hey," he offered, reaching out again and touching her arm, which
she reluctantly accepted without squirming away. "What are you
afraid of?"

She looked down momentarily, and tears escaped from her eyes
and wandered down her cheeks as she raised her gaze again.
"That I'm going to lose you...again. Depression is serious, Mulder.
And if I can't treat you, and you won't see someone else, you will
die from it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon,
and in the meantime, we're both going to be miserable." With
that, she sniffled and used a finger to wipe beneath her nose.

"Then leave," he told her, dropping his hand. "You don't need
to be miserable. I don't want you to be miserable."

Her eyes grew wide. "I can't leave you, not like this."

He shrugged. "Soften the blow if I do die," he said.

Scully raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob before dropping
it heavily. "God, Mulder. Do you have to be so morbid?"

"You're the one that brought it up," he told her. "You said you
didn't want to be miserable, so go...be happy. I'm kicking you
out. Maybe it's exactly what I need to force me out of the house."

"Does that ever work?" she asked him pointedly.

He sighed. "Only one way to find out. If I'm using you as a
crutch, then take away the crutch, and either I'll fall, or I'll
learn to walk again."

"What if you fall?" she asked, her voice shaking as she spoke.

"Then there probably wasn't anything you could have done
anyway," he answered. Then he reached out and grabbed
her hands in his. "I mean it, Scully. Go. You're right, this isn't
working. Something needs to change, and in the meantime,
you deserve to be happy. You're strong; you'll be fine; you've
always been a survivor."

"It's late," she reiterated. "I'm not going anywhere at this hour.
And I don't think I could sleep in here even if you weren't trying
to kick me out."

"Take the couch downstairs," he said. "And if you're still here in
the morning, we'll talk, but I'd rather you weren't."

She nodded solemnly, then retreated downstairs and quietly
sobbed, head in hands, until she fell asleep.

It wasn't morning anymore when Fox Mulder finally ventured
downstairs, but Scully was gone, along with many of her
belongings.

He missed her already. He sighed and resolved to get his life in
order...for her.