The Way Back to You (2/?)
by Pereybere

Email: aria_raj@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17 / M - This chapter is a T, but it will definitely
become an M rated story in the coming chapters.
Keywords: MSR
Spoilers: Probably loads, so if you haven't watched the whole
series - including the miniseries, avoid!

Disclaimer: It goes without saying that I do not own The X-
Files. No infringement intended.


Chapter Two

8.45pm

"It's me."

Standard greeting, and had been for twenty three years. In the
beginning, *way back,* she had sometimes been tempted to say
*'Who?'* just to irritate him - because God knew, Fox Mulder
irritated her plenty. Then, as time marched on, she found
herself reciprocating and suddenly *It's me* became almost
like a pet-name. It was old and familiar, comfortable. Now, as
she perched on the arm of her couch, Scully found that her
heart hurt a little.

"Hey," she replied, smoothing her hand over the busy pattern of
her rented furniture. She hated this couch, and the matching
armchair. She hated the creaky pipes of her apartment, the sex-
mad noisy next door neighbors and their frantic late-night
activities. She missed the countryside. And Mulder. Especially
Mulder. "How are you?" She hadn't spoken to him in two
weeks, the longest yet. Every time she considered picking up
the phone, she questioned the sanity of it; hadn't they broken
up? What good could come of reopening a healing wound?

"I'm fine. Good." His voice was uncertain, filling her with
remorse and guilt. "Listen, I was going through some things in
the house and you've left some stuff here." There was painfully
tight restraint in his tone, as though he were talking to an old
acquaintance and not the woman he'd known for twenty-odd
years, and been intimate with for fifteen. It troubled her to
realize just how much their relationship had unraveled -
unbearably so. "Your Will," Mulder continued. "Deeds to your
mother's house and a pair of diamond earrings. I didn't even
know you had these."

The words were out of her mouth before she had a moment to
contemplate or restrain them. "They're my grandmother's. You
might have noticed if you spent a little less time in your office."
She pressed her fingers to her lips, smothering whatever other
words she might have added to the already thorny retort. "I'm
sorry, Mulder." Scully had promised herself she wouldn't
become bitter. "Thanks for reminding me. I'll pick them up,"
she said, anxious at the thought of visiting the house - her home
for more than a decade.

"I'm actually in your neighborhood," Mulder replied, surprising
her. "I can drop them off if you're free." Scully found herself
looking at her little apartment with new eyes; the eyes of
someone who wasn't used to the worn furniture, the creaky
floorboards, the draughty window. She didn't want Mulder to
come here and pity her. "Scully?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll be here." In the minutes following their phone
call, Scully made a frantic attempt at prettying up the
apartment; she tossed a throw across the couch, plumped
pillows, sprayed spring rose scented air freshener through the
rooms, and adjusted the drapes. It made little difference to the
overall effect; the apartment was old and tired - and it showed.
Until now, it hadn't really concerned her. She spent almost all
of her time at the hospital - the hours she spent in surgery gave
her more important things to consider than the d‚cor of her
apartment. Some part of her always thought of this place as a
temporary stop-off anyway.

Scully checked her reflection in the mirror. She wasn't long
home from a fourteen hour shift and every minute of those
grueling hours were etched across her face. The make-up she'd
applied at six thirty that morning had long since worn off. Her
skin was pallid with exhaustion, her eyes dim, her hair pulled
into a severe ponytail at the nape of her neck. She smelled of
hospital; pungent antiseptic and the detergent used to wash her
scrubs.

Mulder's knock was as familiar as his telephone greeting. She
waited three beats before crossing the living room and opening
the door to him. Immediately, she cursed how good he looked
in comparison to her ashen tiredness. He wore black jeans and
a charcoal grey shirt, sleeves rolled up. Scully noticed
immediately that he'd cut his hair; the disheveled hobo look
was gone - and the realization was a sucker punch to her chest;
was he doing better *without* her?

"Hey, come in." She stepped back, gauging his expression as he
entered her apartment. Whatever he thought, Mulder wore a
mask of indifference. He adjusted a brown paper bag from one
arm to the other, waiting until Scully closed and locked the
door before foisting her belongings on her. "Thanks," she
replied, searching through a catalogue of conversational topics
for *something* more to say. "You look really good," was what
her mouth settled on.

Mulder looked at her then, the eyes of a profiler, someone who
could read every nuance of a person. For the last few years it
seemed as though Mulder had forgotten to look closely at the
woman who shared his bed. Tonight, Scully remembered just
how discomfiting it could be when he leveled the full weight of
his scrutiny upon her. "You look tired," he said at last, his brow
furrowing as he considered her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Scully replied quickly.

"Are you?" Mulder countered, tilting his head, his dark eyes
never leaving hers. She stared back, daring him to pry deeper
into the ultimate misery of her life.

"We lost a patient today," she said at last, her mind calling up
the image of the blood - *so much blood,* and the operating
staff frantic in their attempts to revive the small child on their
table. The Attending Surgeon, Dr. Miller, had his hand in the
child's chest cavity, the monitors were screaming and in the
blink of an eye Scully came to the realization there was no
other eventuality for their patient; the little girl was dead - and
she hadn't been able to lift the cloud from her head. "Four years
old. This tiny, fragile creature with a congenial heart defect.
This was supposed to be the day she was saved from a life of
endless hospital appointments." Scully didn't know why she
was telling Mulder at all. She supposed, in the absence of
anyone else *to tell,* he was the next logical option. And he
was right there, standing before her, with his attention focused
on nothing but her for the first time in longer than she could
remember.

"I'm sorry," he told her, reaching out to touch her elbow; a
small gesture of comfort - yet the touch was somehow
altogether disconnected, reminding her of how vast the chasm
was between them, now.

"Yeah," she replied, sobering. "It never gets any easier." The
strength was back in her voice, hard as iron. Inside, every part
of her seemed to ache - from the arches of her feet to the base
of her back, all the way to her heart, which never seemed to
heal at all. Epsom salts would take care of the other pains, but
the ache she felt in looking at Mulder was forever. "Would you
like some coffee?"

Mulder hesitated, still standing just inside her apartment - close
to the door, to an exit point. "Yeah, okay." He consulted his
watch for a fleeting moment and Scully found herself
wondering whether he had other plans. She couldn't imagine
Fox Mulder going on a date, unless he'd somehow pulled
himself away from the unexplained for long enough to delve
into the other murky mysteries of the universe; online dating.
The very thought of him trawling some website for a
companion made Scully's innards burn with resentment.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" she asked, her voice laced
with the very bitterness she'd sworn to avoid.

Mulder looked surprised. "No," he said, shoving his hands deep
into the pockets of his jeans. He looked younger then,
vulnerable almost. She regretted her hastiness at once. "I was
wondering how long you'd been at work, today, actually." He
followed her towards the kitchen, where last night's dinner
remnants remained on the countertop; takeout cartons of half
eaten kung po chicken and rice.

Scully swept her arm across the counter, brushing the cartons
into the trash. "Sorry about the mess," she said, running a damp
cloth over the surface. Sticky sauce refused to budge. "My
housekeeping skills leave a lot to be desired, recently." She
managed laundry, some tidying and the occasional run of a
vacuum cleaner across the rugs.

"Not a single peony to be seen anywhere," Mulder joked, his
lips pulling into a jesting smile. "What has happened to you,
Scully?" She thought of all the times she tried to brighten their
bleak little world with bunches of flowers; peonies, roses,
lilies. The house - *their house* - was the place she'd called
home for so long, it was difficult to adapt to this little
apartment. She had no heart for it.

"Will you put this in my bedroom, I'll make coffee." She
returned the paper bag to his arms, unwilling to delve into the
topic of *what had happened* to her. Scully had barely come
to understand it herself - she might have said she was
'depressed' but she continued to function - and sometimes
smile. Sometimes, if something were particularly humorous,
she could laugh, too. The world wasn't always entirely bleak.
There were days when she was all right, when life felt as
though it were manageable. Those were the days she took time
to throw out dinner cartons or tidying the living room before
bedtime.

Mulder returned to the kitchen and somehow, inexplicably, the
mood had shifted. His features were darkened, as though he
were no longer interested in pretending things were okay. His
jaw was tight and something burned hotly in his eyes. "I left the
bag on your bedside cabinet," his voice was a low, tight growl.
Scully placed two mugs on the counter and turned to look at
him, frowning at the sudden change in his behavior. "I had to
move your... belongings... to make space for it."

His words were weighty, and it took Scully only two or three
seconds to realize what Mulder meant; her vibrator - a thick
shafted, neon pink sex toy that pulsed at incredible speeds.
She'd bought it a month ago when, in the middle of the night
she'd been desperate with loneliness. She missed sex, missed
Mulder's hands upon her, the way he could make her come with
his precise, 
knowing touches. She used the vibrator most nights, closing
her eyes as she pictured him inside her, the urgent pistoning of
his hips as he filled her.

Her face burned hotly. "I forgot to put it away." There was
never anyone else here, no one to be neat and cautious for. "It's
smaller than you." She didn't know why she said it, could not
fathom why her brain made the connection between a silicone
cock and Mulder's. There was no comparison, no question
about which was better. "God," she pressed her fingertips to her
fevered cheeks and turned away from him. "This is
humiliating."

"It is for me too," Mulder replied from the doorway, his voice
thick. "Since you left, I've consoled myself with knowing for
all the *many* things I did wrong, satisfying you wasn't one of
them." He glanced over his shoulder towards her bedroom. "I
didn't realize I could be replaced for $29.99 and a couple of
batteries."

Scully felt lightheaded with embarrassment. She spun to face
him. "How can you say that, Mulder? How can you even
*think* it?" Angry, she crossed the kitchen in four strides. Toe-
to-toe, she planted her hands on her hips and was momentarily
struck by the imagery of them; fiery, annoyed with one and
other, gazes blazing. She thought of all the arguments they
shared in his dusty basement office - the tit-for-tat, the debates
and eventually, the veiled insults that would inevitably cause
them to end up in bed together. God, she missed those days.
When Mulder burned with unrestrained passion and
determination, when his obsession was productive instead of
soul destroying. They had purpose and intent. Sometimes that
purpose spilled over into energetic sessions between the sheets.

"What do you expect, Scully? You have a dildo in your
bedroom." She thought about telling him that dildos didn't
vibrate, something she'd learned during an extensive research
session online.

"Because you're not here!" she snapped instead, lifting her hand
in frustration. "Are you telling me you haven't jerked off once
since I left? I'd be surprised if you didn't have YouPorn
bookmarked on your laptop." He had, after all, been something
of a pornography addict in the old days. It started with Scully
finding tapes in the VCR with long-legged blondes with
pneumatic tits. She hated those women. Then, when the movies
depicted redheads with modest breasts, she hated them even
more - they were her, without ever really being her. They were
fantasies she didn't think she could ever live up to. Now she
wondered what he might be streaming in the late of night with
a reliable internet connection and HD viewing.

Mulder stepped back from her. "I haven't watched porn," he
insisted hotly. "Yes, I've jerked off. Every fucking night
because you left, Scully. You *left.*" His eyes were
impenetrably dark, boring into hers. She hated how he aroused
her, even now. Picturing him in their once-shared bed, cock in
his hand, she felt the familiar pulse of arousal between her
thighs.

"Mulder - "

"It just pisses me off that you left me because you'd rather
pleasure yourself."

"That's not true, and it's not even on point. Leaving was
*nothing* to do with sex." She thought for the millionth time
that the sex was the one good thing about their relationship.
"And you *know* it." She squared her shoulders, daring him to
contradict her, knowing he couldn't. Mulder knew perfectly
well how her body responded to him - how he pleasured her.
She was vocal enough about it; the house was acres away from
another residence, his name had often echoed through their
little abode. Two nights before she'd left, in fact.

"Yeah, you were kind enough to throw me a goodbye fuck,"
Mulder remarked, as though reading her mind.

Scully bristled. "Oh, fuck you, Mulder. How dare you." He
seemed wholly unaffected by her anger, almost as though he
relished in it. His lips quirked in a cruel smirk and she
wondered if he wanted her to slap him. Her fingers curled
instinctively, her blood pumping hotly through her veins.
Instead of lashing out, she felt tears prick at the backs of her
eyes. How could he, after all his time, make her feel so cheap?
"Mulder, you should go," she said quietly, taking a step away
from him.

Where had his sudden madness come from, anyway? He'd been
resigned and contrite when she'd left - accepting of the reality,
maybe even in agreement at just how bad things had gotten
between them.

He nodded once in acquiescence. "You know, Scully," he said,
hesitating for a moment. "I thought you'd come back." Mulder
tapped his knuckles against the door frame, his eyes roving her
face. "I understand your reasons for leaving, but I didn't think it
would be permanent." He smiled sadly, shaking his head. "I
thought we'd be together forever."

Taking his leave, Mulder stepped out of the kitchen and out of
sight. Scully was momentarily contrite, heavy with guilt. Then
in an instant, she became livid with fury. Dropping her arms,
she chased after him, racing through the apartment to where he
stood, hand on the door knob. "*You* thought we'd be together
forever? For what? So you could have someone to clean your
house, cook your meals, wash your laundry and fuck you
whenever you got bored?" He turned the knob, releasing the
door. Scully's palm came down on the wood panel, slamming
the door shut again.

"That's not what I said," Mulder replied, suddenly so calm she
wanted to scream. It might have been the emotions she felt at
losing her patient, the gravity of two grieving parents mourning
the loss of their daughter, her sense of absolute failure in every
single aspect of life, but all at once, Dana Scully was a roaring
fiery whirlwind.

"Oh no? What did you say then, Mulder? Because for a *very
long time you said nothing.*" She stood on the tips of her toes,
never more frustrated by their height difference. "Loneliness
and solitude might work for you, but it doesn't work for me."
Her fingers were beginning to hurt from the effort of holding
the door closed. Finally, Mulder's hand dropped from the knob
and his shoulders sagged.

"Is this your solution, then? Seems pretty fucking solitary to
me." They'd never swore so much at one and other, not even in
their most heated disagreements. When she realized how much
she *liked* this sudden fire in Fox Mulder, Scully felt disgust
at herself. Had she really been so deprived of his emotion that
she would relish his anger, his unexpected display of passion.
"Fourteen hour days, eating takeout alone, getting yourself off
with a rubber cock." He feigned a beatific smile, mocking her.
"Good choice, Scully."

"You can be such a bastard sometimes, Mulder." She meant it,
and had probably never loved him more than she did at that
moment. She wanted to go home to him, wanted to sink into
the warmth of his embrace and remember what it felt like to be
secure, content. Instead, she shook her head with a disgust she
didn't really feel.

The door opened. "I want you to come home, Scully. If time is
what you need, take all the time you want. Just know, there's
nothing that *I* could buy online to replace you."

Then he was gone, easing the door shut quietly behind him. He
was right; she'd never felt more alone.