TITLE: Iron Flower AUTHOR: Darkstryder [ upyours1013@rock.com ] CATEGORY: SAR [ Mulder/Scully Romance ] SUMMARY: "Aquamarine" or whatever the hell it was called never happened. Arthur Dales died of a heart attack last year. This is what was going on when the episode took place. Or: Mulder and Scully get down with their bad selves. DISCLAIMER: I am him and he is me and we are all together. ==================== iron flower darkstryder ==================== your words are soon gone and it hurts, I have none take a jump from your pretty linguistic tower the goal of speech, so obnoxious to reach only one thing to do, melt your iron flower ~ k's choice ==================== Scully knew something was wrong when she found Mulder smoking. For a split second she was afraid that she was getting a visit from the Smoking Man. Wisps of smoke curled around his face like a veil as he stood against the open window. Shadows carved deep lines into his face. His voice, usually like smoke and silver, was raw, as if he had not spoken in a long time. "Hey, Scully." His eyes met hers and he smiled slightly. A thin sliver of moonlight framed his body. He looked like a scarecrow with his bleached skin and long, lean build. Part of her wanted to rip the cigarette from his lips and fling it out the window, and then beat him unconscious. The other part wanted to hold and him and cry, although she wasn't quite sure why. She did neither. Instead she felt her lip curl in anger, and she asked, "What the hell are you doing?" He shrugged, pressing the end of the cigarette into a crystal ashtray. "Just sitting and thinking." "And smoking." "That too," he replied. He gave her a look that was a cross between a smile and a grimace. It was his "I'm in trouble" face, one she knew only too well. Scully's gaze dropped from his face to the ashtray. "Why?" she asked softly, moving closer. He was always easier to pry answers from when he knew that she was concerned. Again he shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I wanted a cigarette, so I bought a pack." She was mildly surprised at his blunt comment. She had figured that he would dodge the question, find some way to change the subject. He must have been feeling unusually low. "It's funny," he continued, voice softening. "I haven't wanted one in seven years." A sad smile crept along his face. "Oh, Mulder," she sighed, sitting beside him. His pitiful expression was cute, but she didn't think she liked the grayness of his eyes or the crow's feet on his forehead. His eyes dropped from hers, and she watched as he wrung his hands nervously. It was adorable. It was unnerving. "Um, would you mind if I hugged you right now?" He was _asking_ if he could _hug_ her? It was sweet, but who was this man, and what had he done with her Mulder? Scully felt dry air sting the corners of her eyes ( she refused to admit that they were tears ) as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek in the hollow of his throat. His arms snaked around her torso, pulling her tighter against him. She could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, although his breathing had quickened noticeably. "You're being unusually open tonight," she whispered against his neck. She could feel him chuckle, but he didn't respond. When she pulled away, the color of his eyes shifted from green to gold as they bore into her. One of his hands framed her face, while the other tangled in her hair. She had a feeling of deja vu. "Are we okay now?" he asked. She frowned. Damn, he wasn't going to kiss her. "What? Okay? About what?" His eyebrows rose. "You know, about the whole Diana thing." She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach. She recoiled, and he dropped his hands. "Is that what this was about?" she demanded. This was about _her_? Diana Fowley, whore of the Hoover Building? God, it was _so_ like him. "Typical," she sneered. Mulder blanched. "Scully ... " Scully held up a hand, stopping him. She could feel rage pulsing through her veins. "No, Mulder, don't you dare say a word. I can't believe you would try to manipulate me into forgiving you." "Manipulate you?" he echoed, brows tweaking over the bridge of his nose. "I just wanted a hug. That's it." She stood and crossed the room, missing his body heat with each step and cursing her weak body for wanting him. He rose to his feet, looking hurt and bewildered and on the verge of tears. He was still disgustingly cute. "Oh, grow up," she snapped. "Stop acting like such a baby. You're thirty-seven years old, for God's sake." His jaw dropped. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. She had officially rendered him speechless. Whoop-dee-doo. It was time for her victory dance. "And what's with this whole 'are we okay' shit?" A look of confusion danced across his face. His eyes were dry and hard; he must have chocked back the tears that had threatened to fall. If they were really there in the first place. "No ... I just ... I assumed that you weren't mad at me anymore when you agreed to hug me." Great. _That_ makes sense. "And why is that?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Because you never let me touch you when you're _not_ mad at me," he replied, voice laced with bitterness. An expressionless mask slid over his face. She knew that his confusion was quickly giving away to anger. "That's not true," she retorted. "I let you touch me." He was virulent now. She could see his nostrils flair. "Name three times that you have," he growled. "Donnie Pfaster ... " she started, resting her hands on her hips. "Within the last two years." Scully blinked. Oh. Now she had to do some digging. "Uh, that time in the forest in Florida, with the mothmen." He gave her a pointed look. "We were sharing body heat. You would have done that for anybody." She ground her teeth together. "Dammit, Mulder, you're twisting everything around. This isn't about our so-called relationship -- " His head snapped up. "Is it?" "We don't _have_ a relationship." A corner of his mouth turned downwards. He snapped his fingers as if he just had an epiphany and said, "Oh, that's right. We're _partners_." "What the hell is that suppose to mean?" she demanded. "You know what I mean," Mulder hissed, leaning closer. He smelled like soap. She wondered if he tasted like it too. "More than half time you act like I'm a burden on you, like the X-Files are just wasting your time. We just got them back, and this morning you were whining about how stupid this case is, how much you'd rather be at home, or out shopping, or doing a million things other than this. We worked so hard to get them back, and you. Don't. Even. Care." She clenched her hands. "You bastard," she growled. "I've given my _life_ to this." Her heart ached with the agony of betrayal, and she didn't know whether she was going to slap him or burst into tears. He wanted her to be soft and perky and more like _her_. Everything that she wasn't, that she couldn't be. He didn't want Scully; he wanted Diana. He looked sad. "So have I." His voice was soft now, the bitterness sponged away like yesterday's makeup. She didn't know what to make of that. She sucked in a sharp breath through her nose. Mulder raked his hands through his hair, and she could see that he was breathing hard. "This isn't about the X-Files," Scully said, fighting for control. "This is about _trust_." "So now you're saying that I don't trust you?" Mulder should have been angry; instead he was frighteningly calm. He had grown colder over the years; his fiery passion came only in increments now. Sometimes she wondered if it was her fault. "No, Mulder, sometimes I don't think you do," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Sometimes I feel that you trust Diana more than me." He looked away, emotion disappearing behind that mask again. "Sometimes I do." Oh God. She could feel her heart shatter beneath the weight of his words. He didn't trust her. He didn't trust her. "What?" I whispered. "She never broke my heart," he murmured, still staring blankly at the wall. _She_ never broke his heart. Of all the excuses ... "Mulder, I -- " The realization of what he said hit Scully like a slap in the face. "What?" Mulder shook his head, taking a step backwards. His face twitched with the stress of trying to hide a sudden change in emotion. "Nothing. It's nothing. I'm sorry. You should go. Or maybe I should go. One us should leave." He was babbling now. She reached for his arm and tried to get him to stop. "Don't." He faltered, and she took the opportunity to grab his hand. "I broke your heart?" she asked. He looked down at their joined hands. His mouth opened and closed a few times as if he was speechless before he replied, "Did you believe me when I told you that I loved you?" Her heart pounded in her chest. He was going to take back his love. She knew it. "So you love me?" she asked. Her voice sounded meek to her own ears and she could feel her face scrunch up in an attempt to hold back the tears. She probably looked about eight years old. "But you said you didn't trust me." He sniffed. "I do trust you. I just -- you _terrify_ me, Scully." Scully knew she radiated perfection; it was something she tried her hardest at. She expected more of herself than others. It had never made her very popular, but she couldn't live with herself if she was any less than perfect. But she never thought that it was frightening. A bit unsettling, perhaps, but not frightening. "Sorry," she said. A corner of his mouth turned up in a small half-smile for a second before fading away. "I-I guess that a part of me wanted to hurt you like you had hurt me," he said slowly, raising his eyes to meet hers. "How did I hurt you?" He bowed his head. " 'Oh brother.' " Scully blinked. Back then, she has known that she had hurt him, but she didn't know that it had hurt him that badly. How many other times had she hurt him without realizing it? "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't know." He raised his head, frowning. "Didn't know that it had hurt me, or didn't know how I felt about you?" She had always known that he loved her. It was obvious by the emotion in his eyes when he looked at her, like she was an angel that had fallen from the heavens and into his arms; the way he touched her, like she would break beneath his fingers if he pressed too hard; the way her name fell from his lips like a prayer. "Didn't know that I had hurt you enough to want to hurt me back," she murmured. His laugh was closer to a sob. "We're really fucked up, aren't we." It wasn't a question. Scully licked her lips. "Do you - do you still love me?" His head snapped up, and his eyes flashed. "What the hell kind of question is that?" he demanded. She could hear her heart falling into a black hole of nothingness. She was right; he wanted Diana. A Believer who never questioned him, who always told him that he was right. What he felt for her was gone. "If you love her, Mulder, then you should go after her," Scully whispered, releasing his hand and edging away from him. His touch hurt. "What?" Mulder asked, looking at her like she had lost her mind. "Scully, what are you talking about?" "Diana." The name tasted like poison on her tongue. He just stared at her. Scully could feel bile start to claw its way up her throat. He didn't love her anymore. Six years of her life wasted on a man who was leaving her for his ex. And all because she hadn't told him that she loved him when he was in a drug-induced haze. "I'm going to go pack," she murmured, not wanting to be in the same room as him any longer. "No," Mulder croaked, grabbing her arm and pulling her close to him. She tried to shrug his hand off. Didn't he realize that he was hurting her? No, probably not. "Mulder ..." That's all she had time to say before he leaned over and kissed her hard. Blood thundered in her ears as she leaned into him, everything fading from her mind except for the taste of his lips, the warmth of his long body pressed against hers. He pulled away for a second and she felt like he had been physically ripped away from her. But then he bent down again. "Diana ... was ... the ... only ... one ... who ... ever ... _cared_ ... about ... me," he whispered between kisses, "but ... I ... can't ... love ... her." Her eyes slipped shut. She felt dizzy. "I care about you," she managed to gasp, lacing her fingers through his hair and tugging him closer. He pulled away, brow furrowing. "The same way I care about you?" "Oh, Mulder." She pulled his head down and kissed him hard, feeling his mouth move beneath hers. He tried to ease away again. "How _do_ you feel about me?" he asked softly. Swallowing thickly, she pressed her forehead against his. "I think I love you," she whispered. He kissed her so gently that she thought she was going to cry. "I _know_ I love you." She kissed him again, knowing that everything was going to be okay. ==================== Laudy, laudy. I actually wrote a story with a happy ending. Somebody shoot me. Kudos to my sista for her support, even though she liked the Scully-bashing more than Mulder's apology. I need bodies to fill my audience. Don't make me come and get you. http://members.tripod.com/~Darkstryder/index-2.html upyours1013@rock.com littlegraymen@mindless.com ==================== .