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The lack of her presence in the chair across from him was noticeable. Uncomfortably noticeable. It felt like there were pieces of shrapnel in his heart, in his hazel eyes. Something cold and indifferent had settled there. He didn't like it at all. He especially didn't like that the call that she would be taking a day off had come from Skinner, not her. That meant he had done something truly, unutterably, unbearably wrong. Something unforgivable. But he couldn't for the life of him figure what he'd done. And she wouldn't answer her phone.
"Fox?"
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his eyes flicked up to meet hers. They were the same steely cobalt blue that had ripped his still-beating heart from his chest ten years prior. They weren't the soft sea blue waves he'd grown so accustomed to greeting each morning.
"Fox, did you even hear me?" Diana was growing impatient. She was always impatient.
"What? No, sorry. What did you say?"
"I was asking for your input on this case. Is there something wrong?"
Yes, he thought. "No." He said.
She frowned at him. That famous Fowley frown. He knew she didn't believe him, but he didn't really care. She was sitting in Scully's spot, where Scully should be sitting. But Scully wasn't there and she wouldn't answer her phone and he hadn't even really seen her for what felt like weeks, the cavernous ravine between them growing wider and colder with each waking moment.
Before he could even think, he was out of his chair, out the door, and up to Skinner's office in nearly one breath. He strode quickly and furiously into the room, running a hand through his messy hair in an attempt to straighten it.
"Agent Mulder, wait--" Arlene stood to stop him.
He brushed past her without a word and busted through Skinner's door. The older man stared up at him, not even surprised by the intrusion. He actually seemed expectant of it.
Skinner sighed and looked back down at the files he'd been reading. "Leave her alone, Agent Mulder."
"Sir--"
"I said, leave her alone." He growled, glowering at him over his glasses.
"You know something." Mulder immediately sat across from him, refusing to let him protect her. Refusing to let Skinner get in the middle of their relationship.
"And you don't."
"Tell me."
"You want a suspension to lift your spirits, Mulder? You're two seconds away from getting one." The fire in Skinner's eyes was almost enough to make Mulder recoil. Almost.
"Please." Mulder heard his voice break. He hated sounding so weak in front of his boss. But Skinner knew. He had to know.
"I don't know what you did, but after what she's asked me to do for her, I'm telling you to leave it the hell alone. She's on leave for the foreseeable future. That's all I'll say to you. Now get the hell out of my office."
It was like someone had stabbed him in the chest, shot him in the face, stolen his life's work, his mission, his hope, like a rug right out from under him. His mind was spinning desperately and he felt sick, god he felt so sick. His everything wasn't talking to him. His everything was "on leave for the foreseeable future". And Skinner wouldn't tell him what was going on.
He stood slowly, room spinning around him. He leaned heavily against the wall for support as he reached for the door.
"Agent Mulder," Skinner's voice, softer now, echoed behind him. He turned to face him, expectant, hopeful. "I know you almost never listen to me. But this time, this time is different."
Feeling effectively skinned alive by the Skinman himself, Mulder nodded, or he thinks he did, and he was out the door, in the elevator, in the parking garage, in his car, and outside of Scully's apartment before he could think to breathe. He couldn't control it, his body had simply taken him there like second nature.
Skinner's words echoed loudly in the cage of his brain, "this time is different, this time is different". Why was it different? What had happened to make it different? He knew, of course he knew. He had lied to her. He had betrayed her. He had kept bigger truths from her. He hadn't meant to, hadn't realized, hadn't wanted to confront his past, but that was all hollow now. It was too important to ignore. How could he beg her to help him find the truth when he wouldn't even give it to her himself?
He raised his fist and knocked three times. Knowing she would know it was him. Knowing she wouldn't answer.
The door swung open anyway and he took a startled step back.
"Fox! How wonderful to see you!" It was Maggie Scully, immediately wrapping her warm, forgiving arms around his stiff figure.
He couldn't even say anything, so deep was his surprise. He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to smile but grimacing.
"Mom?" Scully's voice, no, Scully's weak, broken voice, echoed from the bedroom.
He hadn't heard her voice like that since...no...no it couldn't be...
He found himself pushing past Maggie, traipsing to the dimmed glow of Scully's bedroom, her fortress, the one piece of her he'd never been allowed. He felt tears in his eyes and down his cheeks before he even saw her.
Her eyes were dark and sunken in and there was a fury in them he hadn't seen before, at least not when it was directed at him. She was livid. That he'd invaded her space when she hadn't invited him in. That he hadn't obeyed Skinner for once in his goddamn miserable life. That he'd let her mother's love for him give him a free pass into her apartment, even though he would have used his key anyway.
"Dana..." He whispered, knowing he had no right.
And he was right. It was absolutely the wrong move. 'Dana' was reserved for soft moments, for an acknowledgement of what was between them, for words unsaid. But he had said too many words this time. He nearly choked on his own tongue at the look in her eyes as he whispered her name.
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly in cold rage. "Get out, Mulder. I don't want you here."
"I don't believe you."
"Of course you don't. Tell me something new."
His heart shattered. "Please, Scully." He'd beg. He'd do anything. Literally anything. He'd rip his own head off. He'd commit murder, arson, he'd lick his own shoes every day. He'd ask Skinner to marry him. Anything to get her to talk to him, to smile at him again.
"Dana?" Mrs. Scully peered around the corner, immediately sensing the tension. "What's going on?"
"Nothing, mom. Mulder was just leaving."
"But he just got here. Surely you'll stay for coffee, Fox?"
He was suddenly glib, hoping that the inconvenience and annoyance of his presence would be enough to convince her to like him again. "You know, coffee does sound really good, Mrs. Scully, thank you."
Scully was going to kill him. He was sure of it.
Maggie smiled and turned back to the kitchen, willing to pick up the pieces that both of them had left untouched for far too long.
What he didn't expect when he turned back was to find Scully crying, to find her pushing past him to get to the bathroom, to find the door shut tightly and locked in his face.
He didn't think it could get any worse. He swallowed every feeling in his body until he was numb and walked into the kitchen. He sat as Maggie poured him a cup of coffee.
"What happened to her?" He whispered.
Maggie looked at him in surprise. "She didn't tell you?"
She had always told him. Told him before family. Told him before God. It would seem he wasn't as lucky this time. He wasn't sure he'd ever be again.
He shook his head. "She's, um, not speaking to me, at the moment."
Maggie swallowed, a steely mask forming over her gentle features. "I see."
"What isn't she telling me, Mrs. Scully? I need to fix it. I need to know."
Maggie sat across from him, a tired smile in her eyes. She reached for his hand which he took amicably. "I'm sick of you two."
"What?" He stared at her incredulously.
"Aren't you tired of this back and forth, Fox? Aren't you exhausted by her behavior?"
He pulled away, adamantly shaking his head. "She's everything, Mrs. Scully. It's my fault. This time especially. I've asked too much of her, criticized her, and given her next to nothing in return."
"She's not perfect, Fox. Neither of you are," she sighed heavily, obviously weighed down by thoughts that had plagued her for close to a decade. "But you are perfect for each other."
He scoffed and blushed. "Can you tell her that?"
"I've been telling her that since 1994."
Since her abduction, is what Maggie Scully didn't say.
He swallowed loudly. His breath was caught in his chest. His head was pounding. Mrs. Scully had watched him wear her daughter's cross above his heart, scream at doctors and criminals on her behalf, had stared into his soul as he begged her not to bury his Dana before her heart stopped beating, had held his hand as they sat vigil outside of hospital room after hospital room. She had listened to his relieved calls when he found her again, or when the body he had to identify that week wasn't Scully's. She had watched him step in front of her daughter to protect her, open doors for her, and order her favorite meals without asking. Had seen every intimate glance and touch and smile, even when they thought no one was looking.
"I'll leave you two to it. Tell Dana I'll pick her up for church on Sunday. Get her there safely tomorrow, Fox. And for God's sake call me when she knows."
She was standing, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he hugged her, and was out the door before he could even make sense of any of it. Get her where tomorrow? Call when she knows what? He felt his world tip on its axis with all of the unanswered questions thrumming in his mind. He had to get a grip.
The bathroom door opened. Scully shuffled out. Surprise was evident on her face as she saw him sitting at her table, still sipping at his coffee. It was evident that she had expected him to be the one that had left. He couldn't hide how it hurt him.
"She, um, said she'd get you for church on Sunday." He said, not knowing what else to say.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and nodded, refusing to move closer to him, to look him in the eye.
"Skinner told me not to come."
"You should've listened."
"I couldn't. I wouldn't."
She pursed her lips, stared out the window.
"You knew I'd come anyway."
She shook her head, her eyes filled with pain. "Not this time."
His heart slammed against his chest. He frowned, his brow creased deeply in fear. He couldn't hold his questions back this time. "Why is it different, Scully? Why did he say this time was different? What aren't you telling me?"
She stared at him then, her eyes aching and tired. It hurt him, to see her like this, tired of him. Exhausted by his insistence. He was pounding, hammering, against the walls she'd erected around her, but was only finding more resistance, more layers. He wasn't sure when she'd built these ones. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
But then, there it was, the answer to everything.
Blood dripped down her nose and onto her plush, pale lips. His eyes widened in horror as it all clicked. He was on his feet in a flash, chasing after her as she sprinted to the bathroom, choked sobs shaking her tiny body. She tried to slam the door in his face but he caught it before it closed. She was strong, always so strong, but he was stronger. He forced his way in. He immediately wrapped his arms around her as she bent over the sink and he buried his face into her neck, slamming his eyes shut and placing shameless kisses along the elegant slope of her skin until he reached the base of her neck. He thumbed softly at the scar that sat there, willing the thing underneath it to solve all of his problems once again. He kissed it softly, over and over, until her sobs began to slow and the blood stopped dripping. To his surprise, she had relaxed into his embrace. He looked up to see her sunken eyes closed and she seemed at ease, finally, in his arms.
"How long?" He murmured into her skin, watching closely as her eyes met his in the mirror.
The blue in her eyes was vulnerable and uncut, the ocean that would drown him and he'd let it without complaint.
"Two weeks."
His eyes fluttered shut and he cursed under his breath. Two weeks she'd been suffering. Two weeks he'd been beyond blind. Two weeks where he'd told her he doubted her, that she wasn't enough anymore, that he was tired of her science and her faith. Two weeks where they'd been on a case and she'd been withdrawn in the car but Diana had called and he had forgotten to ask. Two weeks where he noticed her eyes, puffy and red from crying, but Diana had walked into the office and it had escaped him. Two weeks where she'd been running to the bathroom intermittently and he hadn't picked up on it. Two weeks where he revoked every truth he'd ever told her to save himself, to alter the crumbling edges of his past, but pushed her to the point of breaking in the process.
"Jesus, Scully," his voice broke and he kissed her temple, tugging her even tighter to him. "I'm so sorry. You'll never know how sorry."
"For what?" She hissed, shaking and tensing in his embrace. "You didn't care before, I'm not sure why you care now."
He stiffened at her blow. He deserved it, he knew he did. But the fact that she thought he didn't care burned a fire in his chest that hurt far too much to put out. He deserved the pain of her words because he knew he hadn't shown her, hadn't been showing her, how much she meant to him.
"You should go." She whispered.
"I'm not leaving you for one second." He bit back.
"Please, Mulder, I can't do this, I can't--"
"You can and you will and we can and we will. Do you know for sure? Scully?" He wanted her to say no more than anything. He couldn't bear it if she had known and not told him. If she had suffered in silence for two weeks and knew.
"No," her lip quivered. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I have a PET scan tomorrow."
"I'll take you."
"Mulder--"
"Scully," he grabbed her hips and turned her around, forcing her to face him. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know that, you know that, hell, I'm sure both your mother and Skinner know it. I'm sure Byers and Langly and Frohike all know it. But I'm still sorry. I'm sorry I let myself get caught up in the shit-storm of my past. I'm sorry I didn't notice you these past couple of weeks. You don't deserve it. You deserve so much better. You have always deserved so much better. And I can only promise you I'll do my best. I'm here. And I'm not leaving. And nothing, not the work, not the truth, is more important to me than you. Because you are the truth. You're my truth."
She stared at him, letting his words fall over her, absorbing his meaning, deciding whether or not she believed him. She did. She always did. It was her greatest downfall and her greatest strength.
"I want to believe."
Shattered with relief, he leaned in slowly and kissed her. And it was kismet. It was everything he knew and everything he thought he knew. It was the entirety of the truth.
And the next day, they discovered her cancer was still in remission, the air had just been too dry.