Subject: NEW: Black and Blue (1/1) Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 14:35:11 -0400 From: "Emily Siazon" Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative "Black and Blue" (1/1) By Emily Siazon Rating: PG Category: VA Spoilers: None Keywords: Scully/Other, Pre-XF, abuse. Feedback: Please! Send it to Summary: Ever wonder why Scully tries so hard not to lose control? A new take on the Scully-was-in-an-abusive-relationship stories. Disclaimer: All characters belongs to 1013 production, Chris Carter, and FOX. No infringement is intended. ********************************************************************* "It's okay to lose control, Scully," Mulder whispered, watching her knuckles turn white from gripping the bench too tightly. She refused to look at him, instead opting to stare at the bustling DC streets in the distance. The murky city lights caused by the smog gave the scene a surreal quality, matching the conversation between the two FBI agents perfectly. "I killed an innocent man, Mulder," Scully answered, her left hand automatically going to the cuts in her arm that she received in their last case. "I should have been more careful when I shot Webster." "You were watching my back." "Was I? He had all the time in the world to kill us, Mulder. I could have waited until the attendant was out of the line of fire." "By then he might have killed both of us. Who'd save the kid then?" "Well it wasn't like I saved him this time, either," she answered bitterly. "It's okay to lose control, Scully," Mulder repeated. If only he knew. Mulder frequently told her that it was all right to lose control. He wanted her to cry and not bottle up all her grief, but he never seem to consider its flip side—a side she was only too familiar with. Scully wasn't always so controlled; she used to be able to laugh without care like everybody else. But an event early on in her life changed all that. Had she believed in such words as "fate" and "destiny," she would have said that it happened for a reason. Scully closed her eyes, remembering that day as easily as she could see her reflection on the river before her. She had been a freshman in college then, the envy of all the girls as she dated the campus newspaper editor, Rick Whitman. Everyone agreed he was a great catch. And he was—at least until that balmy April night when she learned otherwise. She had been in his room, pretending to be interested in her history book when all she could really concentrate on was the feel of his nose nuzzling the back of her neck. She heard him chuckle at her sharp intake of breath when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. In the meantime, his hand explored the rest of her body, slowly trailing down her side only to come back up to caress her breast. His warm breath on her upper back was all the encouragement she needed to arch her body to give him better access. Far from passive, Scully decided to return the favor and began to stroke his lower body; an action that immediately caused his breathing to become ragged. She attempted to open up Rick's zipper to help alleviate his discomfort. He playfully batted her hand away, murmuring, "not yet" while he carefully laid her down on the bed. They made love under the orange light of the setting sun, painting a rainbow of colors on their heated bodies as they slowly thrusted into one another. They were oblivious to the stark white walls and the books waiting to be read only a couple of feet away. All they could think of was the fire running down their veins, making them both feel more alive than ever before. An hour later, just as Scully was drifting off to sleep, she felt Rick hold her close and whisper, "Sheila." "What?" She felt him tense, then quickly let her go to sit up. "I didn't realize you were awake." "I didn't realize I was being used," Scully responded bitterly. "You're not. You have to understand, Sheila and I were together for two years. You can't expect me to just stop loving her because I love you. I thought you of all people would understand. How would you feel if we broke up?" She was angry, and perhaps she was being petty and juvenile; but at that moment all she could think of was hurting him the way he hurt her. "I never said I love you." "I'm sorry." His calm response irritated her even more. She threw his book at him which he tried to block halfheartedly with his arm. "Stop saying that! You're always sorry! What makes you think it will make things any better?!" Rick looked at her then, a suspicious glimmer in the corner of his eye. "Because I love you." Scully shook her head. "I—I can't do this anymore. I'm sick of watching you look up whenever someone who even remotely resembles her passes by, only to hear seconds later an apology you don't mean." She made no effort to expel his arms as they wrapped around her bare waist. No matter how much she hated him at that moment, she still wanted him. "I love you," he reiterated. "You have to believe that. I'm sorry that I hurt you again; but I promise I'll make it up to you, even if it takes an eternity to do it." There was a brief silence. Then she sighed. "I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" she asked, tacitly forgiving him like she'd done after countless other "I'm sorry's." "Nah. It'll go away." Scully nodded, pretending not to see the bruise already beginning to turn black and blue as she headed towards the mini-fridge to get him some ice, all the while horrified by what she'd just done. What was wrong with her? What made her think that lashing out at him like—like some *barbarian* would solve anything? Scully could almost see Ahab shaking his head at her in disappointment, just like when she'd broken her mother's favorite vase when she was six—hear his baritone voice, saying, "I thought we raised you better than that, Starbuck." She was filling up the ice pack when she looked up at him sadly and whispered, "I'm sorry." Rick sat back down and closed his eyes. "I know." Scully swore that it would be the first and last time that she'd hurt an innocent person. She constructed around her a Maginot Line to stop anyone from getting too close, thinking that it couldn't happen again if she was always in full control. But Mulder had long ago sent those barriers crumbling with his friendship and his trust. The provocation towards him in their last case only served as a final blow, making her break her promise. It had started normally enough, with Mulder and she driving in the middle of nowhere. The raindrops had splattered on the windshield with a loud, rhythmic thud, obscuring Scully's vision as she tried to navigate her way around the coastal highway. A quick glance at the glowing clock on the dashboard informed her that it was already two in the morning. She stifled a yawn and tried to ignore the hypnotic sound of the waves crashing near the side of the road, turning up the radio as loud as she could without waking up the svelte man slumped on the passenger seat. She drummed her fingers along with the music, quickly losing interest when a slow, romantic song began to play. After another suppressed yawn, Scully decided to move her eyes around to keep herself alert, but she only got motion sickness as they whizzed past the imposing redwood trees that northern California was known for. Scully opened the window and took a deep breath of the salty air. Her head was instantly soaked, sending the icy liquid to trail down her back. She shivered and quickly closed the window back up. The whisper of wool sliding against the leather seat brought Scully's attention to her companion, or more accurately, his bare back. She could see a tantalizing hint of his butt as his coat and shirt rode up in his effort to get her a towel from the backseat. "Here," he murmured in a voice still scratchy from sleep. "Wipe some of that water off before you get sick. There's no way I'm interviewing all these people about what they like to do with their manure by myself." "Gee, Mulder, has anyone ever mentioned what a sweet person you are?" "All the time," he answered with a smirk. A comfortable silence blanketed the car as they drove down the next couple of miles, only interrupted briefly by Mulder insisting that they stop and refresh his dwindling supply of sunflower seeds. Whatever protests she had wafted into the cool night air and died without so much as a whimper when he accompanied it with a pleading look that he knew she couldn't resist. They ended up on opposite sides of the store, with him near the counter to get his seeds while she went on the back to get a Snapple. She was trying to reach an iced tea on the highest rack when she felt the cool metal of a gun pressed against her back. Scully inhaled sharply and adopted a neutral expression before turning around. She was dismayed to find her assailant, whom she later identified as an escaped convict named Robert Webster, without a mask or anything to help disguise himself, a sign that he didn't intend for anyone to get out of the situation alive. She looked over at Mulder. His back was still turned away from her, humming "Jailhouse Rock" under his breath while he tried to decide which flavor of sunflower seeds to get. Scully felt the gun move from her neck towards the back of Mulder's head. She purposely dropped her bottle of Snapple to distract Webster, hopefully giving her partner enough time to assess the situation and for her to get out her weapon. She made the mistake of underestimating Webster's reflexes and was therefore caught off guard when he pushed her towards the ground. Scully suppressed a cry of pain as she landed on the broken shards of glass. She watched as her assailant then tackled Mulder while he unholstered his Smith and Wesson, taking it away and then kicking him hard on the ribs. Mulder grunted and tried to roll away, only to find the barrel of his weapon aimed at his face. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Webster warned him as he clicked off the safety. He then backed away, taking hold of the inanimate attendant who suddenly looked too young to be working there. Webster alternately pointed Mulder's Smith and Wesson between Scully and her partner while he waited for the attendant to empty the cash register. Scully took advantage of his divided attention to put her hand over her weapon while she waited for a chance to get a clear shot at Webster. Mulder apparently had the same idea and tried to reach for the gun strapped to his ankle; unfortunately, his hand knocked over one of the displays, sending bags of potato chips to scatter all over the floor. Webster switched his full attention to Mulder, pointing the Smith and Wesson at him a little too long for Scully's liking. She saw the finger on the trigger tense, and time felt like it had slowed down to a crawl, one agonizing second dragging after another as she took out her weapon, aimed at the thief, and fired. Scully closed her eyes, swearing that she could feel every drop cling to her face as the room was sprayed with blood, wiping it away from her eyes before opening them to assess the damages. Both Webster and the attendant were on the ground, their blood mingling on the filthy white tiles. She could tell by Webster's empty gaze, his countenance without even a hint of surprise, that the shot at his heart had killed him instantly. The attendant, on the other hand, laid two feet away gasping for his breath. Blood seeped out of arm at an alarming rate. Scully knew that she'd hit a major artery, and she bent over to do the futile task of slowing the blood flow, already knowing that it was too late even as she listened to Mulder bark out for an ambulance to hurry. She ran a blood-soaked hand through the kid's hair, her shaking hands betraying her as she whispered that he was going to be all right. The attendant smiled up at her faintly in response and whispered through parched lips, "I hate it when people lie to me." She watched as he then quietly slipped away. It happened so quietly, without fanfare, that for a second she almost convinced herself that he'd simply gone to sleep. Scully even put a finger to his neck just to be sure. Nothing. Scully stood up, finding the inside of the convenience store suddenly too confining. She could hear Mulder asking her if she was all right. He sounded far away, like he was talking to her from the other side of a tunnel. He was easily overpowered by her own voice, murmuring, "My God, what have I done?" "It's okay to lose control," Mulder repeated again, breaking Scully's reverie. To which she replied, "No, not always." END. ********************************************************************* Author's Notes: Please send feedback to I'm really interested in what people think of this story.