Rated: NC-13
Spoilers: None
Category: Vignette, Angst, Humour, Scully POV.
Archive: Gossamer. I take care of the rest.
If you want
it, please ask me first. Deal? Good.
Disclaimers: I deny owning Mulder, Scully or The
X-Files.
I deny profits from writing this story or intentionally
breaking any copyright laws. I deny writing this story!
(But I did.)
"Because if you can't go the distance, or you can't stand
the
tune, ship out! Cast off! Apply for a transfer. Just
remember this, you know what you've seen!" Bam!
He slammed the door.
What the hell had I done? All I said was that it
couldn't
have been proven, no matter what we did. Evidence would go missing, and we couldn't figure out how that
happened. What
were we supposed to do? Hide it? Where?
That had thrown me for a loop. The way Mulder hauled
off
at me like that and went off so angry. Didn't he know
I was just as frustrated as he was? It mattered
to me,
that once again, we, and I said WE, couldn't explain the
disappearance of the oft abducted Sarah Wheeler, and
where
that chip we removed from her had gone.
Before we were even able to take it to the lab, it was
gone. Before we could get back to Sarah's house to question her further, she was gone. All I could tell myself I had
said many times before: 'We messed up.' When I told Mulder that was the case this time, he let me have it, and when
I stood alone in that office for several minutes after he ran out, I was reduced to a guilt-ridden lump of jelly with chills
running down my spine, and a knot in my stomach. I hadn't felt that way since I was a little girl.
Not only had I let down Sarah Wheeler, her husband and
her
three children, I had failed Mulder. When I found myself
telling him the chip had disappeared from my room, I
was
already berating myself for not having hidden it in one
of my drawers, maybe a kitchen cupboard, my car, his car,
his drawers for that matter, and I told him so.
Yeah, I told him I had lost the chip. Then, the first
time he angrily chewed me out, I told him to shove any
other chips we'd found up his drawers. I replied that
there was no way it could have just disappeared from my
motel room, that no one could have just 'beamed it out', that it wasn't possible for things or people to disappear without
a trace, and he accused me of being someone so grounded in science that I refused to believe that little microchip was of
any use other than that of tracking lost pets.
He figured if it hadn't disappeared, then maybe I had
gotten
careless, or flushed it, or left my room unlocked
with the chip out in the open. Then, there came the
second round.
When we returned home, and I filed my report, I don't
think
I'd seen his face so contorted with rage as I did
that day. When he let loose on me, I cowered. I sunk
down into a chair for a half hour after he left that room
with a loud slam, and then it occurred to me: This time, I was taking it personally. I didn't want him to be angry with
me! Me, Dana Scully. Not me, scientifically stoic Special Agent Scully. Me the person, the woman.
One thing I should say, though: Two days later everything
was
fine, totally within expectations, and Mulder
apologised. It seems he had been so intent on proving
that the chip existed, he took the pill vial in which I
hadplaced it, and packed it with his clothes. Yes, it was in his drawers the whole time.
I really didn't mean to make him draw out the apology for
three
days running, though. That wasn't nice, but it
sure looked good seeing him so damn humble.
Mind you, on the second day, I was afraid he was going
to
break down and cry, and I was ready to resolve the whole
thing even earlier than that, as we normally do, but that
was precious: "You have to believe I can't sleep when I
hear my own words playing back at me, Scully. I can't
think of a single reason you'd want to talk to me again.
In fact, as much as I would deeply appreciate your help,
and want you to keep me in check, I wouldn't blame you if you applied for a transfer. I'll fill out the application
for you, if you want. But just don't go. And don't be angry. It's right here in my left... I mean, here in my right
pocket. Oh my God, please? Say something?" Then, he got down on his knees and I couldn't stand it anymore.
"Mulder," I said, "Get up. I forgive you. I spent
the
past couple of days blaming myself, but I forgive you.
But for heaven's sake, the next time you go looking for evidence, don't accuse me of letting it slip out of my hands before
you check to see if it's in your drawers!"
Okay, we had a laugh over that. It was worth it.
That was
five days ago. Wait until he reads the part of my report
that says Chuck Wheeler found his wife hiding
out in their
kids' tree house just after we landed. Yes. Something
about an argument...
END
