Incomplete by Lydia Bower Classification: V, A Rating: PG-13 for language Spoilers: Yep. Fourth season up to and including Elegy. Summary: Continues the final scene of Elegy. Mulder loses his cool. Author's notes: This is a follow-up to the final scene of Elegy and therefore contains spoilers. If you're looking for a kiss-and-make-up story where everything ends happily, this ain't the one. This is heavy on the angst and Mulder and Scully aren't being very polite to each other, either. Sorry, but I just had to get this one off my chest. I was intrigued and, I'll admit it, delighted to see Mulder's flash of anger in the final scene and was sorry we didn't get more; so I've continued it here and brought it to one possible conclusion. I also wanted to keep in mind the events it seems we're going to be seeing in the final two episodes of this season. This is a safe one--I don't think noromos or friendshippers will find anything objectionable here. Feedback is always welcome. Enjoy! :) Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I'm only borrowing them and I mean no harm. I'll return them washed, dried, and pressed--I promise. I've also borrowed some dialog from various episodes. Am I making money off of this? HA! I can only dream.... This is for Madeleine. Consider this a bribe for more of The Pact, sweetie. Incomplete by Lydia Bower "Harold Spuller wasn't dying, Mulder; he was killed as a result of what that woman took away from him." Mulder wasn't convinced. He was still certain Spuller was visited by the disembodied spirits of those women because he'd been dying all along; and not because of some freak respiratory failure. "Is that your medical opinion?" he asked Scully. She hesitated for an instant before she raised her eyes to his. "I saw something, Mulder." "What?" "The fourth victim," she told him tightly. "I saw her in the bathroom before you came to tell me." First came confusion. Then understanding. And then anger. All flooding through him in a split second. Mulder pushed aside everything but the hot wave of betrayal and fury he felt. That he held tightly, welcoming it. How could she keep evidence like that from him? "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked her. "Because I didn't want to believe it--because I don't want to believe it." Where had he heard that before? And was he imagining things or did Scully look like she was on the verge of tears? Hard to tell--it was a side of her he saw so rarely. Mulder felt the muscles in his jaw clinch tight. "Is that why you came down here--to prove that it wasn't true?" Scully's eyes were definitely wet. But that little chin of hers was held as high as ever. "No, I came down here because you asked me to." Well, thank you very much for doing your job, Scully. He glared at her and asked, "Why can't you be honest with me?" "What do you want me to say," she snapped. "That you're right, that I believe it even if I don't? I mean, is that what you want?" How could she even ask that? "Is that what you think I want to hear?" Her eyes flicked away for a moment before she admitted resignedly, "No." "You can believe what you want to believe, Scully, but you can't hide the truth from me; because if you do then you're working against me--and yourself." It was only then that Mulder allowed himself to consider the evidence fully--and what it meant that Scully had seen what she'd seen. The implications were obvious and frightening. He found himself wondering for the umpteenth time if she'd been honest with him about the cancer and her health. The anger diminished but didn't completely leave him. He clung to it tenaciously--unconsciously realizing he'd buried it for too long. "I know what you're afraid of," he told Scully. "I'm afraid of the same thing." A vast catalog of unanswered questions and unspoken needs passed between them during the moments when their eyes met and locked. Scully was hanging on by a thread--he could see it. "The doctor said I'm fine." She managed to get that out without her voice breaking. Barely. "I hope that's the truth." It was a statement Mulder wouldn't have dreamt of making six months ago. Unfortunately, the fact that he was doing it now--and for good reason--was one of many things that'd changed since Scully's diagnoses. He felt no satisfaction when her next words came out in a whisper that was as much plea as declaration. "I'm going home." He waited until she'd passed him on the ramp before he turned and leaned heavily into the wall. He made himself become still until he figured enough time had passed for Scully to reach her car and make her get-away and then he headed for the exit. Mulder stepped out the door and lifted his face to the night sky. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and exhaled a cloud of steam into the chilly spring air. He tried to make some sense of the emotions colliding around inside him; rearrange them until he had some order. A silent argument raged in his head. She saw an apparition. She's dying. She saw her father, too. She wasn't sick then. She kept it from me. It scared her. She's not the only one who's scared. What else isn't she telling me? It's Scully. I can trust her. Can I? What else hasn't she told me? She's the only one I trust. Trust no one. Mulder closed his eyes and threw up a plea. For what, he wasn't entirely sure. An end to the impasse, perhaps? A way to break down the stony wall of disregard that Scully had begun to build--silently, steadily-- since she got the news about the cancer? He'd been a fool to think things would stay the way they'd been immediately after her diagnoses--when everything seemed so simple and easy and sweet between them. No walls. Perfect honesty. Clear goals and renewed determination. He remembered the promise they'd exchanged in a hospital hallway. It seemed like lifetimes ago. "You know, I have things to finish. To prove to myself, my family. But for my own reasons." "The truth will save you, Scully. I think it'll save both of us." He still believed that. But Scully didn't. She'd apparently decided the truth didn't matter anymore. Not the truth about her health or the truth about what they were to each other. Not even the truth about the work. She'd held back a piece of information that could've proven vital to the case. There was no excuse it for it. It was unprofessional. It was unfair. It was un-Scully. What else has she been keeping from me? Trust no one. A cold shiver ran up his spine and back down, settling somewhere deep inside him and releasing a old, familiar feeling. He'd forgotten what it was to stand completely alone, to face the unknown with a bravado borne of solitude and a reckless disregard for his own health and safety. The truth was all that had mattered to him then. He'd first grudgingly and then willingly shared that pursuit with Scully. Had handed her everything he was with a blind faith that whispered to him that she was the one, she understood. She would fight for him and with him, casting her brilliant light around her and destroying the shadows that stood between them and the truth. He wanted that Scully back. And tonight had gone a long way toward proving to him that she didn't exist anymore--at least not in the world they'd once occupied together. She'd slipped away and taken with her any faith he had left. Mulder hated her for that. He turned and saw Scully's car. And saw that she was in it. Hands gripping the steering wheel, staring out the windshield. Shit. He walked to the car and stood inches away from the window. Scully didn't notice him until he tapped on the glass. She started and looked up at him with wide eyes, the tracks of her tears visible on her cheeks. It hurt him that she'd chosen to weep alone instead of allowing him to share her burden. A lot of things hurt him these days--and made him angry. Mulder was tired of the pain; tired of the buried anger eating away at him like acid. He opened the car door, leaned in and told her, "Slide over, Scully. I'm driving you home." She turned away and swiped at her eyes. "Mulder, that's not--" "Don't argue with me. Please. Just slide over." Her eyes moved over his face, studying him, trying to gauge his mood. Mulder returned the look with his best deadpan stare. After a few moments Scully sighed and slid across the seat. The first few minutes of the drive passed without a word. Scully reached over and fiddled with the radio before settling on an oldies station. 'If You Don't Know Me By Now' was playing. Mulder got through the second verse and part of the chorus before his hand shot out and savagely twisted the knob on the radio, returning them to heavy silence. "So, what's it gonna take to get you to talk to me, Scully? Should I stop and pick up a bottle of wine?" He caught the sharp twist of her head from the corner of his eye. "Maybe you should see if you can find Al Green on the radio. Can't really do anything as far as a fireplace goes. Sorry." The temperature in the car dropped a good ten degrees. "I don't deserve that," she told him icily. "Neither did I," he immediately retorted. That shut her up. When you're right, you're right. Even Scully couldn't argue with that. Mulder pulled up to a red light and looked over at her. Her arms were crossed protectively, her eyes focused straight ahead. He could feel the anger building back up, one small degree at a time. "Did you talk to Eddie about the cancer?" he asked her and watched as her eyes slipped shut in a slow blink. "No," she murmured. "Well, at least you're consistent." That got him a look. He pulled away from the light. "I don't want to fight with you, Mulder." He snorted a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, that's not the only thing you don't want to do with me, is it?" "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He glanced over at her. "Do I really need to explain myself?" She glared at him and then looked away. She sighed and said, "I told you, Mulder. I'm fine." He felt something tear loose inside him, like an overtaxed muscle that'd finally been stretched to the breaking point. He slammed on the brakes and the car squealed to a stop in the middle of the street. Mulder balled a fist and punched the steering wheel hard, relishing the pain that shot up his hand and into his arm. He twisted around to her and hissed, "You're not fine, Scully! Do you hear me? You're not fine! I'm so sick of that fucking word coming outta your mouth! Is that what you're going to be whispering to me when you're lying in a hospital bed fighting for your last breath? Is that what I'm gonna hear--I'm fine, Mulder?" Someone in a car behind them honked their horn. Mulder glanced in the rearview mirror and threw his hand up in a dismissive wave. "Fuck you! Go around me." "Mulder, either pull over or drive." "Fuck you too, Scully. Fuck it all!" He hit the gas and took off. One, two, three blocks passed in tense silence. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and distant. "Mulder..." "Don't bother, Scully," he snapped. "Whatever you have to say is just going to be a repeat of what I've been hearing for months. Don't waste your breath." "I saw Harold Spuller, too." He whipped his head around and stared at her. "What?" "I saw Harold. Just before you came out to the car. I saw him in the rearview mirror. But when I turned around he was gone." This time Mulder did pull over; turning into a dead end alley. He shut off the car and stared out the window, listening to the clicking of the engine as it cooled down; listening to the soft, reassuring sound of Scully's breathing. Mulder cradled his throbbing hand and looked over at her. She was slouched against the door, as far away from him as she could get without leaving the car. He swallowed hard and said, "You saw your father too, Scully. It doesn't necessarily mean anything." He was surprised by her laughter. "Now who's hiding the truth?" she asked. Mulder threw her a sharp look. "It could be anything, Scully. We've seen at least one case where a brain tumor has been linked to the increase or onset of psychic abilities. And maybe you're just more in touch with this sort of phenomena." He caught and held her eye. "You saw your father after he died. You weren't...you didn't have... It doesn't mean anything." "Is that why you're so angry with me, Mulder? Because I happen to have seen the disembodied souls of two people in the last twenty-four hours, but it doesn't mean anything?" "No. I'm angry because I don't know what to believe anymore, Scully. I'm angry because I thought you trusted me." "I do," she declared. "No. No, you don't. You never have--not completely. If you trusted me I wouldn't have to wonder if you're really all right or not. Because if you did trust me you'd talk to me about this. You would have told me what you'd seen a lot sooner than you did. And then I wouldn't have to wonder if I can still trust you or not." He might as well have slapped her--she reeled back as though he had. And then she looked at him with x-ray eyes and reached right in and snatched his heart in a vise-like grip. He felt the impact of it shoot down and land squarely in the vicinity of his balls. "How dare you question my trustworthiness," she spat. "You go to hell!" Mulder was temporarily awe-struck as he realized it really was possible to love Scully and hate her at the same time; to want to both hurt her and hold her. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. It was invigorating, certainly--but in a twisted kind of way. He looked away from her. "I can't believe you said that me," she continued, her eyes blazing hotly, her voice raw and high. "What more do I have to do to prove myself to you, Mulder? How much is enough?" "Talk to me," he said quietly. Scully either didn't hear him or didn't care. She was on a roll. "I've stood by you through some of the worst nightmares of my life. I've put myself on the line for you. I've covered your ass and saved your life. I've backed you up and held you up. I've gone to jail for you! What more do you want from me?" "Talk to me." "And now I'm dying. Will that be enough, Mulder? Will that do it for you? Will you finally allow yourself to believe in me when I'm dead and you can add me to your list of personal martyrs; right up there with Samantha?" Had to give her credit. She knew just where to twist the knife. He ran a hand over his face and was surprised by the moisture his fingers encountered. He pulled his hand away and stared at it, absently wondering how long he'd been crying. He choked out the words; his throat thick and tight. "Talk to me, Scully." "About what?" she demanded. "What it feels like to be dying? About how frightened I am? Is that what you want me to talk to you about?" "Yes. If that's the truth then I want to hear it." "Why?" "Because I'm stumbling around in the dark here, Scully! Because there's no one I can talk to about what's happening to you but you; and you won't talk about it. I always get the same goddamn answer every time I ask. I don't know what to believe. I don't know if you're lying to me or not. I don't know whether it's even safe for you to be out in the field." He stopped long enough to catch his breath and take a good look at her. Her face was closed up tight; dry-eyed and flushed with anger. Mulder lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm scared, Scully. I look at you and I can see you slipping away. You're losing weight again, you're pale as ghost, you're having nosebleeds. If I wasn't such a coward I'd request that Skinner have you declared unfit for field duty. Hell, the experimental treatments you're undergoing and the nosebleeds are more than enough reason for me to do just that." There was no mention of Skinner's deal with the devil--which by the looks of things had ended up being no more than a way for the black-lunged son of a bitch to fuck the AD over the way he had Mulder. He supposed if he took the time to think about it, he'd probably be deserving of the title of hypocrite of the year. Here he was demanding the truth from Scully while he was holding back so much of it himself. The only thing stopping him from telling her all of it was the slim hope and chance that Scully might yet come out the winner in this newest round of game-playing with the shadow syndicate. If she had any idea of the lengths to which he and Skinner were willing to go to save her, Scully would be outraged. "You try it and I'll fight you every inch of the way, Mulder." He barked a wry laugh. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Scully. You've been doing that for years." They played a game of chicken and Mulder won when Scully dropped her eyes. "Just take me home, Mulder. It's late and I'm tired. This isn't accomplishing anything." She had a point. While it felt great to finally get some things out of his system, the whole purpose of this had been to get her to open up, not shut down even further. If that happened, Mulder figured they might as well just give it up and go their separate ways. He backed out of the alley and headed toward Scully's place, feeling even worse than he had before. He couldn't understand what she was so afraid of--why she couldn't just let him in. Mulder wanted the chance to comfort her and, truth be told, he could use a little comfort himself. There wasn't anyone he wanted it from more than Scully. Comfort and trust. Understanding and trust. Honesty and trust. He wanted it all. They were almost there before Scully spoke again. "Why don't you just drop me off and take the car. That way you won't have to wait on a cab." Mulder's mind did the translation: "I don't want you in my apartment, Mulder. I don't want to be anywhere near you." Fresh tears stung his eyes. At least he could catch these before they fell. "You sure, Scully?" "Yeah. Just pick me up in the morning. We can stop by and get your car on the way in." "Okay." He glanced over at her. "Scully--" "Not now, Mulder. Okay? I just... I can't do this tonight." "Then when?" She met his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know if I ever can, Mulder. I'm sorry; I know that's not what you want to hear but that's the only answer I have." He said quietly, "All I want is the truth, Scully." "That is the truth. Or at least as much of it as I can give you right now." He made the last corner and pulled up in front of her building. He shut off the car and handed her the keychain, instantly noting it was the one he'd given her for her birthday. That night seemed like it had happened ages ago. He watched as she removed her house key and handed the keychain back. They shared a long look before she unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. "Good night, Mulder." "Scully? It's not going to go away if you ignore it. We're going to have to do this eventually. If we don't we're going to end up destroying everything." He didn't have to explain himself. Scully knew exactly what he was talking about. It was all at risk. Their partnership, their friendship, their work. And Scully. Scully most of all. "I can't make you any promises, Mulder. I have to do this a single day at a time; that's the only way I can cope with it all." "You have me, Scully. Always. All you have to do is say the word. I want you to know that." "I know it. I do. I just don't know if I can accept it." He shot her a quizzical look. "Mulder...." She sighed. "I can't...." He lifted a hand to stop her. "It's okay, Scully. Just forget about it. It'll wait. Go on, get some sleep." She looked relieved to be off the hook--too relieved to suit him. "G'night, Mulder. I'll see you in the morning." "Night, Scully." He watched her walk up the sidewalk and enter the building; watched as the lights came on in her living room and then the bedroom. Mulder pulled away from the curb and headed home; acutely aware that he was still alone. And incomplete. XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The End --------- End forwarded message ----------