Title: Greene with Envy Author: Obfusc8er Feedback: aobfuscata@hotmail.com Website: http://members.tripod.com/xtreme_unction/ Rating: NC-17 for graphic mature content and profanity Classification: "Fire" post-ep, angst, more angst Distribution: Okay to Gossamer, Ephemeral, Enigmatic Dr's. All others please ask first. Summary: An old flame comes back to burn Mulder. Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter, FOX and/or 1013. No profit is being made. No infringement intended. Just playing. Author's "Little Notes": Obscenely huge amounts of gratitude go to Mimic, Joann, O2, and Mary for incredibly valuable suggestions, reference information, and supportiveness. I've been most fortunate to learn from you. This project consumed an amazing amount of time, effort, and sleep hours and was a bit of a departure from my usual writing territory. That made it all the more rewarding to complete! I hope the foray is as entertaining to read as it was to write. More notes are at the end. Ambush Dedication: To Satchie, just because. * * * I used to think about her, wondering if she ever thought of me. I searched for her in the bottom of a shot glass, but the amber liquid revealed no answers. I loved her for using me when no one else would even call back. I was getting used to hating her memory, regretting her in her absence. But then I saw her again while on an investigation. It was the return of two old foes: fire and Phoebe Green, the latter being more dangerous. I freeze inside when I'm near a fire. It has embarrassing powers over me. I can't breathe. My mind races, imagining the possible scenarios of my death. Phoebe has all of that and a tenacious seduction to hold her victim captive. I was confused upon seeing her again. She had been chalked up to the dalliances of youth, an obstacle overcome. Her partially unbuttoned shirt, her provocative body language, her close proximity were invitations, but her eyes were filled only with contempt. Something deep inside me wanted to give her what she seemed to be asking for, if only to break her damned smug attitude. My body and brain responded accordingly, and the contradictory signals made me queasy. I didn't have time to sift through my feelings because the case broke. I was investigating an arson suspect when the other foe pushed her from my thoughts. I was caught in a fire, terrified. The smoke made my eyes water. It uncoiled into my lungs, and I was helpless. Yes, I was scared, but I was also terribly angry, disappointed in myself. I tried to escape, but the flames reared up all around me. There was no way out. I awoke surrounded by firemen and paramedics, sucking oxygen-rich air smelling of plastic from a portable mask. And worst of all, Scully was there. God knows any other time I would have been thrilled to have her attention, but not in my moment of complete incompetence. I could feel myself growing distant from the situation, retreating from reality. We all managed to stay marginally civil long enough to close the case. The next day, after a follow-up breathing treatment and a few words of reassurance to my partner, I searched out a place to be alone. I went to Syd's, found a nice, quiet booth in a dark corner, and ordered a couple of doubles. The first one slid down slowly. The warmth sent little tendrils of pleasant numbness to my fingers. I mulled over the day and generally felt sorry for myself. Felt sorry for Scully. Scully. I reached into my coat for my cell phone. My fingers punched the speed dial code automatically. Her phone rang three times before I panicked and ended the call. There was something about her not being instantly available that made me lose confidence. I was supposed to be able to deal with pressure. And failure. FBI agents do not disintegrate when confronted with fire. FBI agents are not afraid of old flames. I closed the phone and dropped it back in my coat pocket. My throat burned from the alcohol, of course, but it was already raw. I had watered down the second double with a few saline drops when I felt the heat of perdition again. "Hello, Mulder." Don't look up, don't look up, I told myself. Don't reply. "Are you here alone?" What does it look like? And how the heck did you find me? I didn't feel fit to have company after the fire. The liquor and Phoebe's words buzzed inside my head, though, jarring my sense of reason. I gestured for her to sit without looking at her. She slid onto the bench across from me in the tiny booth. I started to raise my second drink, but she cupped a hand over the glass. "Look, I know it was a shock to you when I showed up today, but surely this isn't the way to deal with it." I thought she was incredibly pretentious for assuming that my problems were all about her. And I was irritated that she was mostly right. "I have work to do. I can't stay." I mumbled something about a profile while slipping toward the end of the bench. I felt her other hand grasp my knee. "Don't. I don't think you should be alone at a time like this. You've been through a lot...and had a little too much to drink." "I'll get a cab." She leaned forward. Her hand traveled up my thigh, and the tingling sensation unraveled any rational thought processes that I may have managed to save from drowning in my shot glass. I felt sick. "You look awfully pale." Phoebe took the glass from my hand and set it on her side of the table. "Let me drive you home." God help me, I heard genuine concern in her voice, even as she stroked my thigh. It took all my concentration not to squirm. I gulped and looked around the bar, hoping that Scully would miraculously appear and save me from Phoebe's evil clutches. Maybe slap the smile from her face. I nodded, surrendering what little self-respect I had left. She stood up and went to the register to pay my bill. I sat there wondering what I could do to get myself out of the situation. No obvious solutions presented themselves, so I downed the other double while she wasn't looking. If I was going to humiliate myself by relying on the goodwill of a demoness, I might as well be as anesthetized as possible. She looked disapprovingly at the empty glass and put her hand on my shoulder. "Come on, Mulder. Time to go." Now she was issuing orders. And I was too disappointed in myself to care. I followed her to her car and collapsed into the passenger's seat. My head was spinning so badly, it felt like the car was already moving. I was vaguely aware of the thud of the driver's door. Phoebe's arm snaked past my chest and grasped my seatbelt. She pulled it across my body, managing to drag her hand from my shoulder to my hip. I didn't bother to stop her. She drove in silence, but she kept glancing at me. She didn't seem to care if I noticed. She studied my face first, and then her gaze went south. So much for subtlety. I clasped my hands in my lap, and her eyes went back to the road. I was ready for another breathing treatment by that point. Her cold hand brushed against my cheek as I stared out the side window. "You're burning up. You feel feverish." I shrugged. "I'll live." "I just don't feel right about dumping you off at the curb when you're obviously not well." My stomach sank. Warning lights went off everywhere, besides the ones dancing on the backs of my eyelids. "I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself," I slurred. I cringed and glanced at her, wishing I had spoken more carefully. She raised one eyebrow, as if she was Scully's evil twin sister. "Of that I have no doubt." The car slowed to a stop within a few minutes, parked in front of my apartment building. I fumbled with the seat belt latch but managed to free myself. I popped the door open and bolted from the car. The moment I stood up, a wave of vertigo leveled me. I slid down the side of the car and found myself face-down on the sidewalk. Phoebe's high heels tapped quickly to my side. "Mulder!" She kneeled beside me, cradling my sore face. "Poor thing. Let's take it slow. You need to get inside." I had to get up and walk, if only to find a rock to hide beneath. She held my arm and guided me as I awkwardly regained my footing. We shuffled to the door, and I let us in. I felt uneasy with her arms wrapped around me, but I couldn't make it without help. We rode the elevator to the fourth floor. Her breath tickled my throat as she gazed up at me. The car got hotter as she leaned closer. Do not look. Do not look. The bell dinged. I was grateful for its interruption. The doors opened, and we ambled our way to my apartment. I stood there, staring at the brass number as if it held a magic cure for my sickness. A sudden pressure on the front of my hip startled me. Phoebe had her hand in my pocket, searching for my keys. I succumbed to an alcohol-induced stupor. If she was going to take care of me, fine. She owed me anyway. Phoebe unlocked the door and guided me over to the couch. I sank into it readily, my joints aching from the effort to get there. I closed my eyes against the sharp, throbbing pain in my head and heard her softly close the door and lock it. Locked in. With Phoebe. Kill me NOW. Soft footsteps approached the couch, but I attempted to ignore them. I also tried to ignore the sinking cushion as she perched next to me. Tried to ignore the flutter of the worn fleece blanket being draped over me, the moist press of lips against my forehead. I looked at her, and my heart sank. It was all too familiar. Every time I tried to lock myself away and retreat from the real world to wallow in my desolation, it seemed that she always had a foot in the door. I wanted so much to believe that she had changed -- that she actually cared about me. But she still had the same feral smile I remembered so well. She knew how to appeal to my baser side, so that she'd get exactly what she wanted. And the most regrettable thing was that part of me always conceded. I despondently reassured myself that her desire was not only physical. My pondering was interrupted, because my stomach got busy reminding me that I don't like scotch. When the nausea had temporarily passed, I found a cool washcloth on my head and a warm, dainty hand resting on my chest. A tiny hand, its size belying its strength. For a moment that hand was Scully's, and I knew she would take care of everything. "Scully," I mumbled, panic choking off additional words. I had nearly forgotten about my partner. I made a clumsy swipe at Phoebe's arm, trying to rid myself of her contact. She grabbed both of my wrists and pinned me down. I would have tried to shove her up and away from me, but up and down were merrily twisted in my inebriated mind. "Need Scully." Phoebe shook her head, as if witnessing a tragedy. "Don't underestimate yourself, Mulder. You're fine. Besides," she looked around the room for emphasis, "Scully isn't anywhere to be found. She shouldn't have left you alone in such a condition. It's obvious to me that you need some company." I shook my head, trying not to listen to her serpentine words. "S-she didn't know. It's not something I want to burden her with. She...is probably busy at the office, anyway." Phoebe looked into my eyes, touched my jaw. Her desire was blatant as she brought her face ridiculously close to mine, invading my personal space. "I'm here for you now. There is always work to do, but you are far more important than that." Her lips closed on mine. Our skin had only a whisper of contact before I gave in to the urge to turn away. "I can't," I choked out. "Thank you for driving me, but please, just leave me alone." I had to be blunt. I wanted her to leave immediately, so I could either pass out or relieve the horribly strong impetus that she had provoked. Her features fell for a second as she calculated her next action. She moved to sit on the coffee table, looking directly at me, and fished my hand out from under the blanket. Her gaze bored into me, and I felt the skin of my nape tingle. "You're keeping something from me. What is it?" I gulped, a dead giveaway of guilt. "I could always tell, Mulder. Go on. I promise not to overreact. After all, we're both...adults." Her tone turned sultry on the last word, intensifying my unease. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to organize the thoughts swimming amok through my sodden mind. When I opened them again, Phoebe was visibly tense. For once, she was not sure how I would respond. I reflected briefly on my university days while formulating a strategy. Our relationship was like a degenerative disease, consuming my very identity with time. I even heard a group of girls say, on more than one occasion, "Oh, that one is Phoebe's latest." They never referred to me by name, never said, "That's Fox. He's in my Existentialism class." At the time, the excitement and draw of the unknown blinded me to her intentions. I had grown wiser since then, or more cautious. At least, I tried to convince myself of as much. "You shouldn't be here. I'm sure Scully would have picked me up if she had been able. I appreciate..." I had to pause, starting to lose my grasp on the point. It was getting increasingly difficult to think. "I appreciate your concern and your help, but I don't want to keep you from your plans. I'm sure you have better things to do than baby-sit me and my fish." "This is not about plans. This is about you," she said, unmoving. "Of course I'm concerned. Bloody concerned. I've seen you do this before time and again. Something bad happens that's out of your control, and you convince yourself that you actually deserve to be abandoned. To be lonely." She touched me only with her eyes and words, yet my heart thumped erratically. She was right, of course. Dead on. "You don't have to exile yourself. Tell me what you feel." She blinked and leaned closer. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Oh, God, I thought, I can't take this. A single drop slid down her cheek, falling on my hand. She had me, sold to the saddest bidder. The mark of the beast. "Tell me," she softly demanded, nostrils flaring, "what you need." I hesitated, searching for a way out of the situation. I swept the blanket aside and sat up, facing her. "I need you...to leave." All I had to do was stand up and open the door. Maybe gesture vaguely toward the hallway. Ignore the tearing sensation in my soul. It shouldn't have been too difficult. I couldn't get as far as the standing up part, though. As soon as the blanket was gone, I began shivering uncontrollably, even though my skin was hot and sweaty. My teeth chattered. I hunched into a ball and rocked back and forth, hoping only to spare myself the indignity of passing out in front of Phoebe. Something was horribly wrong. I had a sense of dread, seeing myself give in to her manipulations as I'd always done. However, there was also another equally sinister force at work, clouding my judgment, slowly stealing my control. I didn't think I'd downed that much scotch... "Poor Mulder. Shhhhhh. It's okay." She walked around the table and sat beside me, rubbed my back with one hand. "It'll pass soon." I shook violently for a minute or two, every motion or touch a painful jolt. Phoebe produced the cool cloth again and used it to support my forehead. The sensation was welcome, alleviating some of my discomfort. She whispered words of reassurance and stood as she guided me back down to a reclining position. She brushed a few strands of hair from my face and smiled. Went into the kitchen. I tried to be as small as possible, as if she might forget that I was there. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself at that point. My throat felt gritty, ached with unspoken words, with a line in the sand never drawn. "Hold on, love. I'll be right there." Ice rattled against glass, much like the thoughts banging around inside my head. Phoebe appeared again, bearing a tall glass of ice water. It even had a blue-striped, bendable straw. She offered it to me, but my hands were still shaking. She knelt beside me and supported my head while guiding the straw to my lips. I closed my eyes and reluctantly took a sip, and the cold drink washed away all of the sand. I sighed, actually content for a moment, and Phoebe set the glass on the table. I knew that I had to assert myself. Really. I sat up, crunching queasy stomach muscles in the process. I tried to summon a tone of authority over the nausea. "I have a lot to do tonight. Let's catch up another time. There's an important case report I need to finish and talk over with Sc-" I wanted to kick myself when I realized my rambling thoughts had all been spoken aloud. Phoebe's eyes darkened, and she forced me back into the throw pillow, her small hands pressed against my chest. They rose and fell with my panting. "You're drunk, Mulder. Confused." Her voice had a finely- honed edge. Elegant and deadly. "That pretty little partner of yours simply doesn't know how to help you. How to make you forget those nagging little worries." She trailed one finger over my shirt down to my quivering stomach. I swear she licked her lips. Images of the past assaulted me. Cold, hard granite and fog and the ghost of Sherlock Holmes. I was paralyzed. Might have forgotten to breathe. "Let me remind you how easy it is to forget." Her right hand shifted lower, and suddenly, my balls were in a vice. She squeezed just enough to make me jump, and I shouted in surprise. Her other hand clamped down over my mouth. I squirmed beneath her, vaguely aware that I was no match for her in my ill, ethanol-induced state. I tried to crawl away from her grasp, but she quickly adjusted her grip on my crotch, compressing a different and particularly sensitive area. A bolt of pain and seizing breathlessness followed. She had effectively put an end to my struggling. It took the remaining shreds of my concentration to remain composed. For a brief moment, my eyes burned and watered, but I blinked it back. Her aggressive manipulation hurt like hell. It always did. Phoebe lithely swung herself onto the couch, pinning my legs between hers. I grumbled into her palm, rolling my head from side to side. My brain was fighting for control of my body and losing. Everything seemed viscous, impossible to move against. Phoebe removed her hand from my mouth and sealed it with her lips, instead. She began to unbutton my shirt single- handedly in a smooth and practiced maneuver. I stared at her, absorbing the feral light of lust in her gaze, her contempt. A love of power and pain. I got myself coordinated long enough to shove her away as far as I could reach. I kept my arms extended, supporting the weight of her upper body. Her tongue snaked out and traced the cutting edges of her teeth as she contemplated me. She released my dick and placed her hands on my chest, dug her sharp nails into my skin. Phoebe shifted her weight back slightly and stroked her hands up the length of my arms. Her fingers closed around my wrists, and the whites of her eyes flashed. She began grinding into me, pressing against my dick with her pubic bone. I shuddered as my body responded. It was impossible to ignore the wash of pleasure and the mortification bound to it. My elbows buckled. She pushed my arms up over my head as she elicited a partial erection with her relentless undulations. I felt sicker and sicker with her every shove. Finally, once I had a very conspicuous hard-on straining against my jeans, she stopped. "Maybe you didn't miss me, Fox, but your cock obviously did." "That's the only part of me that ever really knew you." She slapped me, slamming my jaws shut, the edge of my lower lip caught between my teeth. My vision went blurry, and my limbs felt leaden. I could barely move. Phoebe rocked back, sitting on her heels. She chewed her lip and dripped tears on the collar of her shirt. I was amused that she would be so surprised at my observation. I smiled, a warm drop of blood sliding from my split lip down my chin. "Oh, cut the offended saint shit. You are far from either. I'm sure Marsden could corroborate that observation." My words came out slowly but firmly. Her eyes widened. She looked like she wanted to strangle me, but she had swiftly re- established a firm hold on my wrists. Of course, I couldn't really plan my statements. The alcohol, the sidewalk, and gravity had conspired to turn my brain into a throbbing, painful liability. In that chaos, I could remember only the time when Phoebe had filled my longing for attention, for a warm body to remind me that I was alive. For someone to not only crave, but care for. I didn't expect her to show me exclusive favor after all this time. In fact, her favor was never exclusive. However, it was especially licentious of her to practically beg me to sleep with her by booking and inviting me to a hotel room, and then trying to get what she wanted from the next man when I wouldn't put out. An aristocrat who she was supposed to be protecting. A married man, at that. And here she was again, playing a demented game of sexual Pong. I wanted to love her, once upon a time. God, how I had lied to myself. It was becoming imminently clear that, whether she loved or despised me, her response would always be the same. I was screwed, either way. Phoebe used her left hand and elbow to keep my numb arms pinned in place. "If you're sure you don't want me here, Mulder," she whispered, insinuating her right hand beneath the waistband of my boxers, "just say so." I waited in paralyzed disbelief while she quickly homed in on her target. "I don't -- " My words pinched off as she established a stranglehold on my shaft. The only sound I could manage was a gasp. My hips automatically thrust, lifting her in the process. She quit bothering to hold my arms still and used her free hand to unbutton my jeans. Meanwhile, she shifted her grip with the other hand, ramming it against my groin. I grunted and bucked again. And again. Blood rushed in my ears. Dark edges encroached upon my vision. "God damn it!" "Perhaps Dana will petition the heavens on your behalf." "Fuck you," I gritted between my teeth. "I knew you'd come 'round eventually." I clenched my jaws, lips drawn. My ears burned with fury. If she was going to treat me like a rabid animal anyway, I was damned well going to play the role. I summoned all of my strength to grab her by the shoulders. When I attempted to throw her off, though, she viciously tightened her grasp and pulled. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I gave her a crude 8-second bull ride. By the time she pried her hand from my dick, I was trembling. Gasping for air. Although desperately aroused, I was in misery, on the verge of unconsciousness. I couldn't really focus on Phoebe. Everything was a blur, so I tried to concentrate, sift through the emotions she had stirred. Indignation was the only thing I could extract from the mess. How pathetic she must be to manipulate men's emotions, then the rest of them, as a matter of habit. How very hollow, Ms. Mindfuck. The room was spinning again, only this time, Phoebe was everywhere. She laughed, mocking me. "You're too bloody easy." I ached with an urgently building pressure, wishing she would simply disappear so I could take care of it in private. With Phoebe, though, nothing is private. Nothing is sacred. She eyeballed me for a few minutes in a cavalier, offhand way. Her face wavered in my double vision before resolving, a distant, vacant sadness pulling at her features. I couldn't resist thinking for a moment that she actually regretted her actions. But no. She wasn't looking at me, really. Perhaps she was seeing the ghost of her envy, or whatever drove her to vengeful lust. Her chest heaved with deep breaths as she seemed to be formulating a plan. The hamster wheel was definitely squeaking. I closed my eyes and waited. She didn't touch me, though. She didn't move a muscle. I was puzzled until I heard heels tapping in the hall. The rhythmic sounds grew louder. Sharp, confident steps. The sounds seemed to break Phoebe's dark trance, and she wasted no time getting back to her original pursuit. There was an odd tugging sensation, and I forced myself to look at her. I followed her black stare, the sharp contrast of milky skin as her arms tapered down, down...ending in dainty little fingers. Those hands so similar to Scully's were unzipping my jeans. Tap...tap...tap. The footsteps slowed outside my door. Metal scratched on metal. The lock turned. Phoebe slid the waistband of my boxers down, shoving the fly of the jeans wide along with it. The door creaked open. Tap. Tap. "Mulder? I saw you on my caller ID." Tap. "Mul-" I wanted to fucking die. In the half-darkness of the evening, all I could see were the round whites of Scully's eyes and a pale, frozen mask where her face should have been. Heard the rustle of papers as she dropped whatever was in her hands. I wanted to call out her name, yell for help, or out of pure frustration, but Phoebe sensed my intention. She suffocated my pleas with a bruising kiss and finished maneuvering my clothes out of her way. She moved her knees back so that Scully would be sure to have a full view. I shook my head from side to side and grumbled in weak protest as my erection was freed for all to see. Phoebe began to unbutton her slacks. Scully stood wordlessly for a moment, stepped back, and then rushed out, slamming the door behind her. I winced as the bang caused the room to reverberate. Phoebe bit my lower lip, crushing it, and I yelped. Then she released it and sat up. "Well, at least she knows when she's not wanted." Her statement truly skewered me. I thought of Scully storming off to contemplate why she had seen what she'd seen, and reaching horrible conclusions. My pity for Phoebe turned to disgust as her abuse became an attack on Scully. My adrenaline started pumping and I felt at least some of my strength return. "You don't know or care what I want," I stated flatly. It was more of a reluctant admission than a revelation. I managed to sit up, rocking her back onto her heels. I captured her wrists, finally removing her intrusive hands from my body. "Let go!" she demanded, struggling and pulling against my grip. I complied. She toppled over the edge of the couch and landed on her ass. The coffee table was shoved back. I gathered my bearings for a moment before getting to my feet. My legs were weak, and I had a killer headache. Phoebe stared at me, a malevolent scowl pulling at her features as I carefully tucked my dick back into my boxers and zipped up. I didn't have time to feel sorry for her single-minded emptiness. I had Scully to find. Atonements to make. I retrieved my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans. Hurriedly fumbled through the folds and found a twenty dollar bill. I tossed it at her, a fitting tribute for a woman of her nature. "Leave. Now." I stepped around the table, grabbing my sidearm from the lamp table along the way. The quick movement made me queasy. I paused before leaving, utterly weary, and addressed Phoebe over my shoulder. "And don't ever come near me again." I left the door open and hurried down the hall as best I could, my loose shirt flapping behind me. The persistent pressure between my legs and resultant friction made running very awkward. Luckily, no one was out and about to see me cowboy-walk to the stairwell. I rushed down in mad pursuit. I couldn't let her get away. A deep dread told me that if Scully got into her car and left the apartment, she'd never come back. I ran out the back of the building, down an alley, and burst through the door to the parking garage. I skidded to a halt and listened for her. Nothing. No engine sounds. No footsteps. I didn't see her car anywhere. Numbness fell over me, my body's effort to protect itself from the emotional evisceration that was certain to hit. I was at a total loss. And then, in the back corner of the far parking lane, I heard an intermittent, muffled sound. Hiccups? I forced myself forward, scanning the vehicles for Scully's car. The breathing was uneven as the sound resolved. Loud. No, more than that. Crying. I tried to run to her but stumbled, the weight of her pain landing squarely on me. My knees hit the concrete. I scrambled back to my feet and rounded the end of a large van. And there she was, small, alone, and shaking with sobs. She had the car door open, but something had stopped her from getting in. I ached to wrap her in my arms and tell her over and over how much she meant to me, but I couldn't. My body was still piqued, still reacting to Phoebe's abuse and my efforts to reach Scully. Even if my aroused state was visibly conspicuous, I wasn't about to insult my partner by pressing against her. So I pled from a respectable distance, partially hidden in shadow. "Scully, please..." I reached toward her, palms up, fingers shaking with a fine tremor. Her shoulders froze as she recognized my voice. "Please, don't leave." "I thought I could trust you, Mulder. What you do in private is your own business but--My God, you even called me." She didn't turn around. She didn't want to face me, and I couldn't blame her. I had hurt her deeply. Even so, her pain confirmed how she saw me. How much I was on the verge of losing. "I'm sorry. Damned sorry. She knew exactly what she was doing. I was sick. I felt horrible, and she saw an advantage. She pressed it. I had hoped that she had changed for the better. At first, I was seeing only the person I wished she was," I admitted, the words burning me from the inside out. "I was seeing you." Scully made a small squeak, a repressed cry. Sniffled. She turned sharply on her heel, stabbed me from a distance with an accusing finger. The outline of her form shifted, darkened. I felt panic rise as the strength drained from my body. "What were you trying to prove, Mulder? What the HELL did you expect would happen?" she demanded in a piercing shout. Her arm dropped to her side, then she added a subdued, "I thought you valued...us more than this." She grasped the car door frame with a white-knuckled hand. It was an ultimatum. "You are the most important person in my life," I confessed, hearing a damning roar in my ears. "I called you, followed you here because..." I paused, panting and trying desperately to fend off the encroaching shadow. "Because...I need you." Scully's head tilted to one side as I forced out the last word. Her eyes widened. Then, she hurried toward me just as I hit the pavement. Her shoes pounded closer. Cool fingers touched my neck. A muffled exclamation stirred the darkness. And finally, my emptiness consumed me. *** Sour. Something was incredibly sour. My stomach cramped, and I felt acid creep up my throat. I blindly groped for something to hold on to as I turned to one side, halfway sitting up. My hand found a soft but steady hold, and it supported me while my stomach emptied itself. The heaving continued even after there was nothing more to be brought up. I spit onto the pavement and gasped for air. I looked up to find myself holding onto Scully's arm with a death grip. I used the leverage to roll onto my knees and sit up. Scully was kneeling before me. She steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. Her red-rimmed eyes and streaked face gave a somber cast to the concern in her eyes. I couldn't seem to keep her image still. It floated randomly before me. Even half- fried, I found the effect troubling. "Mulder? Look at me." "'M-m tryin'." She frowned and leaned closer. Her nose wrinkled when she smelled the alcohol on my breath. "Focus." My vision gradually stabilized, obeying her command better than mine. "I...think I'm okay." Scully's lips pressed into a firm line. She wasn't buying it. "Do you think you can walk?" "Not sure," I replied honestly. Scully produced her cell phone and flipped it open, preparing to dial. "Stay still. You need an ambulance. And probably a stomach pump," she declared, shaking her head. Fear of sphincter-contracting magnitude hit me. I swiftly grasped the phone, covering the buttons. The last thing I wanted was documentation of my injuries. "No. Please don't." I bit my tongue to avoid going into the explanation. I was still too stunned to grasp all of the possible consequences of medical intervention, myself. Scully froze, her face plastered with disbelief and frustration. "I'm trying to help you, Mulder. Can you even fathom the meaning of that anymore?" "B-but..." "Or are you only interested in help of another kind?" she demanded, her voice distorted by emotion. She released the phone and waved her free hand before me, gesturing toward my lap. I glanced down. A very obvious tent was still present, although my hard-on had begun to subside. Scully was no longer looking at me. She was standing, her head turned aside and bowed. I wanted nothing more than to pull her to my chest, let her splash her pain onto me, but I was afraid to touch her. I crawled backward, the rough floor burning my knees. "Damn it! How did this day go so incredibly wrong?" I yelled, planting my palms on the concrete for support. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to snag a few coherent thoughts from the dervish in my mind. Scully was silent. I reluctantly met her gaze, too weary to deal with the conglomeration of anger, worry, and disbelief there. She glared down at me. Having nothing else left to lose, I decided to go with the truth. "Please, don't call an ambulance. I don't want them recording my...injuries." "I hardly think that a black eye, a hangover, and a lower back strain will catch anyone's attention," she declared, crossing her arms defiantly. I shook my head, dreading the moment. My stomach turned to lead as the probable reason for my extreme intoxication became clear. I lowered my voice to a whisper, even though we were alone in the garage. "It wasn't like that. She...did something to me. I think she tagged one of my drinks." Scully's mouth dropped open, forming a cute little "O". I continued while the opportunity still presented itself. "Anyway, she, uh..." I bowed forward, adding in a barely- audible voice, "She tried to rape me." Scully snatched the phone from the concrete once again. I grabbed it, tried to wrest it from her. She looked at me with shock, due to either what I'd said or the fact that I couldn't even manage to pry the phone from her hand. She conceded it to me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Her face settled into a mask of stony calm. The furrows on her brow and the crimson tinge of her ears betrayed the emotions boiling inside her. Her lower lip disappeared momentarily as she chewed on it. The harsh yellow ceiling lights cast angry shadows across her face as she considered me. "Did she hurt you?" Did she ever. I nodded and doubled over as a very timely shooting pain went through my groin. My arms reflexively wrapped around my lower abdomen. The idea of Scully's view of my penitent posture struck me as amusing, easing the pain a little. I was wary of laughing. "Mulder?" "I think I'll be okay," I gulped out. Scully stood, brushing pebbles of concrete from the knees of her suit pants. "You should let someone do an exam. Get a tox screen. At least make sure you're not in any danger of serious complications." I looked up at her, hoping beyond reason that she would understand. "I can't. They would assume the drugging...that everything was voluntary, and I have no proof otherwise. No one would bel-" "You're right," she conceded. "You can't." And my resilient partner suddenly sounded very unsure. Very sad. I struggled to my feet, though still bowed down and wavering. Took a few deep breaths. Couldn't look in her eyes. "Scully, I'm sorry." "Don't." I felt her wrap her arms around me ever so carefully, holding me steady. We leaned against each other with awkward rigidity. Scully pressed her mouth into my hair, her breath feathering across my scalp. "I'm here for you, partner," she vowed. Then she stepped back and secured her car before returning her attention to me. "Think you can manage to walk back? With a little help?" "Yeah," I offered with a weak grin. She placed her hand on the small of my back, and I tentatively took a few steps. "Okay. Watch out, there," she said, steering me around the small puddle formerly known as my lunch. I felt pain with every step, but I concentrated on merely going forward, going forward. The sooner I got to the apartment, the sooner I could pass out in a heap on the couch. We made our way through the building unnoticed. The action eerily mimicked the trip I'd just made with Phoebe. Scully had a harder time steering me, though. My mind was reeling, and my legs were about to give out. She sensed the urgency of the situation and escorted me through the door Phoebe had left open and straight to the couch. I lay there panting for a few minutes, simultaneously trying to repress the urge to lose my stomach lining while attempting to gauge Scully's reaction to the situation. She wasn't giving me much to go on, though, other than the fact that she was still with me. She wandered about my apartment in the customary securing procedure, making sure that it was clear of Phoebe's presence. With her gun drawn. That was enough for the time being. I was far too miserable to discern her feelings toward me at that moment. "Do you need the trash can?" She appeared next to me, her weapon holstered, running her fingers though my hair. She was already moving the trash can within my reach. "How did you know?" "You're grayer than a little gray man." "I think I love you, Agent Scully." "I think you're delirious, Agent Mulder." I cringed, suddenly realizing that my drug-addled tongue was saying poorly-timed things in the absence of my better judgment. Scully was watching me, one eyebrow cocked. She looked like she could probably pass a marksmanship qualification with laser blasts from her eyes. "No... Not now," I somberly replied. Her expression softened. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm just having trouble dealing with what she did to you." I nodded in agreement. After a moment, she released a deep breath and leaned very close. She grasped my jaw, prompting me to move my head from side to side as she examined my face. I was both flattered and extremely self-conscious, being under such close scrutiny. She pulled down my lower eyelids, asked me to look left and right, up and down. She peeled my lips back and looked at their inner surfaces. All the while, I was keenly aware of the warmth and subtle scent emanating from her. The neck of Scully's blouse gaped slightly as she moved her arms. I willed myself not to look directly, but I knew it all the same. "Hm. I don't think you're likely to have an overdose." She moved her hand to my throat. Two cool fingers paused there, and I could feel my blood rhythmically press my skin against hers. Then, her brow furrowed. Her hand moved downward, pulling the right half of my shirt aside. She palpated the area and hit a sore spot. I hissed and involuntarily jerked away. "Mulder..." I looked down. Three parallel lines of red-black scabs marked the right side of my chest. Scully traced the unmarred skin beside them as she studied the wounds. Her warm breath stirred the hairs there. I found myself getting squirmy, a little too warm, and very conscious of the fairer qualities of my partner. I sat up, mumbling something about needing to take a leak. I had to extract myself from the situation. Scully stepped back to allow me room, but stayed close enough to help if needed. As I stood, another lance of pain shot through my groin. I could not straighten my back, so I went post-haste to the bathroom still halfway hunched over. I heard Scully's footsteps trailing as I closed the door behind me. "Do you need help in there, Mulder?" I detected a hint of real concern in her voice. "No. I can handle it." I snorted at my unfortunate choice of words and walked gingerly toward the toilet. The wall of the tub provided a little support for my tired legs. I leaned back, slowly working my way to an upright posture. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the ominous pain in my groin, wishing it away. Convince myself that it meant nothing. My forehead dripped with nervous sweat. I unzipped. My cock protested with a sharp jolt of pain as I maneuvered it into the open. I winced and held my breath, trying desperately not to make enough noise to get Scully's attention. And then I looked down. "Shit! Ffffuck." "Mulder?" I couldn't think of anything to say in reply except more expletives. The door opened. I reflexively covered myself with my hands as Scully peered around the edge. Her face was even paler than mine felt. "Mulder? Is there something wrong?" I gulped and nodded. And froze, unsure of what to do next. I debated whether I should let her look, or if it might be really unwise not to. I was reluctant, but Scully had never given me reason to question our mutual respect. I was actually surprised to realize the extent of my trust in her. She put a hand on my shoulder and looked up at me with an unwavering gaze. She had sensed my trepidation. "It's okay. We'll do this your way. I was just...worried." I could not express my gratitude for her understanding, so I bowed my head. "Go for it, Doc." But I couldn't force myself to move my hands out of her way. She took her cue to do it for me, lightly guiding my forearms to either side. I swallowed again and tried to relax. I studied the ceiling intently as she closed the lid on the toilet seat and straddled it in front of me. The heat of her gaze was tangible. I clasped my hands behind me to keep from fidgeting and started to count the dimples in the ceiling tiles. Somewhere between 25 and 30 dimples, I began to feel warm puffs of air on my exposed skin. I was thoroughly convinced that my partner was trying to kill me. "What do you think?" I prompted as I glanced down. The milky-white tip of her perfectly shaped nose was about four inches away from my dick. My eyebrows nearly jumped off of my forehead. "Well, you obviously have a large contusion here..." She cocked her head to one side, her expression entirely clinical. I was dying. My penis seemed to have a proclivity for getting me into very uncomfortable situations. Then, without warning, she reached up and took the offending member in her hand. "Scu-" "I promise, I won't hurt you." I had been in pain for some time. That wasn't quite the sensation I was concerned about, and my semi-hard state was still obvious. "Have you been in this condition since Ms. Greene assaulted you?" she asked with a tinge of acrid distaste. Her touch was feather-light and steady. My heart thumped wildly against my sternum, as if wanting to escape. Adrenaline burned through me like fire. I contemplated telling her exactly how I felt. Yes, Agent Scully, spontaneous human combustion is very real. Here, let me demonstrate... But instead I drew a long breath, trying to calm myself. "Yeah, but it's been gradually...resolving." "Hm. Looks like you have some more nail marks here." Scully's face turned a delicate shade of green. I thought she was going to get sick. Her facade of calm slipped, but only for a moment. "I'm going to need to look at the base. This bruising is pretty worrisome." "That's for sure. All right. Do that voodoo that you do so well." She ignored my nervous, and rather bad, joke and reached up with her free hand to unbutton my jeans. My mind was running rampant with slightly different and more wicked scenarios than the one unfolding in reality. I was quite glad that she couldn't read it, because she would have surely punched my lights out. But I almost felt bad about it, anyway. Something about seeing my partner intently focused on me, her face so close to my nether regions, shut off most of my brain, including the higher reasoning portion. I was definitely running on limbics. Scully opened the fly of my jeans and peeked into the gap in my boxers. "You have some mild bruising here at the root. The associated inflammation is probably impeding the blood flow. But you really must go to the ER if this doesn't reduce within another couple of hours." She was deadly serious. Her lips were pressed into a flat line that seemed to say, "I will truss you up like a Christmas ham and drag you to the hospital if I have to." "What about that bruise?" I inquired, deftly changing the subject. I mentally patted myself on the back. "Well..." She twisted my cock while trying to gauge the extent of the bruising. Just barely, but enough to cause an excruciating spasm. I clenched my teeth and choked out a gasp. "Oh God. Mulder, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Her left hand cradled the side of my face, as I bent over slightly in protective reaction. I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself. Tried to keep breathing. My partner apologized several times over. "S'okay. It's just incredibly sore," I managed to say. "No wonder, especially after you walked all that way to follow me to my car." I looked at her and found a deep admiration staring back at me from those blue eyes. And something else not quite describable. Something that hinted of jealously personal value. But another very pressing issue was weighing on me. I had to catalogue her reaction for later reference. "Scully, do you think it's, uh...ruptured?" Just asking made me cringe. She held my penis steady and away from my body as she moved to look at its underside. She was being ever so careful now that she knew how exquisitely tender it was. The bruise in question was an ugly purple, solid on the left side and striated on the right, where Phoebe's fingers had clamped down. The distorted area mostly encompassed the farther end. Everything from the bruise down was slightly swollen. "Can you feel this?" And Scully touched the tip of my penis. My hips jerked and my eyes bugged open. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, her serious expression faltering for a moment. "What the..." "You still have circulation to your glans. That's a good sign. If you had fractured cavernosa or spongiosum, it would probably be causing some ischemia by now. Not to mention more extensive swelling and discoloration." Her use of the word "fractured" caught my attention. It was a reminder that she wasn't just playing around. "As bad as this contusion appears, I'm pretty certain that it's a result of subcutaneous vein tearing. It's not a medical emergency. It should be completely healed in about a week." I let loose a tremendous sigh of relief as she continued, "Just remember, though, that your erection should be completely gone soon. If not, there's a chance of permanent injury." I nodded solemnly in understanding, even though she wasn't helping that particular matter at all. She then gently lowered my penis to its original position and released it. The break in contact was a bit shocking. I felt cold. Then my partner stood up and edged her way to the sink to wash her hands. I quickly did my tucking and zipping while her back was turned. I didn't have a towel on the bar, so she dried her hands on the thighs of her pants. She placed one still- damp palm on my chest. "How are you feeling?" "Dizzy. A little weak." Impressed. Stunned. Amazed. Infatuated. "You should lie down for a while. I'll get you some ice." "Thanks, Scully," I said as she turned and headed for the kitchen. Oh yes, I thought. Following her had definitely been worth the pain. So, I sucked it up and traced her steps again, only I veered off at the couch. Finally, I was able to relax and stretch out some very sore leg muscles. I propped up my feet, popped my stiff neck, and was fully prepared to take an 8-hour nap. Scully emerged from the kitchen holding a bag of ice partially wrapped in a towel. She set the cold, lumpy object in my hands. "Rest. Ice. Compression. No Elevation." I pouted, just to push Scully's button. She smiled and shook her head. She laughed. Score. "Well, I guess I should get going," she said in a more subdued tone, after glancing at her watch. "I still have to turn in our final report on the case. That's why I came over. You forgot to sign it." I firmly covered my more vulnerable parts with the cold wrap. Very cold. "Oh. Did you happen to bring it with you?" To her credit, Scully didn't laugh when my voice jumped half an octave. "Yes..." She walked around the coffee table and retrieved the file, which had been scattered all over the floor. Scully straightened the thick stack of papers and held it out to me, along with a pen from her jacket pocket. "Could I have your autograph?" she parodied with a drawl. "Heh. Sure." I took the proffered items and scribbled something resembling my name on five different pages. Scully took the file and tucked it under one arm. While I was attempting to adjust the compress to a more comfortable position, she retrieved my phone from my jacket pocket on the coat rack and set it next to me. "If you need anything, please tell me." "I will." She wrapped her fingers around one of my already-frozen hands and gave it a squeeze. "See you later." "Yes, Ma'am." And after a tantalizing hint of a smile, she was gone. I had to laugh at the sudden vision of her stepping outside the front door of my building to have a cigarette. But then the stillness of the room gradually swallowed any humor in the situation. I could still detect the subtle fragrance of Phoebe's perfume in the air, on my clothes. Could still smell the sharp essence of her arousal. I felt ill. Had to sit up. As soon as the sensation passed, a particular obsessive idea played through my mind. Just days ago, Phoebe had given me a cassette tape, which I had dually ignored and tossed in a drawer. But I couldn't quite make myself throw it away, either. My curiosity was wickedly strong, and she knew it. I had brought the tape home and gone as far as putting it in the stereo, but that was it. But now, I was more than curious. I was desperate to hear if she had shown any signs of wanting help for her twisted sociopathy. Or if there was a trace of humanity left in her. I laid the compress aside for a moment and gingerly got to my feet, using the table and couch for support. I shuffled over to the stereo and stood for a moment with my finger on the "play" button. Was she controlling me still, in her own nefarious way? No. I felt more certain of myself than I had in a long time. I had been burnt, and now I held only a cold pity for her. I pushed "play" and returned to the couch. I sat, head in hands, listening to a litany of false affections, still questioning the past, wondering if she ever, even for a moment, really cared. I stared at the table, focused on nothing until the tape hissed to an end. The player clicked off. I blinked, still looking at the table. Picked up the phone. Punched the first speed dial button. "Hey, Scully." * * * End This story was partially inspired by TXF's "Fire", "Harder to Breathe" by Maroon 5, and "Sin" by Nine Inch Nails (lyrics below). You give me the reason You give me control I gave you my purity My purity you stole Did you think I wouldn't recognize This compromise Am I just too stupid to realize Stale incense Old sweat And lies lies lies It comes down to this Your kiss Your fist And your strain It gets under my skin Within Take in the extent of my sin You give me the anger You give me the nerve Carry out my sentence While I get what I deserve. I'm just an effigy to be disgraced To be defaced Your need for me has been replaced And if I can't have everything Well then just give me a taste